Her wrists were bound with a soft cloth, not tight, but firm.
She sat up slowly, confusion swirling in her chest.
"Where am I…?" she whispered.
There was no answer.
Only silence.
Then the faint echo of footsteps above her.
At the D'Aragon mansion, the halls glowed with candlelight. The celebration had ended, and the guests had all gone home. Only soft footsteps echoed now, as the maids moved through the corridors with hushed voices.
Inside one of the grand chambers, Serphina—disguised as Isadora—stood by the dressing table. Her hair had been brushed to perfection, and her gown had been exchanged for a soft ivory nightdress. She wore a subtle perfume that lingered in the air, floral and faintly sweet.
The maids curtsied to her, their expressions warm.
"My lady, we've prepared everything for the night," one of them said. "You look lovely. The duke will be with you shortly."
"Thank you," Serphina said, offering a small, practiced smile.
The door shut behind them.
