For a long, frozen moment, Owain stood perfectly still in the courtyard of Lothian Manor. His face was a carefully blank mask as he struggled to process the unbelievable news that Sir Gilander had just delivered.
In the courtyard, the winter wind picked up, scattering the pea-sized hail across the flagstones with a sound like demonic claws scraping against the walls, or something colder still. The grey afternoon skies hung low over the manor, casting a pale light over everything that leached color from the world and made everything seem faded and dull.
'Ashlynn' is dead, Owain thought, and had to fight to stop himself from smiling at the news.
For months now, ever since that disastrous wedding night when he'd discovered the mark of the witch on his bride's hip and beaten her to death in his fury, he and his father had been planning how to announce Ashlynn's death.
