The brass door handle turned. The heavy oak door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and a flurry of activity ensued.
A team of maids bustled into the room. They moved with synchronized efficiency. Two of them went straight to the windows, throwing open the curtains completely, banishing the last of the shadows. The room was flooded with bright, unforgiving light that revealed every dust mote dancing in the air.
Carcel groaned and pulled a pillow over his face to block out the sun.
"Cruel," he muttered from beneath the feathers. "This is cruel and unusual punishment. I shall write to Parliament."
"Up, Carcel," Ines commanded, sliding out of bed. Her bare feet hit the plush carpet. She stood tall in her white lawn nightgown, the fabric billowing slightly around her. "Rowan needs us. We are going to London. And I will not have us arriving late."
She turned to her maids, her mind already organizing the logistics of the journey.
