Chloe’s pov
The afternoon sun was warm against my shoulders as I knelt in the dirt near the rear garden wall, pulling weeds from around the winter herbs.
The low, quiet nausea that had been haunting me all week was still sitting in the pit of my stomach, but the crisp air helped keep it at bay. I wiped a sweat-damp lock of dark hair from my forehead with the back of my forearm, my mind drifting back to the secret, crimson liquid sitting in my dressing room mortar.
I was carrying a child. My palm rested against my flat belly for a quick, protective second before I reached for my garden trowel.
THUD.
A heavy object hit the dirt three feet away from my boots, kicking up loose soil and dried pine needles.
I flinched, snapping my head up toward the high stone wall. The pine branches above
