Page 155 of Queen of Sherwood

And now, with a new quality: sadness.

What is this? I wondered. Is she finally showing . . . remorse? Is it because she saw Uncle Gregory’s body being brought through camp, and it finally woke something inside her?

Or maybe she’s tired, too. Tired of being the villain in a story where she thinks she’s doing the right thing.

“I didn’t mean for anyone to die,” Marian eked out, lifting her head a fraction. “I . . . I had to do it. You don’t understand, Robin.”

“I don’t care anymore, Marian.” And that was the truth. When I shrugged my shoulders, staring down at this beautiful, pitiful creature, I felt a severance that would never be reattached. “I don’t need to understand. You’ve betrayed us for the last time.”

Her long lashes flickered, caked with tears. Her red eyes focused on mine, neck craned. “Maybe . . . if you were a mother . . . you’d understand.”

My eyes blew wide. What’s this?

I opened my mouth to retort—

And stopped.

No. Another one of her ploys. Another trick to get me to feel bad for her—to traipse into the world she’s created for herself.

Something inside me told me to let it go. The darkness I expected to take hold when I stepped into this tent . . . to guide my hand toward vengeance like it had done so prolifically in recent times . . . wasn’t there. It nagged at the back of my mind, begging to be unleashed, yet I kept it chained. Somehow.

I realized, perhaps for the first time, that Marian had no one besides herself. She lived this wretched existence, traveling from one camp to another, without loyalty. Now that she showed remorse—if it was even true—it was too little too late. This had been the final straw.

Now, she wasn’t worth the anger begging to be summoned. She wasn’t worth killing, either, or bad-mouthing, or goading.

She wasn’t worth anything.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared down at Maid Marian, letting out a heavy sigh. “You must live with your decisions, Marian. I can no longer help you, and I no longer have the willpower to try. Stay if you wish—the orphans seem to like you. Or go. I don’t care.”

I crouched, wincing on creaking knees, to get to her level. My face was inches from hers, and my voice came out brooding and low. “Just know: You will never matter to anyone else more than you matter to yourself. I can’t save you from your ambition. I can’t fix you.”

The last sentence struck my heart, as I recalled Sir Guy saying those same words to Sheriff George as the bastard lawman tried to rape me.

Guy had stayed by George’s side because he thought he could fix something intrinsically broken inside the Sheriff.

I had done the same thing with Marian, to an extent, thinking I could change her. I realized that now. The folly of it—the heartbreak in Guy’s dark eyes before he plunged his blade through his monstrous friend’s neck.

Ultimately, Guy had died for his allegiance.

Not me, though. I wasn’t going to die for this woman. Enough people already had.

Some people simply didn’t deserve your trust, respect, and loyalty. Those things had to be earned, and once cut off, could never be recovered. Not in my mind, anyway.

Marian sniffled, pouting at me. Her chin trembled and she broke into another wave of tears, burying her face once more.

I stood to my full height and frowned.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have an uncle to bury.”

Chapter 44

Robin

Uncle Gregory’s funeral was a somber affair, as expected. We buried him in the woods next morning, far from camp, to make sure he would never be found, desecrated, or exhumed by evil men.

More than half the camp joined us in the forest. Nearly a hundred people gathered to pay their final respects to the man. Some of them had known him well, and had stories to tell. Others hardly had known him at all, but knew what he meant to the leadership—me, Robert, and Briggs specifically—of the Merry Men-Oak Boys alliance.

I spoke briefly, fighting through an aching heart, with my mates surrounding me in support. Robert went on much longer, telling stories of our childhood, and getting things off his chest that he’d never been able to when Uncle Gregory had been alive.

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