Kira stood lingering in the quiet rear courtyard, the damp morning fog clinging to her apron. Although Olivia had explicitly commanded her to leave, a nagging thread of anxiety tugged at Kira's conscience; her mistress's tone had been unnervingly sharp, devoid of its usual quiet composure. Fearing the Duchess was simply suffering from one of her lingering dizzy spells, Kira waited.
Half an hour passed. Then an hour. Then two.
No one returned.
Searching the quiet corners of the gardens yielded nothing. Frantic, Kira marched to Olivia's private bedchambers, knocking sharply against the heavy wood—only to be met with dead silence. She even dared to venture toward Duke Mathias's grand study, but the inner sanctuary was equally deserted, his desk cleared for the morning's military march.
Driven by an overwhelming instinct of dread, Kira headed toward the final place her mistress had mentioned: little Edith's nursery.
