The bed was empty when I woke. I stretched my arm out underneath the sheets, finger splaying as I sought William’s left behind heat, only to find none.

My heart still ached, remembering last night’s truth. I’d carry this pain until my last breath.

Something about being alone when I woke only made the pain heavier.

“Is Mrs. Sinclair awake yet?” A soft, feminine voice asked from somewhere within the house.

“Not yet,” a man’s voice responded. My husband.

The fog of sleep fled immediately as I sat upright, sheets billowing around my waist.

“But I’m sure she will be grateful. Thank you Miss Truett, for all you’ve done for her and I these last few weeks,” he continued.

I could almost picture that girl’s shameless, sultry smile as she said, “It’s no bother. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

“My family will be coming by soon, so this is truly appreciated,” William said. I was on my feet, pulling my night dress over my head.

“Oh, I didn’t know!” She exclaimed. “I’ll get going then,” the Truett girl giggled. “We’ll talk soon?”

“Soon,” William agreed. Silence followed his answer, then, moments later, the front door shut.

Heavy steps started down the hallway, heading for our door. “I’m up,” I said in time with the door swinging open.

I was halfway through pulling on a simple dress when he walked in, his footsteps quickly halting in the doorway. “I see that,” he agreed, a smile in his voice.

Vision returned as I poked my head through the red garment, tugging on the ends of the bodice to get it in place. “Who was that?” I asked, my voice hiding what I knew.

“One of the neighbors dropped off some more food,” he answered without missing a beat. I only nodded as I fixed the deep v-shaped neckline. I wouldn’t push the subject.

“That’s nice of them,” I said instead.

“You look beautiful, Claudia,” William murmured, leaning in the doorway. Despite everything, my cheeks still flushed.

“Thank you.” I offered him a small smile as I finished readying myself. “I’ve got to start getting things ready.”

William nodded, messy hair falling into his eyes. “And you need to get dressed,” I said to him as I pushed by, already on my way towards the kitchen.

I could hear him sigh as I opened various cabinets, pulling out pans that my great grandma had cooked with. “You’re not just going to use what the neighbors have brought us?”

I didn’t want to acknowledge his question. Instead, I continued pulling out what I needed, the sack of flour I’d grabbed smacking against the wooden countertop. Let that be his answer.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

I’d only just closed the stove door when a gentle knock rapped on our front door. I straightened, rolling the sleeves of my dress up as I called, “William!”

“Coming!” Was his answer, followed by a loud thud. Then, his head poked around the corner, eyes searching for his family.

“They’re at the door if you could let them in,” I said, ladle in hand as I stirred an almost finished stew.

He scowled from the corner of my eye but quickly stalked toward the door, throwing it wide open to greet his family. I could hear their muffled shouts of delight as they embraced, a steady hand patting my husband on the back.

They lingered on the porch for a few minutes while I finished up, indulging in a hushed conversation they clearly didn’t want me to hear. I wasn’t sure what I’d ever done to earn the Sinclair family’s distaste, but I felt the same way for them with the exception of William.

I’d always thought their reasoning was William, their family’s horrible tragedy.

Sinclair was a known name, a noble name that carried power in its sound alone. They were the favored, every Sinclair to ever be named lived long lives. Except for William, who had only been given forty years.

A stark contrast to the average of three-hundred the family name usually got. His marriage to me, a peasant born to the Thorne family, had been the nail in the coffin to them.

I’d only been given twenty-six years, and I was at the end of my time.

“Claudia,” a voice that I recognized as William’s father, Joseph, spoke.

“Sir,” I greeted him, casting what felt like a hollow smile over my shoulder. I could only hope that I was convincing enough. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’m almost done.”

A hand smoothed against the small of my back, alerting me to the presence of William. “Why don’t you go sit down?” He murmured into my ear. “I think I can handle serving the food.”

Ascelin, I didn’t want to. The last thing in this life that I wanted was to be seated once more with the Sinclair family and break bread with them. “Thank you, love,” I said instead.

