Page 164 of Queen of Sherwood

If only they knew that the real criminal was stooped within their midst, watching with them.

Robert stood next to me, jaw clamped in anger. I knew he wanted to act out—to pull the same maneuver we’d done all those months ago.

He had started to fall for Maid Marian, shortly before she’d been ripped away from him.

I recalled a conversation I’d had with Marian the night before we left on our fateful mission to take down Sheriff George. After seeing how she and Robert communicated in the command tent, I bristled and charged into Marian’s tent.

“Just what are your intentions with my brother, woman?” I’d demanded to know.

She had stared at me with that haughty smirk that rankled me so badly. For a time, she’d said nothing.

“What’s your game here, succubus?” I’d pressed. “Is this to further slap me in the face? Take my estate, take my father, my brother—take everything?”

Marian had answered calmly. “Not everything is about you, little Robin bird. Maybe I actually fancy him?”

“Don’t play games with me, bitch!”

Then she had shot me a smirk that had become synonymous with her: a slightly tilted head, a tight, pointed jawline, and the hint of a curl at the edge of her ruby-red lips.

“Like father . . . like son, I suppose?”

I had gasped in shock. It was a wicked thing to say, and, looking back at it, I thanked Marian for it.

It made me stronger. More resistant than ever. Showed me that I could protect the men I loved, but even one closest to me like my brother had to make his own decisions. I hoped he would see through her deceit and not fall for the wicked swindler.

It had made it so easy to barge into her tent later that night, once the mission had ended and the truth came to light. It had made her state even more shocking, since mere hours after her pompous explanation to me, she had seemed like a completely broken creature.

She realized her actions had ended in a beloved man’s death, and if the truth got out of her duplicity, no one in camp would ever forgive her. Even the orphans.

Uncle Gregory was irreplaceable.

I never did tell the orphans what happened. Didn’t tell anyone, really—they could make up their own minds regarding the legend of Maid Marian.

Now, it was a different day. A new day. One where the chapter of the Merry Men was closing—in all eyes of the citizenry—and we were expected to move forward as a shell of our former selves.

Our leader was dying today, after all, right?

When the hangman led Marian up to the gallows, she was frail and hunched. She had spent a month in the worst prison in Nottingham, undoubtedly experiencing torture that even me or John had never felt.

A ragged sense of remorse and guilt flooded through me when I laid eyes on her tired face and broken body. She limped, and her usually curly hair was in flat tangles around her head.

For all they said about her, she looked like a crone, aged thirty years in a month due to not having access to her potions and oils that kept her looking forever young in the past.

I took Robert’s hand and squeezed.

His body seemed to deflate when he saw her.

He hadn’t been able to resist Marian’s charms, and now the repercussions were hitting him square in the chest. I felt for my brother, I truly did.

No one should be forced to watch the death of someone they fancy, and envisioned a future with.

“Stay strong, brother,” I told him in a whisper.

I wasn’t sure if my words rose above the din of jeering and shouting from the crowd. It was ear-splitting, and before long the vegetables came out, tossed onto the gallows at the Whore Queen.

Tears burned in my eyes.

Marian may have caused us distress and heartache . . . but no one deserves this. It’s because of me she’s here at all.

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