Gillian didn't even wait for them to get ten paces from the study before he exploded, his voice a harsh, furious whisper as he marched down the corridor. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were stark white.
"A kitchen maid," Gillian muttered under his breath, his voice low, barely containing his frustration, as they rounded a corner. He glanced sharply at Zarius, his eyes filled with frustration. "They expect us to believe a maid somehow acquired a highly refined, lethal poison, slipped it into my sister's food or drink, and then miraculously decided to kill herself with common hemlock out of pure guilt? It's a farce, Zarius. A complete and utter farce to save this precious peace treaty."
Zarius kept his expression neutral, though he took in every word, every twitch of Gillian's jaw. "The timing fits together a little too neatly," Zarius agreed quietly. "But in politics, a convenient truth is often more valuable than an inconvenient reality."
