The light of candles flickered over the parchment of the books lining the table. The walls of the room were lined in yet more books, standing near two stories tall with a rotating ladder embedded in the wall to allow visitors to reach the highest of shelves. The Marshal’s library was an undeniably impressive collection of Venaran Literature.
Grim’s head throbbed as he read line after line, recounting the deeds of kings long since passed. Brian had directed him on the pivotal points of Venaran History, but it was still up to him to study and memorize it in preparation for the first trial. An insurmountable task that he'd spent the last three weeks grinding against to the tune of many sleepless nights.
With a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes, willing them to refocus. The first trial would be tomorrow. The library had long since cleared out of the other Venaran hopefuls, and Grim wondered if he should just do the same. There just wasn’t enough time to learn everything. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, loosening it another button with a sigh.
He hated wearing finery, but to wear anything less than his best would be considered an insult to the Marshal. His father had sent the best of his wardrobe to the estate on his request. Grim had feared they’d stop feeding him otherwise.
He was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder with bleary eyes to see the Marshal’s daughter, Carys approaching. Grim rose to his feet, nearly tripping over his own chair in his haste.
The girl took a step back as if afraid of his intentions. Grim internally winced before falling into a bow. “My lady,” he greeted.
Carys didn’t respond but seemed to marginally relax. She edged around him, walking to the far corner of the room. Grim returned his attention to his studies, taking a seat and pointedly not looking towards her, not wanting to be accused of staring at the Marshal’s daughter.
He was having trouble following the text on the unification of the Venaran Heartlands after the fall of the Empire. He would read but nothing would stick, and he found himself reading the same passages two or three times.
Grim grit he teeth in frustration. Divines. How was he going to do this? This was supposed to be the easiest of the challenges. He closed the book in disgust, leaning back in the wooden chair.
“You’re wasting your time,” a voice called out from across the room.
Grim glanced over to see Carys walking in his direction, a book cradled in one arm. “Of course, I am. I won’t need to know any of this after tomorrow,” he grumbled.
“Do you really know why you’re here or are you that slow on the uptake?” she asked.
Grim narrowed his eyes at her as she neared. The clink of armor from beyond the doorway explained her newfound boldness. “I’m here to be educated as a fine Venaran Nobleman.”
“We’d have more luck teaching a dog to sing,” she answered, “You’re here to be broken. Father won’t do that with a history that means nothing to you.”
Grim grimaced, a sinking feeling in his gut. “The war?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Most likely in my estimation,” she said, “Careful with your words.”
“Why are you helping me?” he asked.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” she asked.
“Is it not like helping a dog learn to dance?” He grumbled.
She grinned, holding up her hand and wiggling her fingers as if controlling a marionette. “Dance, puppy. Dance.” Without another word she turned from him and strode into the hall. The guard Grim heard earlier peeked around the doorway, locking eyes with Grim a moment before following in Carys’ wake.
Grim flipped the book closed in disgust and leaned back in his chair. Divines. It was so bloody obvious. This was just going to be used as another way to punish him. That was the whole purpose of this – To humble, break, or kill him.
Grim leaned back in the chair, temples throbbing as he fought to contain the anger threatening to spill out. He released a deep breath and felt his fists unclench. After a long moment, he rose to his feet, straightening his jacket as he did. He turned his back on the library and left to find his rooms.
It was late and the halls were lit by bronze chandeliers hanging from the ceilings at perfectly spaced intervals. They cast a dim light that flickered on the golden gilt of the decorations and furniture lining the halls. At this hour, servants scuttled across the halls, working to clean the common areas in the narrow slivers of time where they would neither be seen or heard. Most were Rillish and some even seemed to recognize him, giving him odd looks as they passed. Grim couldn’t find it in him to even pretend to smile.
After a half-dozen twists and turns, he found himself outside the rooms he and Brian shared. He opened the door and was surprised to find company in the foyer. Rafe and Brian occupied the two sitting chairs by the hearth, and they turned to regard him as he entered.
Rafe spoke, “About time you decided to show. Was starting to wonder if you’d slipped away with a serving girl for the evening.”
“Some of us actually have work to occupy ourselves with,” Grim muttered, walking to where they sat by the fire.
“Touche,” Rafe said, raising his ever-present glass of wine and taking a drink.
