Eliza looked at herself in the mirror.
The wound on her shoulder burned, a dull fire beneath her skin. The bandage, newly placed, already showed a dark stain slowly spreading. The maidens had brought herbal ointments and clean cloths, but she had dismissed them as soon as the trembling of her hands became too evident.
The bathroom's silence was thick, barely broken by the dripping of water falling into the marble bathtub. The walls, covered with floral reliefs, reflected the flickering of candles. Outside, the night breathed. Inside, everything smelled of blood and lavender.
Eliza rested her hands on the cold edge of the sink, her breathing heavy. Her body was still tense, the adrenaline refusing to release her. She could almost still feel the weight of the knife, the blade grazing her skin, the fear like a sweet poison rising up her throat.
The door opened with a soft sound.
The air changed.
Lucian entered without announcing himself.
