Lady Greenmeadow was dead. Le margrave du Port was being held in the North Tower for her murder. The prime minister, devastated at the loss of his niece, had locked himself in his room in the palace, refusing all sustenance except for wine. Red wine. Lots of it. The entire Court was rocked by the scandal. It was all anybody could talk about. Why had he done it? While the thick-necked margrave protested his innocence, nobody believed him. There was no doubt about it. He would hang.
Pirouette had taken the news with horror. She’d never liked Lady Greenmeadow. In fact, in many ways she considered her ladyship to be her nemesis. Nevertheless, she would never wish such a fate on anyone. She would pray for the peaceful repose of the victim’s immortal soul. In truth, she found the margrave’s guilt hard to swallow and she couldn’t help but wonder if someone very close to herself was actually the culprit.