The drive to Ashford House passed in a blur.
Security moved around us like shadows. Mara coordinated teams. My father called old allies in a voice stripped of every softness. My mother sat beside me, holding my hand so tightly our knuckles whitened.
Adrian was brought with us under guard.
He said nothing.
Good.
If he had spoken, I might have done something unforgivable.
My old bedroom was on the west side of the house, untouched for years. Pale blue walls. White curtains. Shelves of books. A window seat overlooking the gardens.
And in the cedar trunk at the foot of the bed, beneath quilts and school uniforms, lay the rabbit.
Its fur had yellowed with age. One velvet ear sagged. A faded blue ribbon still hung around its neck.
I picked it up.
A sob caught in my throat.
I remembered Nathaniel holding it above my crib, making it dance. I remembered his voice saying, “Sir Rabbit protects princesses.”
