Chancellor Montaghue
Royal Steward to His Majesty, King Berius
Eirenden Keep, Kingdom of Fendwyr
The words hit her like a blow to the stomach.Presumed dead.
The phrase echoed in her skull, relentless, beating like a drum. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Her breath came shallow, ragged. A cold sweat prickled along her back, dampening the collar of her shirt. She tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper.This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
The ground seemed to tilt beneath her. Her fingers trembled as she reached for anything to hold onto, but her body felt disconnected, untethered. The edges of her vision darkened, the world shrinking, pulling away from her.
A sharp ringing filled her ears. Her stomach twisted violently.
Her knees gave out.
She barely registered the rush of air as she fell, just the distant, detached sensation of the ground rising up to meet her.
Then everything faded to black.
* * *
She came to slowly,the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like a damp wool blanket. A breath shuddered through her lips as she blinked against the blur of light and shadow. Whitewashed beams stretched overhead, their edges slightly warped in her vision. She recognized the powder blue walls, the scent of dried herbs hanging in the air.
Her home.
A quiet ticking filled the silence. Her gaze drifted toward the stone hearth, where a small clock sat on the mantle beside bunches of lavender and rosemary. A deep sink with a rare water pump gleamed in the dim light, its basin empty. Shelves lined the walls, some crammed with dishes and dried goods, others overflowing with books.
Across from her, an armchair sat occupied.
Lewis leaned back, a gardening almanac open in his lap. But he wasn’t reading. His foot tapped anxiously against the floor, his fingers clenched around the book’s cover.
Vivienne exhaled, her temples throbbing as she pushed herself upright.
The movement pulled Lewis’ attention immediately. “Viv,” he breathed, snapping the book shut and setting it aside.
Her gaze flicked to the letter on the dining table. The golden seal gleamed in the low light.
Presumed dead.
Her throat tightened. The words felt foreign, unreal. They pressed against her ribs like an iron weight, suffocating, crushing.
Lewis followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. He had seen the words, too. The cold, impersonal message that unraveled everything.
A hot sting pricked at her eyes.
"They're not coming back," she murmured. It wasn’t a question. Not an earth-shattering revelation. Just a fact.
Lewis rose from his chair, moving toward her with hesitant steps. “Viv…” His voice was barely above a whisper. He reached out to her, but his hands hovered, uncertain if touch would help or make things worse. “I’m so sorry.”
She turned to face him, her expression hollow. “Sorry?” Her voice cracked, sharp and brittle. “Sorry forwhat, Lewis? For them being lost? For them being—” The last word lodged in her throat.
He closed the distance between them, pulling her into a firm embrace.
Vivienne stiffened. Then, the dam inside her burst.
A ragged sob tore from her chest, her fingers clutching desperately at the fabric of his shirt. She pressed her face against his shoulder, her whole body trembling.
