Page 63 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Before I can respond, he adds, “You go on and head to Elvarstyne Keep first.”

I frown. “Where are you going?”

“I have business to conclude here at the palace. Council matters regarding the investigation, reports, and correspondence. It’s nothing that requires you standing around.” He’s already turning toward the palace entrance. “You’ve earned rest after the past few days.”

“I’ll wait.”

“There’s no need,” he dismisses. “I’ll be surrounded by Valorian knights in my own headquarters, the safest place in Aelfheim.”

Something about this feels wrong, but I can’t name what.

“When will you be back?”

“Once I’ve finished. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks away, putting distance between us with each step.

“Garrett—”

“Goodnight, Wolf.”

He doesn’t look back. His red cloak swirls behind him as he disappears into the palace.

I stand there holding my horse’s reins, watching him disappear into the palace. Something is wrong and my heart is screaming at me to follow him. This goes beyond missing knights and dead ends.

But he dismissed me. I’m his guard, not his keeper. I should respect his obvious desire for space.

I make my way to Elvarstyne Keep. Inside, everything feels muted compared to the palace. Evening servants move through the house lighting lamps. I take the familiar route to Garrett’s room. His door is unlocked. I push it open to find his quarters exactly as he left them. Everything is perfectly arranged.

I don’t go to my room immediately. I cross to his bed and sit on the edge. It gives slightly under my weight. I unlace my boots and set them aside, then stretch out on top of the covers.

Ornate molding decorates the ceiling above me. I stare at the patterns and try not to think about what went wrong.

Garrett is hiding something. Whatever it is, it’s eating at him from the inside out. I saw it in his eyes during the ride back. He couldn’t quite meet my gaze.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

I sit up. It’s late for visitors at the Keep. My hand moves instinctively to the knife at my belt as I cross to the door. The knock comes again, softer this time. Hesitant.

I pull the door open.

Three figures stand in the hallway.

It’s Lady Clayborne, flanked by two handmaidens. They are all carrying covered dishes that smell of roasted meat and herbs. The handmaidens are young, dark-haired, dressed in the simple gray uniforms of house staff. Lady Clayborne wears a deep blue gown that hangs loose on her thin frame. She looks frailer than I remember, her face pale against the lamplight.

All three of them freeze when they see me.

The handmaiden on the left takes an involuntary step back. Her eyes go wide, fixed on my mask. The other makes a small sound in her throat, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. The covered dish in her hands trembles.

Lady Clayborne goes still as marble. The color drains from her already pale face. For a moment I think she might faint.

“My apologies,” she says, her voice barely steady. “We were bringing Garrett his favorite meal. Roasted lamb with rosemary and honey glaze. He always asks for it when he returns to the keep.”

Her eyes dart to the room behind me, searching for her son.

“Commander Clayborne had business at the palace,” I say, keeping my voice level. Unthreatening. “He sent me ahead.”

The lie comes easily. Better than explaining that I don’t know what Garrett is doing or why he dismissed me so coldly at the stables.

“Oh.” Lady Clayborne’s hands tighten on the dish she carries. “Of course. We’ll... We’ll just leave this in the kitchens then.”