I jolt awake.Hard as hell and completely alone.
The room is black. Nothing but the ragged sound of my own breathing cutting through the silence. My body still hums with the ghost of her. I drag a hand down my face, trying to shake her loose.
Fuck.
This isn't good.
TWENTY-FIVE
KEIRA
Istep into the garden just after dawn, trailing my fingers along the lavender stalks as I walk the same path as yesterday and the day before. Supervised walks in the garden have been deemed one of my preferred activities by my dear husband.
He thinks he's being kind, but it's the same as letting a bird flap its wings in a cage.
I scan the perimeter without turning my head. Guards at their posts, predictable as clocks by now. The only thing that's still unusual is my masked shadow—the only guard who seems to be assigned to me.
He doesn't necessarily follow me around, but he's always there. Even now, standing in a spot where he can easily watch me move through the garden paths.
He's still wearing that damn mask, and it's not that abnormal—some of the guards choose to stay anonymous—but most of them eventually give it up for comfort.
Not this one.
He's different from the others. The way he watches without the sliding, oily quality of everyone else.
The way he watchesme.
It's like he enjoys it. Or maybe he secretly hates women and wants to build a case for Ewan to finally get rid of me.
Then why does my skin prickle whenever he's near?
I should keep walking. Finish my loop, go back inside, and eat breakfast I won't taste. Smile at staff who won't meet my eyes.
Instead, I turn and walk toward him.
His posture doesn't change as I approach, stopping a few feet away.
"You're in a different spot again today."
"Rotation, madame." His French accent is faint, but unmistakable.
"Funny…you're the only one with a different rotation every day."
He doesn't look at me or offer anything else.
"What's your name?"
"Henri."
Direct. To the point. Expected.
"How are you liking being here?"
His jaw shifts beneath the mask, but he doesn't answer.
Whatever. I've dealt with worse than a man who won't entertain basic small talk.
I turn away, moving deeper into the garden where the path narrows and the hedges grow tall enough to block the wind. My fingers find a sprig of rosemary, crushing it between my thumb and forefinger.
