Darcy stood still, his gaze cast downward as the early morning sunlight spread across the training grounds. The faint breeze moved the hem of his uniform, but he barely noticed. Words still echoed in his ears, sharp, accusing words hurled at him by strangers who knew nothing of his life. Rumours? he had heard worse. He was not bothered.
His family situation had always made him prone to gossip. People hated it when someone they deemed 'socially beneath them' succeeded. They could never accept that someone with less money or status might receive more praise, more achievement, and more admiration. So they belittled. They gossiped. They made up reasons for his success.
Darcy had long stopped responding. What good did it do? Let them talk.
He wasn't going to answer them, not because he couldn't prove his innocence, but because they didn't matter. Not really.
At that time, all that was on his mind was, of course, Micah.