Three sets of golden brown eyes were already watching me when I spun around, waiting. They were just as glad as I to finally be done with each other. In those eyes, I was nothing but a stain on William’s namesake.

There were no shouts of joy nor grins that waited for me on the faces of his father and sisters. No kindness greeted me, but his father was able to muster a friendly enough smile.

They’d already seated themselves at our table, Joseph sitting at one end while the twins, Isobel and Gwyneth, sat in the middle. Two seats remained, the other head of the table and one seat opposite the twins.

How badly would it anger them if I were to sit at the head? The thought alone brought a smile to my lips.

“It’s been a while since we last saw each other, dear Claudia,” Joseph started as soon as I’d seated myself.

Isobel and Gwyneth said nothing, their hateful eyes burning my skin. “I’m truly sorry about that Mr. Sinclair,” I amended. I wasn’t sorry, and he wasn’t upset. Formalities. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how. . . hectic and busy someone can get once they don the red.”

The glimmer in his eyes told me he was far more than just familiar. “We completely understand your position, there’s no need to apologize.”

I was spared from coming up with something to say as William appeared, steaming pot held between two mitten-clad hands. The twins perked up in their seats with William present, their attention immediately leaving me.

“The stove dear,” I said to him before he could sit down.

He looked dumbfounded for a moment before he remembered I’d made fresh bread as well. He promptly left then returned, balancing a tray with the loaf I’d made.

I watched as William served the stew I’d made, using the ladle to pour even amounts into the pre-set bowls I’d left out. “This looks delightful, thank you Claudia,” Joseph said to me, but he hesitated before saying delightful.

“Thank you, sir,” I responded, head bent to avoid meeting his stare. “It’s lamb.” I’d never been a social person, and that fact shone brightly in situations like these.

Isobel was already taking the first cut of fresh bread. The only distinguishable feature that set the twins apart was Isobel’s beauty mark, just beneath her eye.

Rumor had it that Gwyneth had the same beauty mark on her inner thigh, but no wise man would ever mention it in the presence of a Sinclair.

Isobel’s mild expression quickly went south, her nose scrunching as she chewed on my bread. A moment after swallowing, she leaned over to whisper into her sister’s ear.

Gwyneth’s eyes met mine as she spoke for the first time. “Claudia, sister, do you have any other fresh bread? Our sweet sister Isobel has a. . . sensitive tongue.”

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My jaw made an audible click as my teeth worked against each other. There was nothing wrong with the bread other than that I had made it.

“We do, let me get it for you.” It was William who answered in my stead, the legs of his chair squeaking against the floor as he pushed his seat back. He was back in an instant, holding what the neighbor had brought.

Isobel pushed her golden hair behind her ears, highlighting her shapely face. For William, she smiled.

Ascelin be damned, as much as I disliked the Sinclair blood, all of them were graced with unworldly beauty. When they meant their smile, there was nothing that could compare to it.

Teeth that were too white, lips that were too plump, even their skin cleaner than I could ever imagine feeling. But their eyes, the eyes of predators.

Instinct told me to cower from that smile, an instinct that was older than my flesh and blood. “Thank you,” Isobel said to my husband, her hands outstretched to take the bread.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch my own food as I watched Isobel cut into Truett’s bread, my stomach churning at the sight. My blood began to boil when I heard her moan in her throat, still chewing the bread. When she swallowed, she said, “This is wonderful. Who made this?”

Returning to his seat, William was eager to answer. “The Truett girl brought it by this morning.”

William reached for the middle of the table, and it wasn’t my bread he grabbed. Mine forgotten, Lucille Truett’s loaf of sweet bread was promptly served to the rest of the table.

Deep breaths.

Pleasant mask in place, I served myself what I had made, pushing aside the serving of Lucille’s.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” Isobel spoke softly from across the table. If there was hate in my eyes when I looked at her, I didn’t bother to hide it. Liar, I thought.

“Don’t fret, you didn’t,” I said, then shoved a piece of bread into my mouth to avoid saying anything else. I’d been right, there was nothing wrong with my bread.

