Whatever waited behind the door to his study, she would meet it head-on.
Perhaps it had been easier said than done. Because now that she was standing before his study, the torch trembled in her hand.
With a sigh, she stared at the heavy oak door that was the only barrier left between her and the truth. Just a little more courage, and she would get her answers.
She just needed one knock. One breath. One truth.
Still, her feet were rooted to the floor. The confidence she had so carefully gathered moments ago fractured without warning.
What am I even doing? What am I going to ask him?
Her heart pounded harder, not with courage, but with doubt.
This is what ye wanted, she told herself, panic creeping in.Yewanted him to notice. Ye wanted him to look at ye, to feel something. Ye pushed, teased, tempted…
Her fingers curled tighter around the torch.
So why does it feel like this? Why does it hurt so much?
What were ye expecting him to say? That one night was love? That he would choose ye over everything else?
The thoughts rushed, wicked and relentless, chasing her impulsiveness.
Slowly, her shoulders sagged. Until the last bit of her confidence evaporated. She was left with one realization: she could not force him to love her.
With that, she turned away from the door and went back the way she had come.
Her steps were heavier this time, far less daring. Finally, she arrived at her chamber, slipped inside, and closed the door behind her.
The latch clicked softly. But the moment she sagged against the wood and released the breath she had been holding, she heard something else. It was a loud thud that shattered the silence in the room.
She gasped, her hands flying to her chest. Her heart leapt into her throat.
What was that?
The sound had come from inside her room. It was too close. Too sudden. And it was followed by a rush of cold air from the window.
Instantly, her eyes flicked to the wooden shutters. They were open wide. As if someone had just pushed them.
“Nay!” Her voice broke.
She rushed forward, her skirts tangling around her legs. Once she reached the window, she leaned out, panting. She looked down at the courtyard, her eyes narrowing. And that was when she spotted a figure.
Tall. Masculine. Dressed from head to toe in black. His cloak, his hat, all of it was swallowed by the dark. He moved swiftly, like a trained assassin, disappearing into the shadows before she could cry out.
Fear wrapped around her spine like ice. She bit back a scream, her whole body shaking as truth crashed down on her.
Someone had been here. In her room. At the exact moment she had stepped out into the corridor. The timing wasn’t a coincidence.
“Someone… someone is watching me,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.
Who could it be? Why her?
What was she supposed to do now?
Morning dawned with its soft light, but it didn’t comfort her in the slightest.
She had not hesitated to inform Rhea and Avery of what had happened the previous night. Now, they were pacing through her chambers like self-appointed constables, pointing at windows, questioning servants, arguing over theories as though it were some grand puzzle.
