1705. Luck had never been on Eleanora Finley's side. After her father died in a tragic fire, she was left at the mercy of her domineering and abusive mother, being deprived of all love and affection.
Truly, who would have thought that the simple red...
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1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City
Eleanora staggered out of the hall, her face as pale as a sheet. There was a dull ache in her chest, twisting and turning as if her heartstrings were being tugged and pulled at. Even breathing was difficult, and with every step that she took, she felt herself growing weaker and weaker. It was unlike anything that she had ever experienced before, but Eleanora was not surprised. After months of living in distress, she had seen it coming.
She rested her back against the stone wall, futilely attempting to catch her breath, but no matter how much she inhaled, it was never enough. The pain was unbearable, and although Eleanora tried desperately to breathe through clenched teeth, her lungs would not cooperate. She slid down the wall, resting her head against the cool stone as she gasped for air.
A sudden noise behind her caused Eleanora to jump upright, her heart racing. The sound came again, this time accompanied by the clattering sound of boots against the ground, coming down the hallway. She could tell it was a man's tread because of the clack of his boots against the flagstones. Whoever he was, his steps were heavy and deliberate, and Eleanora knew that whoever it was, he was in a hurry.
Perhaps it was a good thing. Let him run off to attend to his business, and hopefully, he would leave her alone to waste away in this obscure part of the palace. But he did not.
"Eleanora?" he gasped as he knelt beside her, and soon, she felt herself being lifted into his arms, his hand pressed against her forehead. "Eleanora, what happened to you?"
He laid her in his lap, his arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. His voice seemed to rattle inside of her skull, and she could hear it quite clearly; though she had no energy to answer his question. She shivered, feeling as though she were cold despite the warmth of the summer sun.
"You're burning up," Nicholas said, his voice filled with concern. "Come, I must bring you to a physician."
Eleanora's eyes widened, and she desperately shook her head. "No, there is no need for that. I will be fine if I lay down in bed."
"You need to be attended to. If you do not get treated, I fear that it will worsen," he said with a frown.
"A fever will not kill me, Nicholas," she murmured, trying to sound nonchalant. "Besides, were you not headed elsewhere just now? From the way you walked, I could tell that it is urgent."
An amused chuckle bubbled up Nicholas's throat. "Oh, so you can tell how I feel from the way I walk now? Someone has been observant."
"That is not my question," Eleanora insisted. As she said that, the amusement left Nicholas's eyes, and his expression abruptly became serious.
"The Marchioness of Avionne just went missing. Disappeared into thin air," he told her.
Eleanora gasped. "The Marchioness? Isn't that Cosmina's mother? Oh, poor Cosmina, she must be worried sick! But you will find her, right? You will, no, you must!"
