Page 167

Sir Reynald de Vaux unfolded the document.

"The conviction of William of Locksley, having been secured through false testimony and the deliberate suppression of evidence, is hereby set aside by authority of the Crown."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Guy's hand tightened around mine.

"The late William of Locksley is restored to his good name. The forfeiture of his estate is declared unlawful and void from the date of its making, and the estate and style of Locksley are to be restored to his lawful heir."

I heard those words.

I understood them.

But I couldn't quite believe they were being spoken.

There was more about the missing money, the accounts, and the names being referred for prosecution.

I barely heard any of it.

My father was innocent.

Officially.

The same Crown that had condemned him was finally acknowledging that he'd been wronged. For six years, I'd heard people call him a traitor.

I'd watched proclamations bearing his name appear in market squares.

I'd lived under a false name because speaking my own could get me arrested.

And now a man standing before a crowded hall had set it all aside with a few sentences.

I expected to cry.

I'd imagined this moment more times than I could count, and in nearly every version, I broke down the instant someone declared my father's innocence.

But when it finally happened, I stood there holding Guy's hand and trying to breathe.

I'd carried the shame and anger for so long that I didn't know what to do without them.

Guy leaned closer.

"Robin?"

I nodded but I couldn't speak yet. He didn't press me. He simply stayed beside me while I gathered myself.

They brought Fitzwalter past us when the proceedings ended. He walked between two guards, dressed in the same expensive clothing he'd always worn.

His chin was raised, and his expression remained composed.

He didn't look like a defeated man.

That was something I suspected people would never understand about Edmund Fitzwalter.

He'd spent so many years believing himself untouchable that even standing in irons hadn't convinced him otherwise.

He stopped when he reached me. "Your father could have lived."

I looked at him. "I know."

"He could have kept his lands, his title, and his daughter. He could have lived a comfortable life."