Aurora had not truly thought about what she would say to Bathsheba once she laid eyes on her—she could only stand there, silently staring. If she waited any longer, she feared she might break down entirely.
"Aurora, my dear," Bathsheba said softly, rising to her feet at the sight of her.
"You should not have come. I was going to come to you."
"Would it have made any difference?" Aurora asked, her gaze steady and unwavering. Bathsheba looked away, her eyes falling with what seemed to be shame.
"It is not as you think," she said, her voice low. "Let me explain. You know—"
"I don't know, Your Highness," Aurora interrupted, her tone trembling despite her effort to hold it steady.
"I thought I did. I thought I knew who killed my mother. I thought I knew who took my friend. I thought I understood who loved me, and who did not. But I was mistaken—about so many things."
