It began with a loose stone.
Mira had wandered into a long-forgotten hallway in the east tower, drawn by a chill breeze and a peculiar echo beneath her boots. She tapped her knuckles against the wall—habit, nothing more—and one slab rang hollow. Narrowing her eyes, she wedged her knife into the seam. With effort, it shifted. Dust hissed out like smoke.
Behind it: a crawlspace, sealed and undisturbed for decades.
She didn't hesitate.
Charlotte arrived hours later, squeezing through the same tight passage with a lantern in hand, her curls braided and her face set in serious curiosity. Elias followed close behind, crouched low, a hand resting near the hilt of his sword.
The tunnel led to a secret chamber beneath the castle library—fusty, damp, and buried in dust. Walls were lined with rotting ledgers and padlocked crates. Mira, already exploring, waved frantically and pointed to a chest at the far end.
Together, they forced it open.
Inside: parchment yellowed with age, stamped with faded royal crests. One bore a crest violently scratched through. A diary, its leather cover warped with moisture, lay atop the heap. The pages were scrawled in hasty ink.
Charlotte read in silence, heart pounding.
"A child born of the crown, smuggled away under moonlight.A prophecy of dual heirs—sunlight and shadow—who shall decide the fate of the realm."
The dates matched. Too closely. They aligned with the final year of the former Queen's life—Charlotte's grandmother, long buried, long mourned.
If the child had survived… she would be Charlotte's equal. Or her rival.
Or—Charlotte breathed slowly—her partner.
Mira touched her arm. Her signs were deliberate. "We must find the truth. Quietly."
Elias studied the stonework, then glanced back toward the tunnel. His voice was low, tense. "If this gets out, the nobles will rip each other to pieces over the line of succession."
Charlotte's grip tightened around the prophecy.
Her eyes gleamed in the lamplight, hard and unreadable. "Then we say nothing. Not yet."
From that night forward, their secret investigation began.
Mira mapped forgotten servant corridors and hidden stairwells, slipping past guards with feline grace. Elias scoured royal registries and lost correspondences under the guise of routine inspections. Charlotte danced between court duties and deception—spinning gossip, watching reactions, taking notes.
And always—always—she visited her infant brother.
She would sit beside his cradle in the Queen's chambers, tiny fingers wrapped around hers. His breathing was soft, irregular. Her smile never wavered. But in her silence, she whispered promises no one else would ever hear.
No matter what comes, I will protect you.
Because now, somewhere beyond the stone and shadows, another heir might exist.
And if the prophecy was true—
Charlotte would not merely be defending her crown.
She would be choosing which future was worth fighting for.