The east wing had always felt colder than the rest of the palace.
Even now, as Sophie slipped through the shadowed corridor with Eira close at her side, she felt the air shift. The torches here burned weaker, their flames flickering against walls where dust gathered thick. The stones seemed older, heavier, as though they carried secrets too heavy to bear.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. She shouldn't be here. She knew it. The last time Alexander had caught her lingering near this wing, his eyes had burned with suspicion. And yet—her curiosity gnawed sharper than her fear.
Seraphina's disappearance. The prophecy. The whispers of a queen who had vanished into shadow. Every path led back here, to doors sealed by wax and iron.
"This is madness," Eira whispered, clutching the lantern in her hand. The small flame wavered, throwing uneasy shadows along the corridor. "If the guards catch us—"
"They won't," Sophie said quickly, though her voice betrayed her own nerves. "We've timed their patrols. Ten minutes before they loop back."
Eira shot her a look that said ten minutes is not enough for this, but followed anyway.
At the end of the hall loomed the great door, its carvings faded by time. Across the seam of its frame lay the wax seal—red and gleaming in the faint light. A sigil pressed deep into it, the mark of Alexander's authority.
Sophie stopped, her chest tight. The seal seemed to watch her, daring her.
"This is the heart of it," she whispered.
Eira's grip tightened on the lantern. "And if we open it, it could also be the end of us."
Sophie swallowed hard, her fingers brushing the edge of the seal. She half-expected it to burn her skin, to flare with some magic that would announce their crime to the whole palace. But it was only wax. Warm under her touch, fragile.
"This is where she was last seen," Sophie murmured. "Where Seraphina's trail ended."
Eira looked like she wanted to drag Sophie back down the hall by force. Instead, she muttered, "If we're caught, you had better come up with something cleverer than 'curiosity.'"
Sophie's lips curved faintly despite her fear. "Curiosity got me here in the first place. Maybe it'll save me too."
With one sharp motion, she pressed her fingers into the seal and cracked it.
The sound was louder than she'd expected. A sharp snap that seemed to echo through the corridor. She froze, every muscle locked.
No footsteps yet. No alarms. Only the sound of her pulse hammering.
She pushed the door. It groaned, reluctant, before shifting open. Cold air swept out, carrying with it the faintest trace of something old—dust and parchment, mixed with a sweetness that didn't belong.
The lantern's glow spilled into the room, revealing rows of shelves lined with scrolls and tomes, some crumbling with age. Tapestries sagged on the walls, their colors faded. In the center stood a stone pedestal, carved with the same sigil pressed into the seal.
Sophie stepped inside, her breath shallow. "A library," she whispered.
"No," Eira said softly, eyes darting across the shelves. "Not just a library. Look at the symbols. This… this is a vault."
Sophie's gaze swept the room, drawn to the pedestal. On it lay a book, its cover dark and cracked, a chain fastened across it.
Her hands trembled as she reached out. The chain was not locked, only looped loosely, as though meant to discourage rather than truly forbid. She slipped it free.
The book felt heavy in her hands. Too heavy. She opened it slowly, the pages crackling with age. The first words stared up at her in a script she barely understood, but the name written across the top froze her blood.
Seraphina.
Her throat tightened. "Eira… it's her."
The handmaiden hovered at her side, her face pale. "What does it say?"
Sophie scanned the page, her eyes darting over faded ink. Prophecy. Binding. A queen marked by two realms. A bridge between worlds.
The words blurred, twisting into meaning she didn't want to understand. This wasn't just Seraphina's story. It was hers.
Her fingers clenched around the pages. "She wasn't just lost," Sophie whispered. "She was… chosen. Bound to something. And if the prophecy didn't end with her—"
The lantern flickered.
Eira's head snapped toward the door. Her face drained of color.
"Sophie," she whispered harshly. "Footsteps."
The book nearly slipped from Sophie's hands. The sound was faint at first, but growing louder—measured, heavy, unhurried.
Her chest seized. She knew that stride. She had heard it echo in council halls, in corridors, in her chambers when he came uninvited.
Alexander.
The footsteps stopped just outside the door. For a heartbeat, silence pressed down on them. Then the iron hinges groaned as the door began to open wider.
Eira's hand clamped down on Sophie's wrist, eyes wide with panic. The book was still clutched against Sophie's chest.
The lantern flame sputtered once, then steadied.
And Alexander's shadow filled the doorway.