If I hadn’t been watching her, I wouldn’t have noticed the subtle squint of her eyes. “Red is quite your color.”

I nearly choked on my food. A spew of words came to mind that I wished I could say to her back-handed compliment. “Red is Ascelin’s color Isobel, and those who wear it are honored to do so.”

“And are you?” That beautiful smile was back as she leaned forward, elbows on my table and her chin held in her palms. “Honored, that is?”

Joseph was silent at his head of the table, happily dining without a care for what happened before him. It didn’t appear William was listening either, but I doubted I would’ve gotten help from him. Not against his sisters.

“Of course I am,” I lied.

“I’m sure,” she agreed, delicate fingers tapping against her cheekbones. “But you know that’s why we are here today.”

Gwyneth’s hand shot out to grasp her twin’s wrist, a hard look in her eye as she tugged. Her voice was too quiet for me to hear, but I read her lips clear as day. That’s enough.

Finally interested in what was happening, Joseph chimed in. “Let these matters be discussed by men, Isobel. You are here today only as a witness.”

The head of the Sinclair family reached for the pot, helping himself to a second serving. “She is right though, Claudia,” he continued. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

As the last living member of the Thorne family, I had prepared myself for this conversation years ago. I had simply never imagined it to be the Sinclairs that would be seated at this table with me.

My only hope had been that my belongings go to my neighbors, and I knew the Sinclairs wouldn’t see it happen.

William had been sympathetic to my views and what I wanted. When we first married, he’d pleaded for us to have a child. Not only so I would somehow live on, but the Thornes would too.

My heart panged in my chest as I thought of those memories. We had tried for so long to make it happen, but Ascelin’s plans were different from ours. If only it had happened then.

The compromise was for everything to go to William instead. He would inherit the Thorne’s home and land for the rest of his forty-year life.

From there, I supposed, it wouldn’t be my problem what happened to my land. I’d be long dead.

“You’re right, sir,” I said as pleasantly as I could manage, but offered him no smile.

My stew had gone cold already, barely touched in the time it’d taken for me to move past my thoughts. The twins, too, had finished their meals, bowls scooted away from them.

I rose from my seat, taking their empty dishes in hand with mine and returned to the kitchen. Back turned to them, I took in a deep breath, holding it for as long as I could, until I could feel my heart begin to slow.

The bowls clanged as I stacked them atop each other on the counter. I’d clean these later, when I was free of his family.

When I returned to the table, Joseph had pulled one side of his long-coat open, pulling a rolled parchment from a pocket hidden on the inside of his garment. As he unfurled the freshly pressed lamb-skin paper, he raised a brow at his son. “Are we ready to have this written?” He asked his son, not me.

William sat upright in his chair, straightening his spine. His chin raised as he leveled his gaze on his father. “Yes.”

Grinning, Isobel reached between herself and Gwyneth, protruding a small glass of ink. She set it on the table, sliding it across the table’s surface towards her father.

Rolled within the paper was an unused quill. Joseph was quick to get to work, plucking the quill up and holding it between thumb and finger as he dipped it into the glass jar.

His voice was calm and even, addressing only his son. “Will Claudia be celebrated as Thorne or Sinclair?” Joseph asked his first question, lowering the pen to his parchment.

“Sinclair,” my husband responded instantly.

The feather twirled in his fathers fingers for a moment before ink was finally drawn. Then, when he was finished, he continued. “And her wealth, including any profitable belongings and holdings, if they exist, will go to a family name or a named individual?”

“Named individual. William Sinclair, son of Joseph and Vivianne Sinclair.” Isobel and Gwyneth both rolled their eyes, either because I hadn’t chosen for anything to go to them or because nothing I had was anything they wanted anyways.

Silence ensued across the table as Joseph wrote down William’s words.

“Her home and any land it comes with, including all family-named farm lands?”

“Named individual. William Sinclair.”

This process continued on loop until I felt as if every stone had been turned over, every possible thing of interest named and written to go to my husband.

I’d released a breath as Joseph finished scribbling the last of it down. Instead of placing the quill aside, he dipped it once more, dragging the sides of it against the glass lip to rid the excess ink.

