He snorts again, still quiet and still not looking at her. He can’t help it, any more than he can help the small stab in his chest at the thought of her needing to clear his name. Like it could ever have been in doubt.

‘Keats is good at this.’

He knew what he was trying to do from the start. He said it to him, didn’t he? ‘Turning them all against me’ - that conversation seems so long ago, now. Back when he was still sure he’d win.

‘An’ you’re not the first person to doubt my good name.’

It comes out more hurt than defiant, though there’s a dash of that too. But he’s too...finished, to sustain it. Turns out there was reason to doubt, wasn’t there?