The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(67)
“Her body . . .” Kellan sagged against the doorframe.
Lord Gaillard entered the parlor from the opposite end, his face flushed, his eyes full of tearstained fury. “My daughter. My beautiful Gen.” He choked on a sob and then gestured wildly, his voice rising. “What is being done about this? I demand justice. I’ll run the coward through with my own sword.” He looked around as if vaguely surprised to find himself clad in his nightclothes with no weapon in sight.
“Lord Gaillard.” Kellan moved into the room, trying hard to look as if he knew how to handle the entire situation.
Of all the girls in the betrothal race, she’d been the one who felt most like a true friend. The thought that someone could snuff out her life for a chance at the throne was sickening.
“Who did this?” Lord Gaillard’s voice shook. “Who killed my daughter? My beloved Gen.” He lingered over Gen’s name, and then collapsed on the sofa, his entire body shaking.
“I’ll find Lady Gaillard for you,” the butler said softly from the doorway behind Kellan.
“No.” Kellan cast the man a quick glance, and then returned his focus to Gen’s father. “Let her be. I don’t wish to intrude on her grief.”
Kneeling beside Lord Gaillard, Kellan said, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” The words weighed an entire kingdom, but they were still far too small. Gen—sweet, smiling, exuberant Gen—was gone. It was impossible to imagine the world without her, and Kellan couldn’t bring himself to try. How was he ever going to be able to look Alexander in the eyes again knowing the betrothal season had cost his friend the girl he loved? Grief settled into his heart, sharp and raw, and he blinked as tears stung his eyes.
“I don’t want sorry.” Lord Gaillard’s gaze was fiery. “I want justice. Which family did this? I’m betting on the Roches or the Marcels. Whichever one it is, they owe us a blood debt, and I will be paid in full.”
Kellan drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. “I want to personally assure you that our royal magistrate is on the case, and it won’t be long before we know who was responsible for this heinous crime. They’ll be charged with treason and punished accordingly. An attack against any girl seeking the betrothal will be treated as an attack against the crown. Someone will hang for this.”
Misery banked the fire in the older man’s eyes, and he reached for Kellan’s shoulder. “She was a good girl. Kind and smart and strong.”
“Yes, she was,” Kellan whispered, his own grief aching in his chest. “There are no words for the depths of my anger and horror over this. You have my promise that the crown will pursue her killer until he or she is caught.”
He sent guards to check on the Gaillards’ nieces, and waited with Lord Gaillard until he had confirmation that the girls were safe and protected. Then he took his leave, mounted his horse, and turned toward the west, where the Chauveaus and Blue waited.
Blue. Would she be protected by the Chauveaus’ guards too? Living under the same roof as Jacinthe and Halette might put her in danger. He couldn’t trust that whoever was trying to take out eligible girls hadn’t issued orders to wipe out every girl of marriageable age within each household.
Worry buzzed through him, and he nudged his horse into a canter. The hoofbeats of his guards’ horses clattered against the cobblestones behind him as he sped through the Gaillard quarter, out the western gate, and down the winding dirt road that lead to the de la Cours’ house. As if to reinforce his fears, the bells along the road began clamoring, and Kellan could swear he heard a faint wail rising above them, like a trapped beast keening for its freedom.
Setting his jaw, he ignored the bells and nudged his horse to move faster. He didn’t have time to worry about a caged monster. He had a human monster on the loose killing his friends.
When he reached the farmhouse gate, he pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted in one fluid motion. Tossing the reins to one of his guards, he wrenched opened the gate and ran toward the front door.
He couldn’t see any obvious guards in the vicinity, and the worry in his gut blossomed into full-blown fear. There was no way a guard could’ve identified Kellan as the prince with nothing but faint starlight to illuminate the darkness. Anyone protecting the Chauveaus should’ve stopped him by now, weapon out, demanding an explanation for his presence.
Was he already too late? Had a killer been here sometime between the royal messenger and his own arrival?
He vaulted up the steps and then froze, his heart slamming against his throat.
A body was lying on the far end of the porch, its back to the wall, a huge lump of a cat sitting on it and glaring at Kellan out of its one good eye.
“Oh no,” Kellan breathed as he forced himself to move forward on legs that felt suddenly unsteady.
He was too late. He should’ve come here first, even though it was the farthest distance from the castle. He’d made a grave mistake, and the inhabitants of the farmhouse had paid the price.
The cat meowed as he approached, and Kellan sank to his knees, the grief that had taken root in his heart for Gen spilling over until his entire body ached with the pain of losing Blue.
It had to be Blue. Her cat wouldn’t guard anyone else.
Reaching out, he brushed her cloak back and pressed his hand to her cheek.
Her eyes flew open, and she sat up, sending the cat thudding to the porch beside Kellan. He swore and nearly fell over in surprise.