Chapter 5
“Thank you, captain.” The king waved a dismissive hand towards Tomas, who stepped up beside me, nodding to the men with him.
The guards closed in, forming a silent wall of armor around me as we moved through the corridors. Their hands hovered near their weapons, the threatening stance imparting a clear message: Don’t try anything.
Warnings had never deterred me, more invitations than barriers. But all in due time; patience was a virtue every skilled thief employed, especially when under scrutiny this tight.
Every polished marble surface reflected back my calculating gaze, every suit of armor lining the walls seemed to mask hidden watchers, every shadow contained a spy.
I needed a chance to think, to regain control of the chaos swirling in my chest. But each time I slowed, the guards adjusted their pace in tandem with mine, a wordless reminder that my movements were no longer my own.
I might have been physically restrained, but a thief’s observation or plotting could not be bound by chains.
My gaze swept the hallway with trained instinct—the placement of the sconces, the unevenness of a floor tile, the number of doors and the types of lock on each window, the way sunlight fractured through stained glass.
My mind mapped the route automatically, committing every alcove and turn of the palace’s layout to memory.
Information was a thief’s sharpest blade.
We turned a corner and I halted. “Keep moving,” Garrett barked, but I barely heard him.
Something about this hall stirred my memory, though it wasn’t a wing I’d explored the night before. I scanned the gallery until my eyes landed on a portrait. My breath caught in my throat.
I recognized that profile—the same one that had become blurred by the strange visions that had filled my night.
A regal young man adorned in ceremonial robes of midnight blue, stitched with silver threads like falling stars.
A sword rested at his hip and a ring glinted on his finger, the very one I’d glimpsed during my casual exploration of his chambers the evening before.
It was him, the man from my dreams…and the prince missing from the kingdom.
“Is that…?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Tomas stepped closer to the portrait. “Prince Evander, Crown Prince of Aeloria. The kingdom's golden son. Missing for nearly five years now.”
Five years, long enough to bury hope. And if the anniversary of his disappearance was approaching…
then this sudden search for an heir was anything but random, but instead a carefully calculated move.
They’d not only finally given up on finding their prince, but desperation had pushed them to search elsewhere, to make a different plan for the kingdom’s future.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “There are whispers that he…disappeared.”
Tomas hesitated, clearly debating how much to reveal. “He vanished without a trace or any sign of a struggle. One day he was here, the next…he was simply gone, without even witnesses to verify what might have transpired. Their Majesties have not recovered.”
I considered their words, aligning them with the rumors I’d bartered for in taverns and servant halls almost as often as I traded for secrets.
The kingdom’s slow decline hadn’t begun with a war or a rebellion, but with a loss, as if more than the prince had disappeared—the last light and prosperity had vanished with him.
My eyes returned to the portrait. The artist had placed him in a chamber bathed in moonlight, stars visible beyond the arch of a window. Though the captured scene was serene, melancholy haunted his eyes, as though he knew something was coming and had already begun to disappear.
“Was there ever any theory?” I asked carefully.
The guards seemed reluctant to answer, but their reservation seemed weakened beneath the sunlight’s gentle caress upon my features. A demure look and a subtle batting of my eyelashes and they folded.
Tomas’s jaw tensed. “Plenty, but none that held.”
“Some say he was taken by the old magic,” Garrett murmured. “Others believe he was cursed, or assassinated.”
The blond guard chimed in, his voice low. “There are even whispers that he isn’t dead at all, merely…trapped.”
Trapped. The mystery beckoned me, a siren’s call impossible to resist. I stepped forward, drawn by the same tug that had pulled me into this palace and this gilded snare of a destiny I hadn’t asked for.
“Marcus.” Tomas’s tone was sharp. “This isn’t the time to spread rumors.”
But I stared at the portrait, captivated by the single word trapped.
A shadow caught in the corner of my mind, a presence just beyond reach.
I reached out hypnotically, drawn by that same pull that had wrapped itself around me since waking.
My fingers brushed the edge of the gilded frame, allowing my powers to search for whatever secrets might be hidden there.
