"WHAT!"
Beatrice reeled back as if she had been physically struck, her hand flying to her chest. "Lorena? Dead?" She stumbled, her balance failing her. Marissa, moving with a quick, supportive grace, caught her arm, steadying the old woman.
"That's not all, Grandmother," Ashlyn continued, her voice dropping to a near-inaudible whisper. "She also said… she said that the one who killed Miss Lorena was…" She paused, her gaze locking with Marissa's. "…the Grand Duchess."
The accusation hung in the silent, sunlit room like an impossible thing. Marissa and Beatrice stared at each other, the Dowager's eyes wide with a new, dawning horror, Marissa's with a cold, clear understanding of the new war that had just been declared.
"Take me to her," Beatrice commanded, her voice a strained, harsh rasp.
