He just came out of a fitting for a new black attire to wear to the funeral when one of his attendants approached with a letter for him.
He took it and thanked the young man, tucking it under his coat.
It was nigh evening. The skies were overcast with gray clouds that hinted of a heavy rain. He welcomed the rain, if anything. There had been too much sunshine in the past days.
If his instructions were being followed, Lady Stenly would already be on her way to the Malrick mansion.
And he should be on his way as well.
Yeren had cleared every single important parchment out of his study. Even his poems had been taken.
And he had hidden them in the one place no one would ever dare to look.
Behind the removable stones in his hearth. He had removed the stones himself and stacked the letters inside the crevices. Then he sealed them back.
His hands had been covered with soot by the time he was done.
And no one knew about it.
