I look at Bethany, whose chin is down to her chest, her face pale white and from what I can see, completely miserable.
An accusation of murder is a serious one. Perhaps not so much around here, where whippings and poison seem to be par for the course. But back home where I’m from, people generally don’t go around so flippantly with their hatreds and murderous intent.
Leah might hate me, might punish me to the extremes sometimes, but I never feared for my life at my homestead. To her and my parents, I remained a valuable servant, despite the shame I brought to the household.
Here, within these walls, I’ve already been nearly killed so many times that I’m starting to lose track. Here, my life doesn’t feel like my own. The King owes my person now, at least my body. My heart, mind, and spi