“What are you doing here?” Grim asked
Brian sighed. “Rafe here took it upon himself to wake me up in the dead of night and informed me that we need to strategize for tomorrow.”
Rafe giggled. “Boy nearly pissed himself, Thorne.”
Brian scowled at him.
Grim ignored the comment. “Did you have a grand, master plan you wanted to share with us?”
Rafe set his glass down on the end table and waved them all closer. Brian leaned toward him and Grim begrudgingly stepped closer and leaned in.
Rafe looked between them with an intense gaze. “No,” he whispered, bursting out into laughter.
Brian groaned while Grim stared daggers at Rafe.
Rafe managed to control his drunken laughter after a moment. “But,” he said, “I do know some things that you two will find helpful.”
Rafe ran a hand over his face, changing his expression from one of good humor to deathly serious as he did. “As I’m sure you’re both aware, this isn’t really a test of knowledge but a test of cleverness.”
Brian and Grim stared blankly at him and Rafe looked between them. “Oh, bother. Did I not mention that everyone cheats? How do you think I placed second in my year?” He grinned. “It’s of little consequence. Our little Brian here all but lives in books, and I don’t think you can afford to play the game the way it’s meant to be played, eh Rilly boy?”
Brian sighed as if bothered but not entirely surprised. “Let me guess, you know how the others will be cheating?”
Rafe grinned. “Not all will, of course. There will be some fair contest to be had.” He rolled his eyes as if the idea were ridiculous. “But, I do indeed know how a fair few of our competitors will be fed their answers.”
He lifted the wine glass and took another sip. “My wretched little cousin hired the same man to stand in the crowd and mouth answers that I had used. I already took the liberty of greasing his palms a little more to stay quiet. One down.” He grinned, showing off red stained teeth.
Grim followed Rafe’s example, grabbing the opened bottle of wine and taking a seat against the edge of the hearth, drinking it straight as the fire warmed his side. “And the others?” he asked.
Rafe’s grin grew wider. He raised a finger. “And this is where I get to show off my brilliance.” He leaned in once more as if sharing a great secret. “I’ve bedded Priscilla, a lovely young maiden of middling standing.”
Grim stared blankly at him. “So?”
Rafe held a hand over his heart as if wounded. “So? All you have to say is, So?”
Grim rolled his eyes and drank.
Rafe raised his voice in false indignation. “I pluck the finest flower of this year’s inductees, right beneath the nose of her father might I add, and you don’t see the value there, Thorne?”
Grim waved his hand in mock apology. “Please, do enlighten us, your lordship.”
Rafe paused as if considering. “I am a merciful lord, so I shall let this slight slide,” he said, slurring every word. He raised his finger once more. “But, do be sure to show the proper enthusiasm next time.”
Brian began to slow clap.
Rafe stood and bowed to them as if receiving thunderous applause then fell back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. “What was I saying?”
“You plucked a flower,” Grim said, dryly.
“Ah, yes,” Rafe said, regaining his train of thought as he took another drink of the wine. “That dear, dear, sweet, girl is very popular for her- ahem. Prospects. Many of the lads have been trying to impress her with their cleverness. She was very open with me.” He winked.
Grim thought he might barf. Instead, he took another drink.
Brian rubbed at tired eyes. “And what did she tell you?”
“The lovely lady informed me that Reginald Tarvain somehow managed to acquire the list of questions the Marshal will be asking each contestant. He’s been selling off the answers to other contestants, just enough for a good show so that he can hold the lime-light.”
Brian frowned. “Any reason we can’t just tell the Marshal?”
“And what will you tell him, Bri Bri? That daddy Rafe porked a noble girl and she spilled the beans?” He snorted. “Come now. We, or rather one of you, need to acquire the list as proof.”
“The Marshal changes the questions, and our competition is cut down at the knees?” Brian ventured.
Rafe snapped his fingers. “Precisely.”
Grim nodded slowly. “Any suggestions on how we would go about acquiring such a list?”
Rafe shrugged. “That’s between you two. I’ve more than carried my weight here. But, I’d suggest not making a move until very close to the competition to prevent anyone from making alternative arrangements.”
“I’m sure this was all very difficult for you,” Grim muttered.
“You have your talents, Thorne, and I have mine.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To making a mockery of all these games stand for,”
Grim raised the bottle. “Here. Here.”
