The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(66)
One of the head families was behind it. They had to be. No one else could possibly have benefited from Marisol’s death. And since the weapon of choice was a knife instead of a spell, he doubted the rogue witch was to blame. His mother had assured him that she’d asked the royal magistrate to investigate, and the man had connections throughout the kingdom. Someone would know who was hired to kill the Evrard girl. Those ties would eventually lead back to the family responsible. It was just a matter of time before they figured out the truth.
Kellan was afraid the other girls didn’t have that much time left. If someone was willing to kill one of the betrothal contenders, they were willing to kill more. Taking a contingent of royal guards with him, he’d ridden through the streets of Falaise de la Mer, stopping at each head family’s home, including those without anyone vying for the betrothal, to discuss the murder, additional protection, and his expectations moving forward.
For the families with girls of eligible age, he’d checked on their security protocols and encouraged them to change their habits, their patterns, to throw off any additional attempts at murder. He’d comforted distraught mothers and anxious fathers without once losing sight of the fact that one of those who leaned on him for reassurance might be the person who’d ordered Marisol’s death.
And for every family, both those who were in the running for the throne and those who weren’t, he’d stated in unequivocal terms that when he learned who was behind Marisol’s murder, he would charge them with treason against the crown and ask the magistrate to sentence them to death.
The cathedral in the Gaillard quarter was tolling midnight when he rode up to the Gaillard mansion. He had Gen’s security to see to, and the security of Lord Gaillard’s nieces, and then he’d leave the city proper and head to the farmhouse to check on Jacinthe and Halette.
He frowned. He hadn’t seen any of the Chauveau staff, including guards, when he’d visited the farmhouse just after they’d moved in. Perhaps the guards had remained hidden at their stations across the property, and Kellan simply hadn’t seen them. He certainly hadn’t been looking for them at the time. It would be immensely foolish of Dinah to allow her daughters to be unprotected, and Dinah was anything but foolish.
Still, he decided to make his visit with the Gaillards as quick as he could manage. Looping his horse’s reins over the hitching post at the top of the drive that led past the Gaillards’ front door, he motioned for his guards to remain behind and jogged up the steps. The door opened before he could raise his hand to knock.
The Gaillards’ butler swept into a bow as he backed into the entrance hall to give the prince room to enter. His voice shook as he said, “I will ask my lord and lady to join you in the receiving parlor in the east wing. If you’ll follow me, please.”
There was a palpable hush pervading the house as Kellan followed the butler through the halls. He caught sight of a maid rushing past, her arms full of white sheets, tears on her cheeks, and his throat tightened.
“Genevieve Gaillard,” he said as the butler opened the door to the parlor. “I want to see her too.”
The butler’s lips trembled. “I’m afraid . . . That is, I will ask that her body be prepared for visitors.” He broke off, and looked at the ceiling, his jaw clenched.
“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.”