Luke stood up, a courteous smile stretched across his face—warm, unthreatening, but clearly crafted to create a good impression.
His robe fluttered slightly as he adjusted it and raised his hands in a calming gesture.
"We shouldn't be fighting," he said, his voice light, amiable. "Ladies, gentlemen—we've gathered here for a greater cause. The Yellow Anchor Stone. The dungeon. That's where our minds should be."
His words were sincere on the surface, and seemed like plea for unity. But those seated around the table understood the undertone immediately.
After all nobles always spoke in a manner that hid intentions.
Luke was not of noble blood. His seat at this gathering was only made possible by marriage. If it had been William who said these words, they would've been received as the natural voice of leadership. But Luke? Speaking now was akin to stepping out of line.
And worse still, it seemed he was defending Jan.
