The corridor outside Moira’s chamber buzzed with hushed excitement and swift footsteps.
Ava, the maid Moira had sent earlier to confirm the condition of the flower arrangements, hurried back into the bride’s chamber, her shoes barely making a sound on the floor. She gently pushed the door open.
"My lady, the lilies by the altar—" Her words died in her throat.
The room was quiet… too quiet.
Ava’s brows furrowed. “My Lady?” she called softly, stepping inside.
There was no answer.
She checked the dressing area, her movements growing more rushed. She peeked into the lavish bathing chamber, calling again, more urgently this time. “My Lady Moira?”
Nothing.
Her breathing quickened as she searched behind the decorative screen and even glanced under the dressing table, hoping foolishly she