Brian sighed and rose to his feet. “Good night gents. This sounds like a tomorrow problem.” Without another word, he strode from the foyer to his bedchamber and shut the door behind him.
Grim rose to his feet and fell into Brian’s vacated chair with a sigh. “Thanks. I think.”
Rafe chuckled. “Think nothing of it until I ask for a favor of my own.” Rafe set his glass down, voice taking on a more serious tone. “Between you and me, I’d advise you to proceed with caution. Many of my pricklier peers are taking offense at even having to share a place in the competition with you.” His voice fell to a whisper. “It’s not unheard of for contestants to disappear. Sons- you see. Very dastardly folk. Attacks can happen anywhere you know.”
Grim felt a chill run down his spine. “Noted.”
Rafe nodded in return, rising to his feet. He held out a hand to Grim. Grim reached out to shake it and, to his surprise, Rafe clasped his arm in the Rillish fashion, winked and left the room without a word.
Grim was left alone with his thoughts. He drank.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
***
Grim picked through the Afternoon’s selection of quiches, finding the ones that held bits of bacon and relocating them to his stomach. About him, the hall was buzzing with animated conversation. The thaw was in full swing outside, allowing one to venture outside with little more than a dinner jacket. Even more importantly, the competition would begin tonight, and gossip was abound. Everyone kept their customary distance from Grim, which he was growing accustomed to and was even beginning to enjoy. More quiches for him.
It also helped that his arrival was old news. He’d transitioned from a morbid curiosity to a sad fact of existence. Less of a murder happening across the street, and more of itch you couldn’t quite scratch. It’d be improper to really dig into him around such esteemed company.
Brian sidled up beside him. “We’ve got a couple hours until the main event. Are you ready?”
Grim sighed, setting down his plate. “It’s a huge risk for me in my position. Are you sure you can’t just try to buy the list off him and turn it in?”
“And if he says no?” Brian asked. “He’ll be on to us, and we may never find it.”
Grim gazed around the room, taking in the wide array of guests dressed in green finery. Entertainers cartwheeled, juggled, and played music to the exclaim of noble children, while the adults danced or huddled in groups. Grim hated these parties. Always felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb in this company, which he most certainly did.
His thoughts drifted to Edgar. He’d be putting the man’s life on the line by doing this, but he knew that whatever the Marshal had planned for him, it was likely designed to make him fail. His best hope was to undermine the competition. It was not about doing well; it was about doing better than your peers. At the same time, getting caught breaking into a noble’s chambers would doubtless see punishment exacted.
Grim gritted his teeth, then froze as he caught sight of his father and sister walking through the door. He cursed under his breath as they caught sight of him. The timing was less than ideal.
At Grim’s curse, Brian followed his gaze. “Who are they?” he asked.
“My family,” Grim muttered, hands itching for a glass of wine that unfortunately wasn’t present.
Recognition blossomed in Brian’s eyes as the pair drew nearer. The Earl wore crisp and simple black attire. The single concession to luxury was the golden signet ring he wore on his right hand. Ilyena hung on their father’s arm, wearing an extravagant gown in the Venaran style and colors of green and gold. Emeralds hung from her neck on matching golden chains. She looked every inch the ideal of Venaran nobility, and the eyes of many a young man followed her across the hall.
His father stopped a few paces away and inclined his head in a stiff greeting. “Grim.”
Grim fought his annoyance. That would be all the old man had to say after weeks apart. Grim matched the stiff greeting. “Father.”
Ilyena was a bit more graceful. “I’m delightful to see you in one piece, Grim.”
“Delightful to be in one piece,” he muttered.
Her gaze drifted to Brian who still stood at Grim’s side. “And who is the handsome gentleman accompanying you? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of acquaintance.”
Grim nodded to Brian. “Brian of house Barrington.”
Ilyena held out her hand. “Ilyena of house Thorne.”
Brian just stared at her as if starstruck. Grim kicked him in the shin and that seemed to jumpstart his brain. Brian affected a cough, as if that were what delayed him, then grasped her hand and kissed a golden ring inlaid with a ruby.
As he straightened, he seemed to find his tongue as well. “An honor. I must apologize for staring. I consistently find myself in awe during my stay here and the majesty of our Rillish hosts is no exception.”
