It took a long three-hour ride before we reached the palace's back gate. Sweat plastered hair to our skin, our breaths uneven and raw.
A sharp ache ran through my legs, and I had no doubt both Matilda and the Arabian stallion felt it too.
"Almost there," Matilda said, tugging hard on the reins and urging the horse into a faster pace. Adrenaline still rushed through us, as if we were trapped in the chaos, surrounded by clashing swords and guttural cries.
But more than anything, the hard lines of Richard's face and the intent in his gaze lingered in my mind. Once the King recovered, I had to tell him the truth. The enemy was closer than he thought.
The nightshade had fallen into the wrong hands. There were bad men within the palace walls.
The healer must have been a seer. He knew about my situation. He must have known Melbourne was hiding right under the King's nose.
