Cedric
Martin was the first person they let through the heavy door.
He looked smaller somehow, standing on the other side of the bars with his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. For a long time neither of us spoke. The silence between us felt heavier than the stone walls.
Finally he cleared his throat.
“It was Lia,” he said quietly. “She’s the one who reported that the princess was at your place.”
The words landed like a fist to the chest.
I stared at him, waiting for the sentence to rearrange itself into something that made sense. It didn’t.
“Lia?” My voice came out rougher than I expected.
Martin nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “She saw the dress that night. She put it together, and she went to the palace. I want you to forgive her, Cedric… but she did it. She’s been cryin