Ilyena smiled, “You’re too kind.”
The Earl cleared his throat. “Ilyena, why don’t you take Brian and bring us some refreshments.”
Ilyena dropped into a small curtsy, grabbed Brian by the arm and pulled him away. The boy looked between Grim and the Earl, a slight look of bewilderment on his face.
“They have servants for that, you know,” Grim said.
The Earl ignored the comment. “Have you learned anything in your stay here?”
Grim snorted. “I’ve learned to stay alive.”
“See that you don’t forget it. Some humility could do you good.” The Earl looked about the room, taking in the guests. “Do you think you have any chance of winning?”
Grim blinked. “You want me to- win?”
The Earl spoke in a low voice. “A Rillman defeating Venar would be a good look with our people and with the nobility.”
“I doubt it would win me any friends here,” Grim said.
“I don’t want friends here,” the Earl said, “I want legitimacy. I want to make sure the Marshal has no excuse to strip us of our titles.”
“And how does Ilyena marrying his son help to accomplish that?” Grim asked, raising an eyebrow.
His father’s cold, grey eyes met his own. “By keeping your head attached to your shoulders,” he said, “Ilyena will do her duty to rectify your mistakes, and we have until my death to resolve the consequences.”
Grim knew the consequences were dire. Ilyena was heir to Bleakridge by Venaran law. Longreen would have total control over the Rills upon the Earl’s death. Many would benefit if that were to happen sooner rather than later.
The Earl spoke in a low voice. “Winning gives you the opportunity to ask for a boon. Should you win, you’ll ask him for Carys’ hand in marriage.”
Grim choked on his own spit. “What?”
The Earl stared levelly at him. “He’ll refuse of course, which will give me a pretext to stall Ilyena’s proceedings.”
“And my head?” Grim asked.
“Will receive a laurel crown, as the Marshal’s champion this year,” he answered. “Hard to justify beheading you then.”
Grim was quiet a moment. “I need to go make final arrangements for this challenge then,” he said.
The Earl simply nodded, watching Grim as he set off in pursuit of Brian. He found the young man by the drink table, chatting amicably with Ilyena.
“-are some scholars in Venar who think the cataclysm was planned as a last resort to end the dominion of the Empire, and caution the growth of Venar to similar ends,” Brian said, buzzing with excitement.
Ilyena actually seemed interested in what he was saying, which surprised Grim. As she was about to speak, he stepped between them. “Brian. It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Ilyena asked.
Grim ignored her, looking to Brian. The boy nodded. “His chambers are our best bet.”
“Lead the way,” Grim said.
Brian led him through the crowded hall past stumbling ladies, drunken lords, and the menagerie of their hangers on crowded around the edges of the hall, awaiting their names to be called by their masters. Grim glanced over his shoulder to see that his sister was right behind them. “Stay here,” he muttered.
She ignored him just as he had ignored her. He supposed that was fair. “Please?” he added.
“No.”
Grim ran his hand through his hair, knowing they both were aware there wasn’t much he could do about that. He sighed and hurried after Brian as they ascended the stairs. Brian couldn’t have looked more suspicious if he tried, shooting furtive glances at the festivities and hunching his shoulders as if trying to appear small. Grim hoped everyone else was too caught up in the moment to notice or care.
Brian led them through the halls and stopped at a corner, peeking around its edge. “Well,” he said, “There’s a guard at his door, but I suppose we tried,” he said, beginning to walk back to the party.
Grim held out a hand to stop him. “You’re joking, right?”
Brian bit his lip and looked over his shoulder. “What do you want us to do? Fight him?”
“One of us could distract him,” Grim said, “no need to jump straight to the headman’s block.”
“I’ll do it,” Ilyena said.
Grim turned his gaze on her. “What’s the catch?”
“You let me in on whatever it is you’re up to.” She answered, crossing her arms.
Brian looked to Grim and shrugged.
Grim quietly filled her in and as he did, her expression brightened. “Oh, I cannot wait to see that,” she said taking off one of her heeled shoes and breaking off the heel.
Grim winced as she broke a shoe that probably cost as much as his entire outfit. He cocked his head at her as she put the broken shoe on and began blinking rapidly. A moment later, tears began to well in her eyes and she started limping around the corner, sniffling as she went.
