While the muffled moans of the nuns still trembled faintly through the thick stone walls of the manor, the Countess and Tanya quietly stepped out, their footsteps almost swallowed by the heavy velvet of the corridor.
The candles along the hall flickered—tall, thin tongues of light that cast restless shadows over the carved saints and silent portraits. The air smelled faintly of incense, sweat, and the lingering sweetness of sin.
Tanya walked a few steps behind the Countess, clutching a folded letter in her hands. Her expression was tight, torn between duty and defiance. The echo of the Duchess's command still lingered in her mind—"Come to me. And. Do. not. tell. him."
Sabrina's voice had been calm when she'd said it, but there was weight behind it—a command layered with authority, pride, and fear. Tanya, a mere maid in name but more a soldier in loyalty, had hesitated. But not long.
