The wagon clattered to a halt, its wheels spraying gravel across the cobblestone driveway. Amelie and Celine leapt out, leaving the driver to take care of the exhausted horse still heaving for breath. Celine’s heart pulsed in rhythm with Amelie’s urgent footsteps, as they hastened through the main entrance of the Strout mansion. The heavy oaken doors slammed shut behind them, echoing through the desolate halls like a death knell.

  Willem stood waiting in the center of the foyer, his face contorted with anger, arms crossed over his lean frame. “So, you choose to arrive now, at the eleventh hour?” he snapped. “Lady Varga will be here any minute now!”

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  “Willem,” Amelie said, her voice trembling with urgency, “we must speak about Lady Varga. I have reason to believe she is not coming here with the best of intentions.”

  “And what reason might that be?” Willem asked dismissively, his scowl deepening.

  Amelie took a deep breath, steeling herself against her brother's disdainful gaze. “Lady Belinda Anroth has confided in us about her concerns regarding Lady Magdala's true motives,” she revealed. “I fear she might use our father’s weakened judgement to...”

  “Enough!” Willem cut her off. “Lady Belinda, her womb as barren as the Anroths’ lineage, goes around whispering nonsense to any fool who will listen. I bet you two made a wonderful audience for her.”

  (The rest of the chapter has been removed to prevent further copyright infringements.)