Grim leaned against the wall and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Similar acts had gotten him in trouble more times than he could count as kids. His sister was a monster.
“Wow,” Brian whispered, watching as she disappeared from sight.
“Be careful. She’ll play you like a fiddle,” Grim said.
“One can hope,” Brian answered.
Grim stared levelly at him and the boy blushed, seeming to have just remembered he was talking to her brother.
They could just barely make out Ilyena begging the man to help her to her room in the opposite wing. There was a long pause before the guard agreed and a moment later the padding of footsteps down the hall, slowly growing more distant.
Grim peeked around the corner, relived to see an empty hall. He turned the corner, walking with purpose. He could hear Brian’s boots lightly clicking against the floorboards behind him. As Grim reached the door, he slowly turned the handle to find it was locked. He cursed, weighing the merits of kicking the door down.
“Wait,” Brian whispered, as Grim rammed his shoulder into the door.
The wood splintered around the lock with what Grim hoped was a very quiet snap, and the door swung inward to reveal a second household guard stumbling to his feet in the foyer, hands reaching for his weapon.
Grim rushed inside, grabbing the man’s sword arm, forcing the half-drawn blade back into its sheath. He kneed the off-balance man in the stomach, keeling him over then grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed it into the end table. The guard’s head bounced off it with a dull thud and he lay motionless on the ground.
Grim knelt and confirmed he was still breathing before looking back to Brian who stared at him slack-jawed and wide eyed. The boy seemed to come-to a moment later and furtively glanced down the hall. He looked back to Grim and shook his head. “Then start looking,” Grim hissed, pushing his way into one of the bedchambers.
The furniture was similar to what was in his own room, and he set himself to emptying drawers on the ground and kicking around their contents, looking for any scraps of parchment. Nothing. He flipped the mattress off the bed, looking between the support boards then scoured every surface. There were a half-dozen examples of bad poetry and a few letters from his home estate but nothing like what Rafe had described. Grim hesitated to spend another moment searching. The guard Ilyena distracted could return at any moment.
Grim strode from the room, to see Brian digging through the contents of the liquor cabinet. “Anything?” he asked.
Brian shook his head, eyes flicking to the door.
Grim nodded. “Let’s go.”
His relief was palpable when he emerged into an empty hallway. Grim had to fight the urge to take off at a run down the corridor and forced himself to walk at a steady pace around the three corners to their personal rooms. Grim fell into one of the sitting chairs, heart pounding as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.
Brian shut the door behind him and whirled on Grim. “Are you mad?”
Grim presented a thin smile. “Maybe. Seemed like the thing to do at the time. Think he got a good look at us?”
Brian fell into the sitting chair next to Grim and hunched over, holding his head in his hands. “I think he’ll be lucky if he gets up again.”
Grim shrugged. Not feeling particularly bad about it. “If the list isn’t in his rooms-”
“He probably has it on him,” Brian finished.
“Fuck,” Grim said.
“Fuck,” Brian agreed.
“Don’t suppose you want me to slam his head into a table?” Grim asked with a grin.
Brian stared daggers at him.
Grim shrugged. “Nothing left to do but play fair and hope for the best I suppose.”
The door to their room creaked open and Grim nearly released a manly squeak. His eyes snapped to the door as Ilyena slipped inside, her affected limp gone. “Well?” she asked.
“How did you know where our room is?” Grim asked.
Ilyena narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer to my question.”
Grim shook his head. “No.”
"Must be on his person,” Brian muttered.
“You two are useless,” Ilyena said. “I’ll get it.”
Grim and Brian exchanged looks as she strode from the room. Grim shrugged and rose to his feet, following in Ilyena’s wake as she led them to the stairs. They passed by the corridor where their attempted burglary had occurred. A small group of guards stood by the broken door discussing amongst themselves. It didn’t seem as if this warranted derailing the Marshal’s party.
A moment later they were back in the main hall, weaving through the celebrations as Ilyena cast her gaze about the crowd. She soon spotted Reginald, a young man near Brian’s age with jet black hair, a heavy brow, and angular face that could almost be called handsome. Grim knew little of him save that House Tarvain was relatively high in the social pecking order of the Venaran houses.
As Ilyena approached the young man, Grim led Brian to a nearby drink table, just within earshot. Grim lifted a goblet of wine and took a long draw, watching Ilyena out the corner of his eye.
