I didn’t mean to see it. I was fixing the west wing pipes when the chanting started—low, rhythmic, almost sexual. Then a scream cut through the stone walls. I followed the sound, crawling through the servant’s duct, until I saw her: kneeling on cold marble, tears streaking her face, her white gown stained with something dark. The priest raised the silver dagger. And then—she looked up. Right at me.\n\nNow she’s huddled in my room, shivering, whispering that they’ll kill her if she’s found. 'They need it done before dawn,' she says. 'Another will take my place.' Outside, the hall clock ticks toward midnight. There’s a key to the gatehouse in my pocket. But if we run now, we leave everyone else behind.