Lorraine's heart thundered against her chest as she slipped into the manor's tunnel system. A dreadful sound ricocheted through the stone pathways, chilling her to the bone. The knock on her chamber door. It wasn't a casual tap, but a steady, unyielding demand.
Her pulse raced, fueled not just by the exhaustion of running but by raw, gnawing fear. She glanced back at Sylvia, trailing close behind. Sylvia's face had gone ashen, her eyes wide with recognition.
"At least now we know the panel is open," Lorraine whispered, her voice quivering. The knock boomed louder than it should have, a clear sign the secret passage lay exposed.
"We need to hurry," Sylvia replied, her tone sharpening into resolve.
Adrenaline flooded their veins as they charged up the narrow stairs, footsteps pounding against the cold stone. Every moment was a lifeline. If Leroy found the tunnel, he'd dig deeper. He'd uncover her secrets, her power, everything she'd fought to hide. As a royal, the punishment for such deception was unforgiving: the gallows awaited her, and with her, every soul who'd ever stood by her side.
Their lives hung in the balance.
Two minutes from the bath chamber, the knocking stopped. Lorraine's stomach dropped. Emma had opened the door. Time was running out.
No. She wouldn't let it end here. This wasn't her fate, not like this. She clawed at her clothes, shedding the commoner's disguise as she climbed. She needed her nightgown, needed to look like she'd been resting.
But as she reached the final step, she stood nearly bare, her skin prickling in the damp chill. She halted at the tunnel's mouth, left ajar by Emma as planned, and through the partition, she glimpsed his shadow. Leroy. His footsteps echoed, slow and deliberate, drawing closer to the bath chamber.
I'm finished.
The thought sank into her like a blade. Caught naked in a secret tunnel by her own husband.
Was this her end?
-----
Emma lingered by the chamber door, her hands shaking as the knocking persisted. She knew that rhythm. Only Sir Aldric dared disturb the Princess during her requested rest, but this wasn't his knock.
This was Leroy's, steady and relentless.
Her knees buckled. The Princess shouldn't have left tonight. Now, they were all doomed.
Mustering what courage she could, she unlatched the tunnel passage, then hurried to the door. She hoped for a miracle, for her Princess to return. She wanted to wait. Loyalty bound her to the lady, but duty forced her to face the master. He did own this place.
She swung the door wide.
Leroy stepped inside, his presence swallowing the room. The Princess had boasted of his height a thousand times, insisting the manor's doorframes rose above seven feet when they'd built it.
Now, Emma saw why. His head grazed the frame, his towering figure easily seven feet tall. Broad shoulders, draped in ceremonial robes, loomed larger still. A golden wolf mask, ears pricked, shrouded his face down to his cheekbones, his eyes lost in shadow.
Magnificent. Terrifying.
He brushed past her, ignoring her entirely, his gaze locked on the bed. The curtains hung closed. With one swift motion, he swept them aside. Empty.
His head turned. His shadowed eyes fixed on Emma. Her body trembled, fear coiling tight around her chest. She'd faced death before, but this was worse, his silence sharper than any blade.
"She's not resting," he said, his voice a low growl, like thunder rumbling over distant hills.
Emma shrank against the wall, her mind blank with panic. Was he asking, or was he stating the obvious? Her breath refused to come.
Leroy's gaze roamed the room, slow and predatory. His steps were leisurely, yet his height devoured the space in moments. He circled the bed area, the room shrinking under his dominance.
He picked the wine jar, full, of course, for their Princess loved her wine. He placed it back. His eyes lingered on the vase that held vyrnshade blossoms—the sweet-smelling flowers the noble class considered a curse because of their poison, but that was the Princess' favorite flower. The flowers didn't interest him for long.
His eyes settled on the partition to the bath chamber.
Emma's heart lurched. The Princess wasn't there. Worse, the secret door stood open, a careless mistake in her haste. Now, it was over.
We're all going to die.
The click of his leather boots against the hardwood floor marked each step like a death knell as he approached the partition. Slowly, he pulled back the curtain.
Emma's legs gave out. She crumpled to the floor, resigned to the inevitable.
Leroy stepped into the bath chamber, his shadow stretching long and dark across the tiles.
There…