Chapter 72

The dark, windowless chamber was oppressive, the air stale and heavy with the odour of terror. Shadows swirled across the rough stone walls, cast by the faint torchlight, which appeared to strain against the thick cloak of tension that hung in the chamber. A slight drip of water echoed from a distant corner, and the cold stone beneath the maidservant's knees gnawed at her, sending waves of numbness down her legs. But it wasn't the cold that made Madeline quiver; it was Archbishop Henry's piercing gaze, which promised anguish and suffering.

Henry appeared tall and ominous, his dark robes flowing around him as if they were part of the darkness itself. His hands were encased in black leather and grabbed the sides of the table in front of him, his knuckles white. Behind him stood two of his men, dressed in the drab armour of the king's guards, their features obscured by shadow. They were as silent and still as statues, but their presence was no less intimidating.