"Look at her. She's still standing there."
"Talking to her own reflection."
"No. Not her reflection. Something else."
Whispers slipped through the stone walls of the east wing like smoke. The maids wouldn't go near the room. Not anymore. Not since Camille had taken to the moonlit mirror.
Camille stood barefoot in front of the ancient mirror etched into the wall of the fortress. It was rimmed in tarnished silver, older than the keep itself, and cold as the bite of steel in midwinter. Her silk nightgown clung to her skin, damp with sweat though the chamber was freezing.
Her hands trembled at her sides.
The mirror didn't show the room behind her. It didn't even show her.
It showed two versions of her instead.
One was serene, calm, a perfect queen, face glowing with maternal light, hand resting over her stomach like she was already cradling a life within.
The other?
The other Camille was monstrous.
