The moment Lucrezia crossed the threshold of her chamber, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.
The corridor was colder than she remembered.
A thin draft swept through the narrow passage, slipping beneath the hem of her nightdress and brushing against her bare ankles. The torches mounted along the walls burned with their usual pale flames, casting elongated shadows over the stone floor. Beyond the arched windows, the night stretched over Blackvale in an endless expanse of darkness, the distant mountains swallowed by mist.
It should have been quiet.
At this hour, most of the castle had surrendered to sleep. The servants would have retreated to their quarters, the guards would have taken their positions along the various passages, and the lords who occupied the eastern wing would have long since withdrawn behind their doors.
Yet Lucrezia could hear everything.
