Imprisoned Slumber (Displaced Fairytales #8)

Chapter 1

The castle appeared out of nowhere, its turrets rising like shadows from the fog that veiled the forest, an otherworldly specter in the mist. The whispered rumors cloaking the land made me half wonder whether what I was seeing was real…or if I’d wandered into a dream.

I squinted through the haze at the tower’s silhouette, etched against the horizon softened by twilight, before glancing down at the map that had guided my journey thus far.

Its inky lines were sparse, showing few landmarks, but the summer residence of the royal family should have been prominent enough to be marked.

Yet there was no mention of it at all; the place on the map I now stared at was a blank spot in the middle of a forest, concealed in obscurity.

I should have known better than to trust a stolen map.

My hands curled tight, crumpling the edges.

I muttered a dark oath I’d learnt from the back alleys no respectable lady would never dare set foot in…

but I was anything but respectable. Not that I was ashamed of that fact—what I lacked in grace, I made up for in cunning.

But for all my love of adventure and a good risk, I wasn’t foolish enough to stumble into danger without reason.

I held the map up, angling it towards a glimmer of moonlight seeping through the canopy above, searching for the wrong turn that might have led me astray.

The legends claimed these woods were haunted, one of my motives for coming. But no superstition, no matter how ancient, could explain how with one careless mistake I had ended up so far from my intended destination, in a forest on the opposite end of the kingdom.

My lips curved. How intriguing.

I turned my back on the structure whose stone walls loomed darker and more ominous in the encroaching darkness, prepared to retrace the winding path that had led me on this wild goose chase for the past quarter hour.

I pushed through the undergrowth, intending to backtrack to the fork nearly a kilometer behind…

only to discover that the path had vanished entirely.

I frowned, scanning the surrounding pines closing in around me like silent sentries barring my way.

I crouched low to examine the ground with the expertness of any seasoned tracker.

But it wasn’t the dense foliage or dimming light that obscured the trail—it had simply disappeared, as if it had never existed at all.

A thrill stirred my chest and my smile grew as I lifted my gaze toward the castle quietly waiting before me. This adventure was growing more fascinating by the moment.

Whatever query had first led me here suddenly seemed less urgent in the face of this new enigma; the siren call of the unknown was far too compelling to resist. I lived for the mysterious and unexplainable, delighted in the thrill of exploration and investigation, and took deep satisfaction in uncovering secrets…

particularly the one secret I’d been seeking for years.

And if I happened to pickpocket a few valuables along the way? All the better. After all, the best adventures always turned a profit.

I rolled up the map and tucked it into my satchel, ready to be consulted again once this unexpected yet thrilling detour concluded. While the path behind me had disappeared without a trace, another stretched before me invitingly with the promise of adventure.

Even in the fading light, the ruby and gold of early autumn gleamed like scattered jewels; with the passing of summer, the royal family likely wouldn’t be staying at their seasonal residence, leaving my destination momentarily abandoned.

Of course, the castle’s security would still be intact.

But I’d outwitted guards before—guards with likely far more experience than a bored rotation stationed at a countryside palace.

My earlier reluctance melted away, replaced by the electric anticipation that always came before a heist. I’d crept through many a grand estate in my day, but never a palace.

My fingers tingled, itching to better examine all the treasures that lay in wait within the gilded walls.

Though thievery was unrecognized by the law as a legitimate art, I held to my own code—a moral creed as firm as any knight’s oath.

What had once been a means of survival had slowly grown into a hobby as I’d learned to support myself more legitimately, and over the years I’d refined it into a polished craft and passion… with specific limits.

I never stole anything that would be missed—trinkets without monetary value, but rich in sentiment. Keepsakes that had long since been forgotten…or better yet, items steeped in secrets, priceless for the memories they contained.

Because I had a secret of my own, one that made me uniquely invested in the silent stories such objects whispered.

When I used my magic as I touched an item that had once held significance for someone, I saw echoed fragments of its past—a dance of memory imprinted in fabric, metal, or wood.