“And in the event of the untimely death of William Sinclair, after Claudia Sinclair has gone to Ascelin, who is the named successor?”

“The only named successor will be the first of my seed, born from any womb, as long as it is William Sinclair’s heir.” My head immediately snapped up, mouth agape as I looked at my husband. I hadn’t agreed to that.

“I-” Thunder cracked, interrupting me just as I began to speak.

No, not thunder. Ascelin’s storm still poured outside, but it wasn’t thunder that had stopped me.

Joseph’s hand lifted from the table where he’d slammed it down. Cold and cruel eyes narrowed on me, staring down at me as if I were an insect. “Hush, child,” he said. “You’ve had your time to decide what you want done. There is no time to change it now.”

I closed my mouth, swallowing hard while Joseph wrote. “And when you don the red?” He asked William.

“The same,” he said. “My first born child.”

I was so mad I could burst into tears. So that’s what this was? I wasn’t a fool, I knew what was being implied.

“First child of William Sinclair, as they will inherit Thorne land from you, will they be named Thorne or Sinclair?” What he was really asking is if my family name ended with me, or if William intended to start a new Thorne branch.

“Sinclair.”

We hadn’t discussed this either. I kept my chin held high despite the growing pain in my heart. My eyes burned with tears that begged for release, but I wouldn’t allow it.

“Lastly,” Joseph crooked his head to the side, neck cracking as he did. “Does William have the consent of his soon-to-pass wife to remarry and continue his own family descent?”

All the moisture left my mouth. I felt as though my soul had been thoroughly squashed. “He does,” William answered.

“Who?” I whispered, looking at my husband.

“Does it matter, dear sister?” Gwyneth said in time with her father’s booming shout of, “Silence!”

It wouldn’t have been mentioned, named, and written if there wasn’t already a woman in William’s mind. “Who?” I asked again, not looking at anyone else.

“Lucille Truett,” the man I called husband said at last.

My eyes dropped to my chest, searching for a wound that didn’t exist.

“Ma would wish it so, if she were still here,” Gwyneth said. Her face was pulled into a mockery of sympathy, chin down as her hand reached across the table for mine.

She isn’t here for a reason, I spat in my mind at her.

Vivianne Sinclair, on the fateful Appointing day of her son, had sought out Ascelin’s cave to plead for Him to reconsider. Vivianne’s remains were sent back to her home a mere day later.

“Ma would wish it so,” Isobel echoed her sister’s sentiment.

Four pairs of identical eyes watched me in silence, waiting for my answer. I’d gotten the truth I’d wanted, for all the good it did me.

“Write it and get out,” I managed to say, barely speaking around the lump in my throat.

“What was that?” Joseph bristled to my right.

“I said write it and get out of my home.”

Maybe it was because I’d stunned the man with my sudden bite, but he didn’t argue. Seconds later, the quill was offered to me to sign.

Every part of me ached as I read that parchment over. My hand urged me to crumple it into a ball and burn it. Instead, I signed it, scribbling my name out as fast as I could.

“Out,” I said again as the Sinclairs were already rising to their feet. “You’d best leave with them too, William.”

I could feel him looking at me in stunned silence, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I didn’t know this man anymore.

I stayed seated as they all shuffled towards the door awkwardly. Not another word was said to me as Joseph left, followed by his son, then Gwyneth. Isobel lingered by the door, her billowing white dress glowing in the dull light provided by the outside. She didn’t turn to face me as she spoke, “I’m glad to see your end, and the end of your line. William always deserved better.”

“I wish I could be there to see your pain when your baby brother wears red.”

The door slammed shut behind her, frame rattling with her anger.

The instant I was alone, my tears flowed freely, burning hot trails down my cheeks. Ascelin, it all hurt, and there was nothing that I could do.

I’d conceived a child far too late, a child that would never breathe air, never be given a name to inherit. Everything under the Thorne name would be swallowed and consumed by the Sinclairs.

I hurt as though it had already happened, as if I were already nothing.

I was no more. Thorne was no more.