From the moment I awoke this morning, something felt wrong. The house was too quiet. Alaric's side of the bed was cold, which wasn't unusual given his early habits, but the stillness that greeted me as I moved through our chambers felt heavy with secrets.
"Clara?" I called as I finished dressing myself, not wanting to wait for assistance. My maid appeared at the door almost too quickly, her face composed but her eyes avoiding mine. "Where is my husband this morning?"
"His Grace left early, Your Grace," she replied, busying herself with straightening already-perfect pillows.
I watched her hands trembling slightly. "Clara, look at me."
When she finally raised her eyes, I saw worry there—worry she was trying desperately to hide.
"What's happened?" I asked, my heart beginning to race. "Is it Alaric? Is he hurt?"
"No, Your Grace! The Duke is well, I assure you." Clara's response came too quickly.
