“We are not outlaws!” Wendenal bellowed, silencing the room again. “Not one of us, not you or I or the King himself, holds the reins to justice. If you think you should be able to kill whomsoever you please, go join Robin Hood. But if you claim to be true men of the Guard, you commit yourself to something better. To behaving as men rather than beasts. That is your choice. Kyle Morgan, I do not discount your years of honorable service. But you made your own choices today, and you must live by them.”

Nothing was left where Morg stood, just meat. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Wendenal sighed. “That may rank as the most useless thing I’ve ever heard a man say. Take him to a cell.”

But nobody moved, and Guy felt a curious wave of pride. Morg was one of their own, the beloved bear of the Nottingham Guard. They knew his heart had been in the right place, that he was trying to defend them all. And, perhaps more importantly, Guy could now count the exact number of his men who felt the same as he did, who refused to jump at Wendenal’s every command. He committed to memory those who watched the new sheriff’s priorities with disbelief. If he was lucky, he was looking at the future members of the Black Guard.

Wendenal eyed the room, perhaps realizing his lack of support. But there was a humanity in his face Guy hadn’t expected, and his tone softened. “I don’t take any pleasure in this. But we must hold ourselves to the highest of standards. Are there men here from Derbyshire?”

A small cluster of men near the back of the room stood, dark green sashes across their chests. “We are, your lordship.”

Wendenal gave a terse nod, his eyes flickering back and forth before speaking. “I submit this man to your custody, please take him to our prisons, which I also now place entirely in your control.”

Derbymen. Wendenal now had his own loyal regiment, giving him control of a part of Nottingham Castle. There was nothing right about this.

Guy took a step closer and Wendenal threw him a wild-eyed warning, but he could not let this go unsaid. He approached cautiously to whisper in Wendenal’s ear. “It will be dangerous for him down there, Sheriff.” The title tasted like bile, but Morg’s life was worth it. “He’ll be a target for the other prisoners.”

Wendenal nodded. “Be sure he gets his own cell,” he called out, “and keep him isolated from the others. Remove his tabard.”

“Lord Wendenal,” the lead man from Derby bowed, “we’ve served your father before. You can count on us.”