I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached, clutched my daughter tight, and charged toward the banquet hall, screaming at the top of my lungs:
"A doctor! Is there a doctor here?!"
Finn's head snapped up. He lunged to stop me.
"Narelle! Who do you think you are, making a scene in front of the imperial physician?! Don't you dare!"
He clamped a hand over my mouth. His servants grabbed for Hildegarde, trying to pry her from my arms and drag her away. She was already gasping between sobs, and now their hands smothered her mouth and nose. Her face went from red to a mottled purple.
I stopped thinking. I sank my teeth into Finn's hand until I tasted blood.
Then I broke free and ran, stumbling into the banquet, locking onto that one familiar figure, and screamed:
"Xavier Graham! You're an imperial physician! Save my daughter!"
Xavier spun around. His eyes went wide, shock and disbelief tangled together, and then something fierce and bright broke through. Joy. Raw, unguarded joy.
"You're alive?"
He rushed to me, already reaching for Hildegarde, pressing his hands to the wound to stanch the bleeding.
The commotion reached the high dais. Imperial Consort Rosalind Chavez tilted her head, her gaze drifting down toward the disturbance.
"Who was that woman just now? Her voice sounds so familiar."
Finn stepped forward and bowed low, his answer quick and smooth:
"Your Grace, it's nothing. Just a servant from the manor. A maid, that's all."
That was when I laughed. A short, cold sound. I pulled the marriage certificate from my sleeve and dropped to my knees.
"Your Grace. I am no maid. I am Narelle Donaldson, Duchess of Ashford. And I am here to beg your permission for a mutual divorce from Finn Acevedo, Marquess of Eastholm."
