The Bride's Chosen Hands
Janelle's Pov
I spent the rest of that day trying to remember every person who had come near my boots.
It was a short list, and that made it worse. Mara had sat beside me for hours. Hesta had tossed me the water skins. The scarred guard had ridden behind our carriage all morning. Corin had passed the wagon three times, and any servant could have brushed against me while I knelt at the pool and left my boots on the bank. I had been so lost in the prince's voice that I would not have noticed a thief if she had sat in my lap.
The note was gone, and with it the only proof that the prince had ever tried to help me. I told myself it did not matter. I had every word memorized. But the part of me that had grown up in the silver room, where a missing spoon meant a beating, knew better. Somebody now held the prince's handwriting in their hand, and they could use it however they pleased.
We crossed the border at dusk.
