During the early hours of the morning…
The silence in the Duke's mansion was dense, almost solid. The kind of silence that wasn't just the absence of sound, but the presence of something hidden—something waiting, watching.
The moon filtered through the tall, narrow windows, casting rectangles of pale light on the black marble. Outside, the wind blew softly, just enough to stir the leaves in the garden and rustle among the ancient statues.
Ester slept poorly. Even secluded in the east wing, far from the room she had once shared with Damon, she couldn't shake the uneasy foreboding that had been with her since sunset. The air seemed heavy. The mansion, too alive. The long shadows of the tapestries moved as if breathing.
She turned restlessly in bed.
In the opposite wing, where the Duke had hosted Damon—a vast room, walls covered in burgundy velvet and smelling of old iron—something was moving.
