“Have you seen a mirror lately? You’re anything but a young girl. Don’t be boring by speaking like one.”

“My, don’t you know how to make a woman feel beautiful.”

“You aren’t beautiful. You have had many years to come to terms with that. Would you respect me if I pretended otherwise?”

“Respect? A deposed sheriff, a victim of his own inaction, whining away his last few hours in office? Respect was never exactly on the table.”

But still she didn’t leave, nor had either looked away. Roger’s heart was pounding. Beneath the chill, he was on fire.

“What would you propose?”

“If you need me to tell you, then don’t bother.” Margery tilted her head. “But for now, I’m the only person who knows about this letter, yes? How long do you think that will last?”

“Only until tomorrow, no doubt.”

“Tomorrow.” She relished the word, she held it in her mouth the same way she had held the wine. “I may only be an ignorant woman, but I’m fairly certain there are still a few hours between now and then. Do you know that tonight is All Saints’ Eve? Tomorrow is for saints. Tonight…” she let it linger, and cracked the door to leave.

He glanced at the window, darkness devouring the sky.

“Someone once told me that Sheriff Roger de Lacy was nothing short of brilliant. I wonder how much he could accomplish if he didn’t have to worry about keeping his office?” She closed the door behind her, pausing just a breath. “That would be a man I could … respect.”

Damn it all.

Roger looked up at the pompous painting of himself, of the man he had been when he came to this office. A man who believed in reason, and its ability to promote peace. Some sort of damned idealist, who would slowly watch his standards slip away like a rider in the fog. Soon the same flamboyant painter who had made this atrocity would be creating the portrait of Sheriff Guy of Gisbourne. He would be effective, certainly, with his lies and alliances. His passion for justice was a fanaticism, and he would exercise it at the expense of every common man that Gisbourne didn’t find personally useful. He held no care for the people, nor the rules that kept them safe.

Ironically, that care was why Roger had failed. He had spent the last two years slowly trying to change the rules for the better. But Margery was right. There were still a few hours left to outright break them instead.