Page 73

Felix

London.

The words in front of Felix blurred, and he swayed where he sat at his desk.

He snapped straight and rubbed his eyes.

Stay awake . He shook out his frame and settled over what had to be the millionth newspaper article he’d read in the last sennight.

He was trying to find every mention of Sam’s trial he could find.

Sam’s family had done an admirable job burying the fact they’d essentially killed their own kin.

But it had made it into a few publications.

It was difficult to find, not impossible.

He stared down at the current gossip column he was reading— trying to read . He blinked hard, but his bloody eyes were so dry, he couldn’t make out the words.

“You look horrible, brother.”

Felix’s attention lifted to his sister leaning casually against the door frame of his study. “Felicity,” he said, though it was scarcely intelligible, his voice gravelly with disuse as it was.

Her face fell, slim amber brows pinching. “Oh, Fifi. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. You’re pale as a ghost and, gosh, your cheekbones have always been prominent…but tell me you’ve been eating.”

His gaze skittered away. He was…somewhat.

He tried, he really did. But every time he ate anything, his body rebelled.

His insides were twisted so tight with fear and despair, his body refused whatever he put in it.

It never ceased to astonish Felix how mere emotions—something intangible—could have such a detrimental physical impact.

It wasn’t anything he was a stranger to.

He’d felt the crushing weight of panic, the haunting, ever-returning ghost of melancholy.

But it still struck him every time how something so invisible could wreak such havoc.

He blew out a heavy breath. He wouldn’t be able to relax until he found a way to secure Sam a royal pardon.

If Ash submitted the petition, it might carry more weight.

Definitely more than if Sam tried to petition his own case.

But their best option at success was to cast doubt on Sam’s guilt, something Felix had yet to figure out.

Failing that, they’d have to pray the Crown would deem it too harsh to punish a peer.

A thin hope, given how many aristocrats had fled England to escape debts or disgrace.

The Crown didn’t hand out pardons like snuff at a gentleman’s club.

Felicity made a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “Now that I’m here, you’re going to eat something. I’ll force-feed you if I must. But first, I have some news to impart.”

Felix perked up. “How is he?” he asked hoarsely.

Felicity’s gaze swept over Felix. “A hell of a lot better than you.”

A sharp pain rent through Felix’s heart. Oh. Not that he wanted Sam to be struggling. Christ, of course he didn’t. It was just… It was fucking painful to realize he was so much more affected over this.

His sister rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me smack those thoughts right out of your head.

He is struggling just as much as you are, but he’s at least eating and sleeping .

He’s like an automaton at this point, Fifi.

He’s barely treading water with all this estate business, and I think he likes that, because it doesn’t give him a spare bit of time or space of mind to deal with the fact that he’s heartbroken. ”

Felix smiled weakly at his sister. It was difficult to be any semblance of rational right now. His last cup of coffee was still stained down his lawn shirt and waistcoat because he couldn’t even find his mouth at this point.

Felicity perched on the edge of his desk, her lips pinched as she lightly ran her knuckles up and down his cheek. “You’re not taking care of yourself, Fifi. Heavens, you’re gaunt. I’m going to make you eat something, and then you’re going straight to bed.”

Felix was already shaking his head, gaze blurring as he stared unseeing at the pile of newspapers on his desk. “There’s no time. I need to figure this out. I must .”

At least he could keep Sam in the same country as him.

There was a comfort in that. Even if they couldn’t be together, at least he’d still know Sam was here.

Perhaps a rare chance at seeing him at Devonford Castle.

Felix would take it. The smallest piece of Sam was so much better than nothing. And he’d hold on to that.

“Felix,” Felicity said softly. “I come bearing some good news.”

His gaze flicked back to hers, his heart doing an extra hard thump. Christ, he could use some good news. Anything would be—

“Sam has been granted a royal pardon.”

“ What?” Felix screeched, and Felicity flinched, covering her ear closest to him.

“Ouch.” She shot him an accusatory glare, but Felix didn’t care about her bloody ears. He glared right back, and she chuckled.

“His brother, the latest earl, petitioned for one. It was… Well, it was heartbreaking, Fifi. The letter he wrote Sam, the journal entries he wrote about it all, two decades of guilt and self-loathing. He never wanted that fate for Sam, and while I cannot help but still hate him because he was willing to let his own brother hang without a single bloody word, at least he gave Sam this.”

Felix blinked dazedly. He couldn’t imagine how Sam felt receiving this news.

And Felix hadn’t been with Sam, to be there for him through it.

It was gutting. Was it better that his brother cared for him, that his entire family didn’t want him dead?

Or was it worse that his brother stood there silently and did nothing to save him?

“He’s doing all right,” Felicity murmured. “It’s been a lot to process, but Ash is with him. This is a huge boon for us, Fifi.”

Tears pricked at Felix’s eyes, and a knot lodged itself in his throat.

He tried to blink the emotion away, but apparently, he couldn’t.

His eyes, which had been so bloody dry all day, now all of a sudden wouldn’t stop leaking.

This was a formidable obstacle overcome.

With the royal pardon secured, they could begin to chart their way forward.

All this was, was a game of positioning and perception.

And Felix had played it all his life.