“Will this take long?” I ask.
Henry squeezes my arm a little closer to him, like he’s afraid I’m going to bolt. “Not long. Why? Did you have something else you wanted to do other than take a walk in the garden with your husband?”
I eye him suspiciously. “Is this a sex thing? Because yesterday was just a temporary lapse of judgment.” I wait for his comeback, but it never arrives. Now I know something is wrong.
His face is inscrutable. I fight the impulse to press onto my toes and bite the strong line of his jaw just for something to snap him out of his unsettling stoicism.
“I was just going to check my mailboxes if we had the free time before we have dinner with my parents tonight,” I say. “I didn’t have a chance to stop and check for messages on our last visit.”
He finally looks at me. “Your murder mailboxes?”
I glare at him. “Women rely on me, Henry.”
“The women will have to wait today. I need to show you something.”
He’s been too intense all day. Maybe it’s just his frustration over lying about Rafe, but he disappeared with Kellan last night, then left me at the party. Carter and Naima walked me back to the boarding house and Henry wasn’t in our room when I got there.
He stayed out all night, returning this morning smelling like alcohol. He’s barely looked at me all day, orbiting me more than interacting with me as we prepped for tonight’s events.
I was already dreading having dinner with my parents, but Henry’s sour mood makes me even more apprehensive. If he’s this standoffish in front of them, it will ruin my chance at getting the key from my father. I just need my husband to not be himself for one night.
The afternoon is clear but cool and the air smells faintly like there’s snow coming. I wonder if Aidia is at North Hold, standing on her balcony, willing it to snow. I loathe the cold too much to enjoy snow, but Aidia has loved it since we were children.
The ache in my chest has been a constant nagging reminder that I haven’t seen her yet. Staying at the boarding house is strategic for showing our distance from my family, but it also means she can’t sneak in to see me like she normally does when I’m in South Hold. Without seeing her face, I’m left with the unsettling vision of the last time I saw her. I just need her to hold on for a few more days.
A cold breeze ruffles my cloak, sending a shiver up my spine as Henry leads me through a white rose-covered archway in the Carrenwell garden. Gravel crunches beneath my feet, and it takes me a moment to realize where we are.
I freeze. A burst of adrenaline rushes through my blood. “I don’t like this part of the garden.”
Henry ignores me and continues pulling me down the path.
The dread presses in on all sides. I don’t like this path with its white roses. I don’t like the climbing vines that write their stories along the stone walls. I don’t like the cold fist of fear that wraps around my heart.
Nothing is wrong, and yet my body is coiled to fight or flee.
I try to tug out of Henry’s grip, turning to look down the path behind us for help.
But Gaven isn’t behind me, waiting to lend a helping hand. Gaven is dead.
“I’ve never seen it.” Henry’s words are clipped. It’s not the tone of a man who’s curious to see the garden. He sounds almost angry.
“It’s just a garden, Henry. It looks like everything else we’ve seen,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He narrows his eyes. “But we haven’t seen the roses.”
I stare down the path ahead of us. I don’t know why I feel like I’m walking straight into a Drained den. The path is lovely, the roses kept in perfect bloom thanks to magic, but fear has my muscles locked up. It’s beautiful, but wrong.
I meet Henry’s deep blue eyes, and there’s no warmth there, just cold calculation. “Harlow, everything is fine. Just once around the garden and then we’ll go back inside.”
An irrational sinking feeling settles in my stomach, but I force my feet to move. It feels like he’s leading me into a trap, but I’m too confused by the panic flowing through my body to do anything but let Henry guide me down the path.
There is a reason I don’t come to this part of the garden, but I can’t remember why.
We turn into the rose garden, and for a few moments, I’m lost in looking at the bright blooms. Peach climbing roses on a trellis blend into yellow ones and then bright red, which blend into exotic deep scarlet that’s so dark it looks almost black. I keep waiting for the dread to leave me, for the knot beneath my ribs to come unbound, but neither relent.
Henry’s hand is warm on my lower back, guiding me through the rows of roses until finally we come to the opening at the center of the circular rose garden.
I stop suddenly, without realizing. It’s like my feet sense that I’ve stepped into a trap before I’m even conscious of it. The toes of my boots edge onto the large white circular stone.
