Isabella lowered her gaze to the food box in her hands; the cloth, still stained with blood, lay draped across its lid.
Without a word, she lifted the cloth away and cast it upon the cold ground.
The smile upon her face faded, little by little, until not a trace remained. In its stead was a sharp scowl of malice, and for a brief moment, she could taste the blood on her tongue as well.
***
By the time Rhaegar arrived at Ostenton Embroidery House, dusk had all but surrendered to night.
The doors of the workshop stood slightly ajar, and from within spilled a dim, amber glow of lamplight.
He dismounted in silence and pushed the door open.
The courtyard lay hushed and empty. The embroiderers had long since departed, leaving behind only rows of delicate patterns hung upon bamboo poles, swaying gently in the evening breeze like whispered secrets of silk and thread.
He crossed the courtyard and moved inward.
