There was no answer.
I snatched what appeared to be an untouched slice of orange and popped it into my mouth. The sweet and tart taste coursed down my throat as I walked past a chair outfitted with thick velvet cushions. I stopped, letting the memories of sitting in that chair and being held by Claude as he read mail from a neighboring baron engulf me. That had been a habit of ours for a little while. We’d wake and have breakfast in bed, something I’d only heard of people doing before. （The first time we’d done it, I’d been so afraid of getting crumbs on the sheets, but Claude made a far larger mess than I could ever hope to and he laughed while doing so.） Then he’d lead me out to this chair, where we’d spend hours doing nothing much. I remembered feeling . . . safe. Warm. Wanted.
But I never felt like I belonged. Like I was supposed to be there.
Not much had changed since then, but everything felt different.
A knot lodged in my chest as my hand slipped off the chair. Claude had always known that— known how I felt, even if I hadn’t realized it. He knew as he laughed and smiled, as he kissed my lips and my skin. He knew.
And he tried to change that.
It just wasn’t in his heart, and it hadn’t been in mine. But if it had? If Claude had loved me and I’d felt the same? Would I have ended up like Maven, a mistress raising the children that another woman, one deemed suitable by the aristo, claimed as hers? Or would Claude have continued to buck tradition and married me?
I didn’t even know why I was thinking about any of that as I walked past a brightly colored tunic left on the floor. In a way, it felt like I was . . . I was mourning what could never be.
Walking through the rounded archway, I glanced around the bed-chamber. A breeze carried the floral and woodsy scent of the gardenias filling the tall vases positioned along the walls of the circular chamber.
Gardenias were a favorite of Claude’s.
Allyson had been smelling a lot like gardenias.
I focused on the bed seated on a slightly raised platform beneath open windows, a tremor hitting my hands. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth. My steps were light as I stepped onto the platform. Through the rippling fabric, I could make out only lumps.
My heart began to pound as I reached forward, parting the curtains.
The bed was empty.
Letting the curtains fall into place, I stepped off the platform and went to the bathing chamber. That too was empty, and didn’t appear to have been used that morning. If so, there would’ve been towels scattered about and puddles of water. Claude was messier than me.
I turned back to the bed, that dread increasing. A cool finger pressed against the nape of my neck. A tingling pressure settled between my shoulder blades.
Something isn’t right.
I took a step and it happened. Without warning, my skin prickled all over. Pressure settled between my shoulder blades as the skin behind my left ear tingled. Claude’s chamber fell away and I saw blood.
Pools of blood. Rivers of it streaming between still limbs, seeping into gold veining. Bare arms with deep gouges. So many of them, their mouths gaping open in frozen, silent horror. Brocade and jewel-encrusted masks torn, strewn across the floor. Silver and sapphire drenched in blood.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I stumbled back, bumping into the wall. I’d . . . I’d seen death.
CHAPTER 32
The vision warned of death, and the masks? The glittery jewels and gowns? The Feasts. Something terrible— something horrible was going to happen during the Feasts. I jerked forward, then halted.
Silver and sapphire.
I’d seen a sapphire necklace dripping with blood.
Naomi.
I spun, racing from Claude’s chambers. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I hurried along the opposite wing of the manor. The hall was quiet and the air stagnant. A fine sheen of sweat dotted my upper lip as I reached Naomi’s quarters. I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping she was there. I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. She had to be. It was still early.
“Naomi?” I called out, knocking louder. “It’s me.”
After a few moments, I heard the sound of footsteps. Relief swept through me as the door cracked and a sleepy Naomi appeared.
“Good morning.” Smothering a yawn, she stepped aside, the deep blue of her silky slip somehow unwrinkled. Only Naomi could look so stunning upon waking. “Or is it good afternoon?”
“Afternoon. Sorry to wake you.” I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “But I needed to speak with you.”
“It’s okay. I was already half awake.” Naomi tucked her hair back from her face as she stepped over a pair of heeled slippers and thick, vibrant-colored plush cushions as she went over to a chaise and sat. “But you didn’t bring coffee with you, which is rude.”