It sounded hollow, too loud on the thick oak, and it was odd to think of herself standing here, in a drafty stone corridor, and knocking on her husband’s door to be let in. She stood there, waiting in the silence, her heart pounding. So stupid of her, she realized, not to do this sooner. She only prayed it was not now too late. What if that girl was now behind that door, wrapped in her husband’s arms? What if Altfor opened the door and slammed it in her face? What chance would she ever have of saving Royce then? She stood there, waiting, hoping it was not too late. Genevieve reached up to knock again, but this time, before she could grab the knocker, the door opened with a creak. There stood Altfor, eyes narrowed with suspicion, silk robe pulled tight. Genevieve watched his eyes widen in surprise when he saw her. He paused ever so briefly in the door, and as he did, Genevieve’s heart pounded. Please don’t let it be too late. Then, slowly, he took a step back, and to her immense relief, he said: “Come in.”
