I Got Married To My Killer

CHAPTER 21

"How could he?" she muttered, pacing the room. "How dare he?"

Her mind raced back to Robert's words. "I saw you fight for your life." The way he looked at her like he saw through her unnerved her. She should have controlled her reaction better. Now, Robert knew something was wrong, and that made him dangerous.

A sharp pain struck her head, and suddenly, the voice returned. Deep. Overpowering.

"You're slipping, Grace."

"No," she whispered, gripping the edge of a table. "Leave me alone."

"You think you can just run from the truth? You think you can keep everything hidden forever?"

She clenched her teeth, pressing her fingers against her temples. "Enough!"

The voice faded, but the weight in her chest didn't. She needed to regain control of herself, of the situation, of Robert. But right now, she didn't know how.

Robert stood outside the palace, fists clenched. His thoughts spun in a storm. He had expected Prince Quicke to react defensively, but not with such fury, not with that kind of desperation. He was hiding something, the look in Prince Quicke's eyes, it wasn't just anger. It was fear.

His hand instinctively went to his pocket, feeling the small docket the waiter had given him. He knew he needed to get to the tea house immediately.

Robert rode through the quiet streets, his cloak billowing behind him as he kept his hood low. The kingdom of Alasgacar was a land of towering walls, watchful eyes, and whispers carried by the wind.

The tea house was quieter than usual when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation dampened by the weight of the hour. The same waiter from before spotted him instantly and, without a word, led him to a secluded corner. A single candle flickered between them, casting uneasy shadows against the wooden walls.

"The order came in," the waiter said in a hushed tone. "Bread and lemon sauce. You were right, he's here."

Robert leaned in. "Where?"

The waiter hesitated, then jerked his chin toward a dimly lit corridor at the back. "He never meets anyone directly. But if you wait long enough, he might come to you."

Robert exhaled. He had been waiting for days, piecing together fragments of clues, watching Prince Quicke from a distance, questioning everything he thought he knew. Now, he was one step closer.

He settled into his seat, scanning the room. Minutes passed. The smell of spiced tea and burning wood lingered, mixing with the faint scent of rain from outside. Then, a figure emerged from the corridor.

Matthew Sterrn was nothing like Robert had imagined. He wasn't towering or ominous, yet there was a quiet, deliberate way he carried himself that set him apart. His face was partially shadowed by the flickering light, his dark eyes sharp as they settled on Robert.

"You've been looking for me," Matthew said, sliding into the seat opposite him. His voice was smooth, almost amused.

Robert tensed but kept his expression neutral. "I have questions."

"I assumed as much," Matthew said, pouring himself a cup of tea. "But the real question is, do you even know what you're looking for?"

Robert clenched his fists under the table. "I know enough."

Matthew smirked. "Doubtful."

For a long moment, neither spoke. The tension between them was thick, unspoken challenges hanging in the air. Finally, Matthew took a sip of his tea and leaned forward.

"There are many ways to seek the truth, Commander," he murmured. "But you're walking a dangerous path. The question is ,do you want answers, or do you just want to confirm your suspicions?"

Robert's jaw tightened. "I want the truth."

Matthew tilted his head as if measuring his words. "Then start with the past."

Robert frowned. "What past?"

Matthew's smile was cryptic. "The one buried beneath the lies you've been told."

Robert's patience was thinning. He wasn't here for riddles. "If you have something to say, say it."

Matthew tapped his fingers against the table, his expression unreadable. "You've seen something, haven't you? Something you weren't supposed to."

Robert's breath hitched, but he didn't answer.

Matthew leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're looking at the wrong person, Commander. It's not about who they are now, it's about who they were before."

The words sent a cold chill down Robert's spine. His mind raced. Before?

Before what?

Before who?

Matthew didn't wait for a response. He stood, adjusting his cloak. "You won't find what you seek in the present. If you truly want to understand, look deeper. Look into the past of Prince Quicke. Look into the past of Grace Johnson."

Robert froze.

Grace Johnson.

That name he had heard it before. But where?

Matthew gave him one last glance before turning to leave. "I've done my part. The rest is up to you."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.

Robert sat still, his mind spinning. Who was Grace Johnson? And why did the name make his blood run cold?