The Unbroken Corridor

The latch on the guest room door clicked shut with a finality that felt louder than the wind outside. It was a small sound, but in the hollow silence of the hunting lodge, it marked the end of the inventory check and the beginning of the mistake.

I stood in the narrow corridor, staring at the wool of Anselm’s tunic. A thin line of red had appeared there, cutting across the grey fabric just below his collarbone. I had done that. A moment ago, the iron catch on the window frame had frozen shut, and I’d shoved it with a loose shard of ice I’d meant to discard. The ice had shattered, and a sliver had bounced off the stone wall, catching Anselm before he could step back.

He was the Queen’s sworn shield. I was her sister, the spare with the ledger. We did not exist in the same space unless duty demanded it. Yet here we were, trapped by the midwinter storm, with guards breathing heavily at both ends of the hall.