Anne stood up though she was still gripping the chair for support.
"By whom?" she asked at last, her voice barely more than a breath.
"What?"
"Who took her?" Anne looked at him now, her brows drawn, her lips tight with restraint.
Baldric only shrugged, his expression almost boyish in its glee. "I don't know. Norwyke. Belvaria. I couldn't possibly care. What matters is that she doesn't return."
Anne's pulse thudded in her throat. "But she's still alive? Maybe it was... just a group of thugs. They might not even have known who she was. Perhaps they wanted gold."
"I think it was clear from her entourage that she was a queen. Besides no one kidnaps a queen for gold," Baldric scoffed, the humor gone from his tone. He leaned against the dresser, arms folded. "They would be hunted like animals if she ever came back. You only abduct a queen if you want her dead."
The word echoed like a dropped stone in a quiet lake.
Anne stood frozen, her thoughts snarled in a knot she couldn't untangle. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Baldric was always scheming, always posturing, but this—this was too real. Too irreversible.
Too final.
She didn't know if she should be relieved, or terrified.
And then his eyes gleamed, and he smiled wider than he had all week.
"Do you know what this means?" he asked, voice low and gleeful.
Anne shook her head slowly, lips parted but no words forming.
"It means," he said, each word laced with something triumphant and manic, "that I now have the chance to get back everything I lost."
She stared at him, trying to pull sense from his delusion. "You don't even know her response to my plea," she said softly. "What if... what if she had agreed? What if she intended to forgive you?"
He snorted, the sound bitter. "Don't tell me you believed she would ever consider it—let alone agree. You can't really be that naïve."
Her spine stiffened. "But you asked me to—"
"I needed you to get close," he interrupted, his voice hardening. "I needed you in her favor. At her side. That's all."
Anne took a small step back, the weight of his words beginning to sink into her ribs like stones. "But... why ask at all if you didn't believe she would pardon you?"
"I didn't," he said simply, as though it were obvious. "But I knew you'd try. And now everything's gone better than I imagined. If I had known something like this would happen, I would've invited her years ago—and rid myself of her then."
Anne's breath caught.
"Did... did you plan this?" Her voice cracked.
Baldric tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "That is none of your concern, Anne."
She blinked. "It is if you—"
"You would do well to remember your place," he snapped, his smile gone now, the warmth in his face replaced with something colder. Now, this was the man she knew. The man she married. "And to keep your questions to yourself."
For a moment, he said nothing more. Then, with a sudden shift of mood, he adjusted his coat, cleared his throat, and straightened with purpose.
"I must go to Lord Mortimer's house," he said. "We have much to discuss."
He didn't wait for her reply.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click, and the echo rang louder than any slam.
Anne stood unmoving in the center of her room. The perfume in the air felt too sweet now cloying. The polish on her nails was still fresh, glossy and drying but her hands were still trembling. She looked down at them, willing them to be still.
She didn't know if she should mourn or prepare.
All she knew was that the quiet she'd once found comfort in now felt like a cage.