The Poisoned Throne

Chapter 47

Mary

The Royal Guard was already strained with the search for Sir Alfred Padille's murderer, as well as those close friends of Elizabeth's who had run away. On top of that, the minor battle inside of the castle, which had since been dubbed The Battle of Westhall, had rendered most of the force wounded. 

This was why Mary sighed a breath of relief when her sister admitted to the murder of Lord Robert. She simply did not have the resources for yet another investigation. 

"Why did you do it?" Mary asked, sitting down across from Evelyn. 

They were both seated in the soft couches in Evelyn's solar. She had been restrained to her apartments until Queen George of Noweria arrived; since Robert had been Nowerian, his presence at the trial was necessary. 

From the looks of it, Evelyn was going insane. She had always been an active woman, always either hunting or maneuvering the political terrain, never one to sit still. This need for activity had only grown more severe after her stay with Tiraq, where she had been accustomed to far more physical strain as well as the pressure of leading an invasion. 

Evelyn's fingers tapped against the cushion, following some private rhythm of hers, as she threw about her head, breathed deeply and kept her gaze lowered. 

"Because he beat her," she said. "Didn't you notice?"

Mary blinked. "He beat Aurora?"

"Yes."

"Oh." She felt ashamed that she had not noticed. "This does not warrant murder, Evelyn. She's his wife."

"Exactly," Evelyn muttered, looking down at her moving hand. "There's no justice for women."

"But it's not up to you to take justice in your own hands," Mary said, sighing a little. "You killed a man... Won't you please look at me?"

She leaned forwards and touched her hand to Evelyn's knees, but flinched back the moment Evelyn looked up. Her nostrils were flaring and her eyes were narrowed, and there was something feral about how she leaned forwards, hands clenching into fists and shoulders tense. 

Mary drew in a deep breath. "What Robert did may be terrible, but you can't do this."

"Our brother could," she hissed. As if regretting the words, she looked away, out of the window.

Mary tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Evelyn lifted herself from the couch and began pacing back and forth. She waved her hand in circles before sighing. "Nothing."

Gathering herself with a deep breath and a sweeping motion to straighten her skirts, Mary stood up. "When you're ready to speak to me, call for me," she said. "Otherwise, I'll see you at the trial."

After leaving Evelyn's room, Mary planned to go to court; however, halfway there, she felt exhausted and ready to burst into either anger or tears. Seeing other people seemed an impossible duty, so she went instead to her room, where she lay down to read. 

Philip woke her up in the afternoon, smiling with patience as she tried to understand where she was and what had happened. 

"George and Anne are arriving within the hour," he said. "You should dress."

She frowned. "She wasn't expected until the morning."

"She is early."

Mary sighed and raised herself onto her elbows. "I'm so tired," she moaned. "Why am I so tired all the time?"

Philip drew a hand through her undone hair. "You're under a lot of pressure, my darling." 

She smiled and nodded as she covered her yawn with a hand. "I'll dress," she decided.