Chapter 2

Back at Sutton Manor, Livia helped me to bed, lit the brazier, and tucked a heated stone wrapped in cloth under my covers.

But I was still freezing, shivering uncontrollably.

"Lady Claire, I'll go get the doctor—" Livia said.

"No need," I said, grabbing her hand. "It's so late. Don't bother."

"But you—" Livia hesitated.

"Livia," I cut her off, trying to smile. "Bring me some paper and a pen."

Livia blinked, surprised. "What do you want to write?"

I replied, "A letter." I was gonna write a letter to Lance.

Honestly, I had no idea what to write. There was so much I wanted to say, yet somehow, nothing really needed to be told.

I wanted to tell him that on our wedding day, I stole a glance at him. He wore a dark tunic, but his face was stone cold.

I remember thinking, 'It's fine. We've got all the time in the world. One day, I will melt him.'

I wanted to tell him about the three months after our wedding when he never once came to me.

Every day, I copied a page of prayer for him on vellum and carefully decorated the edges. I did it over and over until my eyes hurt. In the end, I picked the most beautiful one and left it on his desk.

But the next day, I found it thrown out in the courtyard.

I wanted to tell him that all those days I prepared his medicine, every time I brought it to him, I hoped he would look up at me and say thank you.

But he never did. He would only take the medicine and say, "You may leave."

I wanted to tell him that when Emily came to visit, I wasn't trying to act subservient.

I only wanted to win her over, hoping she would put in a good word for me. Maybe if Vera were watching from above, she would resent me a little less.

But as I wrote, I ended up crossing out everything I wrote.

What was the point in writing anything? He never cared at all.

I set the pen down and leaned back against the headboard, suddenly remembering something my mother used to say when I was a child.

She'd said, "Claire, giving someone your all doesn't mean they'll ever value it. Some people's hearts died with their beloved. No matter how hard you try, you can never compete with a dead person."

I didn't get it back then. But now I did.

I picked up the pen again and wrote just one sentence: [Lance, I don't owe you a thing anymore.]

When I finished, I folded the letter and handed it to Livia. "When I'm dead, take this to Norman Manor."

Livia threw herself across me on the bed, clutching my side and sobbing. "Lady Claire, please don't say that. You're going to be fine. I'll go get the doctor right now."

I gently stroked her hair. Livia had been by my side for eight years, from my girlhood all the way to now. She was closer to me than family.

"Silly girl," I said. "Everyone dies."

She lifted her tear-streaked face to me, eyes shining with sorrow.

I smiled at her. "Honestly, I don't have any regrets. It's been a good life."

Was it for real? Truth was, I didn't know. At least I had to fool myself a little before the end.

*****

That night, I didn't sleep at all. I lay there with my eyes open, watching the snow fall outside the window.

The snow kept falling all night, but by morning, it finally stopped. Sunlight poured through the window, landing on me, warm and gentle.

Then all at once, I felt weightless. So light, like a feather. I slowly rose up past the rafters, over the roof, and floated high into the air.

I glanced down and saw myself lying in bed below. My skin looked waxy, my lips had lost their color, and my eyes were closed. There was a small smile on my face.

Was that really me? I was dead. So this is what dying feels like.

Livia pushed the door open, with my medicine in her hands. She walked over to the bed and called out, her voice trembling, "Lady Claire?"

No one answered.

She reached out to shake me. Then the cup slipped from her hands, medicine spilling all over her shoes. Livia stood there in shock for a couple of seconds, and then collapsed at the bedside, her cry tearing through the room. "Lady Claire!"

I floated above, watching her cry.

I felt bittersweet and hollow. So this was what dying really meant. I left everything behind, no matter how hard my beloved cried for me.

Livia cried until her voice was gone. Suddenly, she remembered something, jumped up, rummaged through my pillow, found the letter, gripped it tight, and rushed out as if possessed.

I knew where she was headed. She was running to Norman Manor to deliver the letter.

I floated after her, weaving through the winding streets and alleys. I passed the beasts at the gate where I had stood for hours yesterday, and then slipped through the entrance that had never once opened for me.

Livia met Ben in the main hall and handed the letter to him.

Ben took the letter, his face full of conflicting emotions. He hesitated for a long time, then finally turned and disappeared into the inner courtyard.

After a while, Lance came out. He wore a dark tunic with his hair tied loosely. His gaze was steely, his features sharp, and the aura around him was intense, like a blade ready to cut.

He stood under the porch, his eyes fixed on Livia. "Where is she?"

Livia stood there, trembling all over, her teeth clenched. "Lady Claire... She's gone."

Lance didn't say a word.

After a long silence, he lowered his head, opened the letter, and gave it a quick look.

One glance and then his expression changed.

It was the first time I had ever seen that look on his cold face. He seemed stunned, like someone who had been hit head-on, or like a drowning man suddenly pulled from the water. Honestly, I couldn't tell you exactly what it was.

He stormed out, moving so fast and frantically that he was almost running.

I floated above, watching him rush out of Norman Manor, cross the streets, hurry into Sutton Manor, and then straight into the room where my body lay.

He stood at the bedside, looking at me for what felt like forever.

Then he reached out and checked for my breath. He had slain countless foes on the battlefield and never so much as blinked with a blade pressed to his throat. But this time, his hand was shaking.

He slowly drew his hand back, lowered his head, and gazed down at me for a long time. So long that I thought he might turn into a statue.

Then he bent down and gently lifted me into his arms. He held me so close, like I had imagined, over and over, when I was still alive.

I floated nearby, watching the whole thing, and honestly, I had to laugh at the irony.

What was he doing? Only holding me when I was dead? It was too late.