HARRY
When my mother was alive, Maxwell had been nothing more than a servant boy. But he had been my friend—my closest friend. Because of that, she had taken an interest in him, bringing him under her wing and helping him join the military.
If there was anyone who loved my mother besides me, it was Maxwell. He couldn't possibly be responsible for her death; he was only twelve years old back then.
Still, I felt my knees buckling, my breath barely escaping my lungs as I stared at him in utter confusion. Maxwell could not be Melbourne.
"Why?" My pained voice rang out across the courtyard.
My feet stayed rooted to the spot, my entire body growing numb. "Why?" I demanded again, biting my lip. Every ounce of my will to fight had completely vanished. The man standing before me as my enemy was the lifelong friend I trusted most.
"Why?" Maxwell chuckled, but I caught the raw pain dancing in his eyes. "You dare to ask me why? When you took everything I ever wanted?"