Usually, when I touched objects, I had to concentrate and consciously open myself to them, feel the stories they held like dust in the corners of a room.
But this one reached back, as if it had been waiting for me to discover it. It came in a ripple, whispered faintly beneath my skin—a flicker of memory buried too deep to grasp.
The sensation of standing still while the world turned without you, the ache of absence, the weight of being watched by something you couldn’t see. And beneath it all…a decision made in silence, heavy with consequence.
A shiver ran through me…but then it was gone.
I blinked, my fingers still on the frame, the gold now warm and unmoving beneath my hand.
I drew my hand back slowly, pulse still racing, and stared into the painted prince’s eyes.
Whatever had just transpired hadn’t been memory in the usual sense, but the feeling that promised a story waiting to be told…
one whose exploration would have to wait for when I was no longer under watch.
Although I had the strangest feeling I already knew part of the story, if I could but recall it.
I felt the weight of the guards’ scrutiny now, as if perusal alone could discern the schemes they seemed convinced I harbored. I smiled sweetly, a gesture they didn’t return.
After one last lingering look at the portrait, I tore my eyes away, and the guards urged me on. For now, I would play the role they expected: the bewildered girl who didn’t know what she’d stumbled into. But beneath that performance, my senses sharpened.
The corridors twisted like a maze I was only now beginning to understand. I counted doors. Noted turns. Watched how the light shifted as we moved deeper into the palace’s west wing. Every stone held a secret, and if I couldn’t pick a lock with my fingers, I’d pick it with my eyes.
Even though I was being led deeper into my prison, I was still a thief…and thieves watched everything.
Just before we turned towards my assigned room, we passed a narrow stairwell—not grand like the rest of the palace, but half-shadowed, as if trying to remain unnoticed.
The moment we passed it, a pull stirred my chest, like something half-remembered, a memory caught in fog. A cold prickle ran down my spine. I glanced back.
“You’re not permitted down that way,” Garrett snapped.
I let my hand brush the wall as we walked, fingers grazing over the rough-cut stone. A secret whispered and I pressed slightly harder, not enough to be noticed. A flicker touched my mind, faint and fragmented: footsteps retreating, a slammed door.
Someone had passed through here recently, and they hadn’t wanted to be followed.
“What’s beyond that stairwell?” I asked lightly, nodding towards the side hall.
The guards didn’t answer, but Tomas stiffened slightly, a reaction not lost to my keen observation. I smiled to myself. Curious.
Marcus, who seemed a couple of years younger than the other two, glanced in the direction that had captured my notice and hesitated. “Storage.” His answer was too quick, tinged with uncertainty that begged me to prod further.
“And beyond the storage?”
“Guest quarters,” Tomas clipped, as if trying to cut off the conversation. I filed it away.
Garrett narrowed his eyes. “What are the schemes hidden behind these senseless questions? Curious about the castle’s layout, are you?”
I shrugged. “It would appear more unnatural if I wasn’t. While my occupation has given me the opportunity to explore many grand estates, this is my first palace.”
He snorted. “A fine way to describe a life of crime.” He lowered his voice to mutter something indiscernible beneath his breath, “what are Their Majesties thinking” being the only words to rise above his disgruntled grumblings.
It appeared we harbored similar questions.
By the time we reached the upper wing, I had pieced together little more than questions…
but even questions were power. Additionally, I’d glimpsed at least three exits, a side hall that dipped lower than the others, and what might be servant passages hidden behind the carved latticework. Enough to plan something later.
We rounded another corner and I caught the lilt of laughter and feminine voices, elegant in that performative way I despised from nobles. I slowed instinctively, holding back just enough that I reached the archway just as the group of young women came into view.
I knew who they were before the guards said a word—the candidates of this strange competition I’d somehow entangled myself in, the ones I’d been unwittingly competing against.
A handful of them lounged in a rose-stone courtyard just beyond the corridor, framed by climbing ivy and gold-trimmed columns.
Morning light kissed their jewel-toned gowns as they sipped tea and nibbled pastries brought on silver trays.
The picture of aristocracy, painted in colors far more suitable than whatever adorned my own un-royal portrait.