Under the soft glow of the chandelier suspended above his room, Mervyn paced restlessly before the mirror, anxiety tightening every line of his reflection.
He kept smoothing his hair, then his clothes, then circling again—as if movement alone could quiet the dread clawing at his chest.
A sudden knock shattered the tense silence.
"Come in!" he snapped, voice trembling despite his attempt to sound composed.
Alfie hurried inside and bowed quickly. "Your grace, I've asked everyone. No one knows why Madam Beckett shut herself away or why she's refusing all visitors."
Mervyn clicked his tongue, irritation masking the fear gnawing at him.
"Should I really go and apologize? What if she's already told the Sovereign that I invited the noble partners in secret?!" His voice cracked as he stomped the floor, panic swelling. "I'm doomed—absolutely damned!"