“Lord Tarvain, is it not?” Ilyena asked the man, interrupting whatever conversation Reginald was having with his companions.
A peeved look crossed Reginald’s face until he turned to take in Ilyena. His reaction was similar to Brian’s, but with a swifter recovery. He bowed deeply. “I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lady.”
“Ilyena Thorne,” she offered, holding out her hand and allowing him to kiss her ring.
As Reginald rose from his bow, he tapped himself on the head as if remembering something. “But of course. All the court has been telling me the lady of Bleakridge is a sight to behold and, my lady, your beauty does not disappoint.”
Grim snorted into his wine.
Ilyena took the compliment in stride, taking a step closer to him, close enough to touch. “I heard an interesting rumor form Kaitlyn Palmar.”
Reginald gave Ilyena a sly grin. “Did you now?”
Ilyena took a step closer, close enough for her breath to tickle his cheek. “Is it true?”
A stupid grin was spreading across Reginald’s face. “I understood you were spoken for,” he said, evading the question.
“Spoken, but not yet taken,” she said with a wink.
His stupid grin widened. Ilyena, ran a hand along his chest and over the flat of his stomach, eyes drifting lower. “Kaitlyn was very complimentary.”
She stepped closer, putting her lips to his ear as she embraced him with her arms, running them under his opened jacket. Grim couldn’t hear what she was saying, but the look on Reginald’s face spoke volumes.
At last, Ilyena released him. “I look forward to seeing your performance tonight, sir.”
She turned from him and walked to the drink table where Grim and Brian waited. Reginald stared after her in mesmerized bewilderment, his gaze lower than was strictly proper. Grim shook his head.
Ilyena plucked one of the glasses from the table and raised it into the light, swirling the liquid as she inspected it.
Grim spoke, “That was-”
“Impressive,” Brian finished.
Ilyena smiled. “At least somebody appreciated my talents,” she said, pausing to take a drink from the glass. “That’s how the game is played here, dear brother.”
She placed the glass back down on the table and met his gaze. “You say what you have to,” she said, pulling a piece of parchment from the sleeve of her dress, “To get what you need.” She held it out to him.
Grim grasped it to take it from her but she held tight. “You owe me,” she whispered.
He nodded his head in acknowledgement and she released the papers. Grim checked to make sure Reginald wasn’t looking before unfolding them. Just as Rafe had said, it was a list of names followed by questions in a small, tight script. Grim flipped through the pages, looking for his name, but he wasn’t listed.
He frowned, folding the papers.
“Grim,” Brian said with a note of alarm.
Grim followed his gaze to the high-table. The Marshal had risen to his feet with an empty glass in hand, beckoning for a serving girl to fill it.
Brian looked to Grim. “He’s going to toast the start of-”
Grim didn’t hear the rest because he was already in motion, papers in hand. Nobles stumbled out of his way, shooting him dirty looks as he crossed the floor without heed for anyone else. He circled around the table at a brisk walk, knowing that if he set off at a jog a guard would be pinning him to the ground before he knew it.
He was a dozen paces from the Marshal when the man’s glass was filled. As Longreen took a breath to speak to the assembly, Grim called out “Your Grace!”
Longreen hesitated, eyes turning to Grim and looking at him as one would a turd atop a a birthday cake. “What-”
Grim stumbled into a hasty and ill-planned bow before the man, holding out the parchment. “I think this will be of interest to you.”
He could feel the Marshal’s eyes boring into him. Grim hoped he wouldn’t just set the guards on him. The paper was plucked from his fingers. Grim held the bow, not daring to rise until instructed to do so.
A moment later the command came. “Up.”
Grim rose to see the Marshal flipping through the parchment, brow furrowed in evident anger. “Where did you get this?”
“I- uh- I found it in the hallway,” Grim said, cringing at his own answer.
The Marshal looked up from the paper and met his gaze. “You found a copy of the questions I keep locked in the desk of my private study- In the hallway?”
Grim wanted to die. “Yes,” he affirmed, doubling down.
The Marshal stared at him. “Clearly you’re too stupid to be behind this. I now have some business to attend to, but I assure you, we will speak more on this later.”
Longreen strode away from Grim, crumpling the parchment in his fist.