Chapter 120: Something Tells Me That She Is Innocent
Morgana wrapped her arms around herself and cried harder, the bread clutched in her hand, the cold stone of the dungeon pressing into her back.
She cried for the injustice of it.
She cried for the helplessness she felt.
She cried for the fact that even with Rowan’s love and loyalty, even with her friend’s desperate belief in her innocence, she was still trapped in a dungeon with no way out and no one with the power to help her.
She cried until her tears ran dry.
And then, finally, she lay down on the cold stone floor, pulled her thin cloak around herself, and waited for dawn.
***
*THE TEA ROOM*
The palace tea room was one of the most luxurious spaces in the entire fortress.
It was designed to be a refuge for nobility, a place where the upper echelons of society could retreat from the demands of court life and simply exist in comfort and beauty. The walls were painted a soft cream color, with delicate gold leaf detailing around the ceiling. Large windows looked out over the palace gardens, allowing soft afternoon light to filter through silk curtains that had been dyed in shades of pale rose and gold.
A massive tea service sat on a side table...fine porcelain in patterns that had been hand-painted by artisans, silver pots for hot water and milk, delicate cups that cost more than a servant’s yearly wages.
It was a room that existed in another world entirely from the dungeons beneath the palace.
On this particular morning, the tea room was occupied by five young women.
Lady Isolde sat with the upright posture of someone who had been trained from birth in the art of looking powerful. Her pale blue gown was immaculate, her golden hair arranged in an elaborate style with small diamonds woven through the curls. She held her tea cup with practiced elegance, her movements precise and controlled.
Lady Vivienne sat nearby, her dark eyes bright with satisfaction. She was smiling, a genuine smile that spoke of a conspiracy well-executed and an obstacle successfully removed.
Lady Seraphine reclined slightly in her chair, her copper hair catching the light from the windows, her expression one of satisfied calculation. She was already thinking ahead, already calculating what Morgana’s removal would mean for the political landscape of the palace.
Lady Celeste sat quietly, her blonde hair arranged simply, her grey eyes downcast. She was the only one of the conspirators who looked even remotely uncomfortable with what they had done. Her teacup sat in front of her, largely untouched, and there was a faint tension in her shoulders that suggested she was not entirely at peace with recent events.
And then there was Lady Margot.
Margot was older than the others, perhaps thirty years old....a woman of considerable beauty and the daughter of one of the most powerful houses in the kingdom. She wore her wealth with casual elegance, the kind of effortless sophistication that came from knowing that you had never wanted for anything in your life.
She was here because her necklace had been stolen. Or rather, had allegedly been stolen, found planted in a servant girl’s quarters, then returned to her.
The five women had been sitting in the tea room for perhaps twenty minutes, and the conversation had naturally turned to the scandal of the day.
"Can you believe how quickly Mistress Calla moved?" Vivienne was saying, her voice carrying the kind of excited energy that came from witnessing drama unfold. "One moment we’re discussing the inspection, and the next moment the girl is being arrested and dragged away in chains."
"It was quite efficient," Seraphine agreed, her tone carefully measured. "Calla knows how to handle situations like this with appropriate severity."
"The entire palace is talking about nothing else," another maid added, one of the servants who had been hovering at the edges of the group. "Everyone’s saying that the servant girl must have been desperate. That she must have thought she could sell the necklace and escape with the money."
The conversation continued, flowing easily among the young women, each adding her own commentary or observation.
But Margot said very little.
She simply sat with her tea, listening to the others talk, watching them celebrate what had been accomplished.
Finally, Vivienne turned directly to her.
"What do you think of the servant girl who stole your necklace, Lady Margot?" Vivienne asked, her voice carrying the kind of excited energy that suggested she expected outrage and fury.
Margot set down her tea cup slowly.
She shook her shoulder, a gesture of indifference so casual it was almost dismissive.
"I don’t know," she said simply. "All I know is that at least I’ve gotten my necklace back."
There was a pause.
The words hung in the air with unexpected weight.
Because "I don’t know" was not a statement of certainty. It was a statement of doubt.
Vivienne’s expression faltered slightly. She had expected Margot to say something like: That thieving servant deserves to be executed. Or: I’m outraged that someone of her station would dare to steal from me. Or: She should be punished severely.
But "I don’t know" suggested something very different.
It suggested uncertainty.
It suggested that Margot was not entirely convinced of Morgana’s guilt.
Isolde’s attention, which had been focused on her tea cup, suddenly lifted at those words.
Her pale blue eyes moved to Margot with an expression that shifted from satisfaction to something closer to concern.
"I don’t know why," Margot continued, and her tone became more thoughtful, "but something tells me that she is innocent."
The words fell into the tea room like stones into still water, creating ripples that spread outward in all directions.
Vivienne’s mouth opened slightly, as if she wanted to object.
Seraphine’s expression became more guarded.
Celeste’s eyes widened with something that might have been hope or relief.
And Isolde’s hand tightened around her tea cup.
"Although I do not like that servant," Margot said, seeming to feel compelled to clarify, "I do not know why something tells me that she is innocent."