Raven had been stirring the same pot for nearly ten minutes without realizing it.
Her thoughts were somewhere else.
Somewhere between the things Seraphina had said to her the night before and the memory of her father’s face and his reaction when she had asked about her mother.
She tightened her grip around the wooden spoon.
The stew bubbled quietly.
Around her, the kitchen was busy.
Omegas moved in and out carrying trays. Someone was chopping vegetables at one end of the long counter while another stirred a pot of soup nearby.
The smell of roasted meat filled the air.
“Raven!”
Old Martha, the housekeeper, stood by the doorway with her arms crossed.
“The designer is here.”
Raven frowned. “The designer?”
“The one coming to take measurements for the engagement ceremony.”
“Oh.”
R