A locket clutched in grief, a teacup that had felt joy in every morning sip, a blade raised in betrayal.

The histories flickered like candlelight in my mind, fleeting but vivid, each more real to me than anything I’d ever lived myself.

In a life otherwise hollow and untethered, these stories gave me meaning. What tales lay waiting in a castle full of royal relics?

I quickened my pace, curiosity driving me forward in swift, silent steps. Though the palace had loomed impossibly distant only minutes ago, its spires were now shockingly near—far too close for the distance I remembered.

My brow furrowed and my steps faltered as I glanced around for signs that this was not a normal forest. A leaf fell innocently to the ground, and I heard the faint tapping of a woodpecker in the distance, but no glow emanated from behind a tree, no tang of power hung in the air.

Nevertheless, I knew the truth, with or without tangible evidence. The world had rearranged itself to shorten the journey, the workings of magic—subtle, strange, and most certainly ancient. Cautious but undeterred, I pressed on, unwilling to be swayed from my goal.

I reached the palace perimeter just as the last light of dusk kissed the treetops.

The walls were grand but weathered, the stone mottled with moss, the gate yawning slightly ajar—as if inviting me in.

Cautiously I moved along the wall, wondering whether I should attempt to scale it instead of using the gate.

The wall was high and smooth, while the gate would allow me in much more quickly—and speed was of paramount importance on such… unconventional entries.

I stretched out a tentative hand; the heavy iron shifted obediently and silently under my touch. This convenience should have served as a warning, but I smiled and slipped through anyway. I paused inside the gate for a long moment of silent reconnaissance, but there was no reaction to my presence.

Keeping to the shadows, I moved with practiced ease along the ivy-wrapped edge of the palace grounds, then scaled a forgotten archway where the wall had crumbled just enough to be useful. Despite the precarious climb, I’d scaled worse.

Once inside, I crouched atop a ledge and surveyed my surroundings.

The courtyard was still—no lanterns burned, no guards patrolled.

The air was hushed, undisturbed; even the birds had gone quiet.

Completely empty, just as I’d hoped. And yet a shiver crawled up my spine.

Something about the stillness felt too complete, like a held breath, a stage set before a performance.

But the thrill of discovery overruled caution.

By the time I pried open and slipped through the high-set window, dropping soundlessly onto the plush rug beneath it, night had fully claimed the palace. I froze, listening intently, every sense sharpened. The silence around me was not quite absolute.

I searched the quiet and detected the faintest breath of motion three corridors down. Guards—they weren’t close enough to pose a threat, but if they followed the standard patrol formation I’d memorized from countless noble estates, I had a few minutes. Enough to explore this wing undisturbed.

The first door I tried was locked tightly, but for all their gilded splendor, royal locks were rarely complicated.

With a flick of my wrist and a delicate twist of my pick, the bolt gave way with a satisfying click.

The door swung open on hinges so well-oiled they barely sighed. I slipped inside like a shadow.

A shaft of moonlight streamed through the large window to my right, painting the chamber in a soft glow. I paused just inside the threshold, scanning for signs of life. Everything was immaculate—no dust or disorder, the kind of cleanliness that suggested preparation rather than abandonment.

I moved silently across the polished floor, leaving no trace.

The room was a grand gallery, lined floor to ceiling with priceless paintings. Even I, with no formal education in the arts, recognized several at a glance—works spoken of in awe in taverns and auction houses alike.

Impressive, yes. Valuable, undoubtedly. But though such famous works would fetch a heavy price to be sure, their theft would prove entirely uninteresting.

I sighed. Even if I managed to sneak out with a piece, every collector in the kingdom would know where it came from.

Art of this ostentatious nature was nothing more than paint on canvas, purchased to match a wall or impress a rival.

Rarely touched, never loved. A fancy decoration did not a story make.

Sometimes, a painting might carry a whisper of something beyond the artist who created it—a gift from a lover, a relic of a lost parent, a moment captured in grief or longing. But most were just symbols of status.