The grandfather clock in the corner of Kaia's bedchamber chimed midnight, the sound heavy and final in the quiet room.
Outside her door, she could hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of the two maids Victoria had stationed there. The Watchdog had kept her promise; Kaia was under absolute lockdown.
Kaia stood in the center of the dark room, wearing a sheer, midnight-blue silk nightgown and a matching wrapper. Her bare feet made no sound on the Persian rug as she walked toward the antique mahogany wardrobe.
She reached into the pocket of her discarded lavender day dress and pulled out the heavy, brass key Aeron had slipped into her palm during the card game.
It felt warm to the touch, humming with illicit promise.
Kaia opened the mirrored doors of the wardrobe. The scent of cedar and her own lavender perfume wafted out. She pushed aside the heavy winter cloaks hanging on the brass rail, revealing the solid wooden back panel of the armoire.
