The first thing she noticed was the smell.
Not anything dramatic — no overturned perfume vials, no disturbed rushes, no the crude evidence of a ransacking that would at least have had the courtesy to announce itself. The smell was simply wrong in the way that a room is wrong when it has been breathed in by people whose breath you do not know. Rearranged air. The faint ghost of boot leather that was not her own.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway of her chambers for precisely three seconds, long enough to register and catalogue, and then she stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a click so quiet it could have been mistaken for the settling of old wood.
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