Isobelle let out a slow breath and invited her instincts to take over. As if they’d been waiting for permission, they surged through her, straightening her spine, lifting her chin, and tugging up one corner of her mouth into a self-assured smile. “What a silly question,” she replied, sweeping toward him. “You know exactly who I am.”

“Lady Isobelle,” he replied, proving he was not entirely beyond redemption. “Um, stop please.”

She took a few more steps to prove she could, and then halted to look him up and down. “You are not the usual guard,” she supposed. “What’s your name?”

“Brian, my lady. Everyone else is in the war room.”

She tilted her head. “We don’t have a war room.”

“Well, they’ve taken over the ballroom, so all the visiting knights and people can fit. . . .”

She sighed, put upon. The part of her that was still dreadfully worried about Gwen was watching the rest of her, and couldn’t help admiring how calm she sounded. “Then you stay here on guard, Brian, and I’ll just head through on my own.”

“My lady, you can’t . . .”

Isobelle exited the conversation by means of walking straight toward Brian, who—faced with the terrifying prospect of making physical contact with her—jumped out of the way. She paused to wrestle one of the torches out of a sconce with only a minor loss of dignity, and then strode down the dank corridor to where she supposed Gwen would be. Brian made no attempt to stop her or to ask how she knew her way around so well, and contented himself with scuttling after her, making little chirps and gurgles of protest.

Isobelle reached the end of the corridor and raised the torch high, her heart trying to force its way up into her throat, preparing her for the sight of Gwen slumped on the floor, Gwen bleeding, Gwen white and cold.

What nothing had prepared her for was the total absence of Gwen in any form.

Isobelle and Brian stood side by side, staring at the empty cell with two very different kinds of horror, the silence broken by the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance.

“Shit,” Brian whispered. “I’m so dead.”

“Where is she?” Isobelle demanded, calm evaporating as she whirled around to face him. “What have you done with her?”

“I thought she was right here!” Brian squealed, backing away from her until he hit the wall. “She’s supposed to be right here. Maybe they brought her up to sentence her and didn’t tell me? I’m not even meant to be on duty here, I can’t—you have to tell someone I didn’t—”

Isobelle didn’t hear anything else he said.

She was already gone.