The soft clink of porcelain and the faint scent of chamomile hung in the tea room as Queen Rebecca sat poised, her fingers cradling a dainty cup she'd barely sipped from. The room was calm and silent.
But something nudged her attention.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward the grand arched window, the silk curtains parting just enough for one to peak at the outside world — then she locked sight on it.
A carriage.
Moving.
Her brows pinched.
One of their carriages.
Her brow rose as her hand set the teacup down with a fluid grace.
Where could a royal carriage be going — especially when both her sons were already out?
She rose to her feet, pacing steadily toward the curtain and prying them apart with a finger, broadening the vivid view of the lone carriage rolling into the capital's main city.
Who could be leaving in that carriage at the peak of the afternoon? Unannounced. And not without her knowing.
She frowned.
