Chapter 8

• The chamber was dimly lit, the flickering light cast long shadows across the walls. The heavy scent of wine and musk lingered in the air. The sounds of the bed creaking, mingled with the breathless gasps and moans of a man and woman which pierced the otherwise silent night. It was a sound that would shatter the fragile peace of the queen's heart.
• Lydia strode down the cold, stone corridor, her gown trailing behind her as the candle in her hand flickered with every step. She had sensed something was wrong. She had overheard her servants gossiping about her husband’s absence from the feast earlier that evening, and a maid's uneasy glance had confirmed her worst suspicions. Her heart raced, not from fear but from the simmering anger that clawed at her chest.
• When she reached the door of the royal chamber, she hesitated. The sounds from within were undeniable now. Her breathing grew shallow, her hand trembling as she gripped the iron handle. Taking a deep breath, she shoved the door open.