"You murdered your own father, and I, I was the one who bought the poison for you to do it!"
Hugo's statement rang through the Great Hall like the call of a huntsman's horn. Several knights, young and old, jumped to their feet, fury burning in their eyes. A few were men who had fought with Bors during the war of inches, but most were young enough to have grown up in the shadow of his legacy, men who had hoped they would soon follow Lord Owain the way their fathers had followed Lord Bors.
The sense of betrayal at the notion their former lord had been poisoned struck at their heart like a knife and the idea that Lord Owain had done it twisted the knife even deeper.
Elsewhere in the great hall, goblets of wine dripped from hands gone numb. Poison? It was impossible that someone had tried to poison the wine here, right before a wedding feast, yet as impossible as it was, something dark and frightened at the back of their minds wouldn't allow them to touch the wine again.
