The clue wasn't in a scroll or a sealed letter.It was scribbled hastily in the back of the vintage journal:
"M.R. — midwife, edge of Delmere. Trusted. Vanished."
Delmere: a village on the fringes of the royal forest. Small. Unscarred by war. Tucked between mist and memory. Through Elias's painstaking cross-referencing, they uncovered a court physician's journey to the area—right around the time of the final journal entry:
"The child has been delivered. Taken. The stars hide her fate now."
That was enough.
Under the guise of a royal inspection—a pretense no one dared question now that Princess Charlotte was the Queen's tireless little shadow—they set out. Mira wore riding leathers, plain and nimble, blending with the forest as naturally as breath. Elias, ever at Charlotte's side, moved like a sentinel. And Charlotte herself smiled and nodded like royalty should—gracious in the market, inquisitive at the schoolhouse, warm enough to invite stories.
While the villagers admired her charm and Mira offered ribbon-woven bread as a goodwill token, Elias vanished to follow whispers.
By nightfall, they had a lead.
A weaver's wife recalled a midwife named Maren Rosethorn—a healer who had vanished one winter's night nearly twenty years ago.
"Lived in a cottage beyond the north ridge," she murmured, wringing her apron."Said the royal family owed her blood and gold. Folk whispered she lost her mind."
It was enough.
They waited for darkness. Then, cloaked in shadow, they left the village behind.
The Cottage
The woods were thick with damp and moss. Roots clawed up from the earth like the bones of the past. As they climbed the ridge, the ruined cottage emerged from mist—ivy-choked, sagging under time, yet somehow… still alive. Smoke curled faintly from the old chimney. Firelight flickered within.
Someone remained.
Elias drew his sword.Charlotte raised her hand to stop him.
Mira signed sharply: "Wait. I hear humming."
They approached in silence. Charlotte entered first, lantern held high, heart thundering.
Inside, crouched beside the hearth, was a thin woman with silver-threaded hair and eyes like embers in ash. She did not look up.
"I knew someone would come," she rasped.
Charlotte stepped forward. "Are you Maren Rosethorn?"
At last, the woman turned. Her face was worn, not with years, but with the weight of long-held secrets. Her gaze locked on Charlotte with eerie clarity.
"I delivered the child," she said."Wrapped her in red silk. Gave her to a rider at dawn.She wailed like thunder. Like fate being torn open."
Elias stiffened behind her. Mira crouched near the fire, eyes sharp, watchful.
Charlotte's voice was gentle. "Who was she?"
Maren didn't answer at once. She moved to an old satchel and pulled out a tattered strip of red silk—yellowed with age, but still gleaming faintly in the firelight. Embroidered on it: a strange crest.
Not the royal one. Older. Unknown.
"She was no mistake," Maren murmured. "Not deformed. Not shameful.She was the firstborn. Hidden not for weakness—but for fear.The Queen saw what she would become."
Charlotte's breath caught.
"The Queen… had another child?" Elias whispered.
Maren nodded slowly. "A daughter. Born beneath a blood moon. The court panicked. Called her cursed. So the Queen ordered it: for the sake of peace, the girl must vanish."
The silk glinted as Charlotte turned it over. Woven into the fabric were tiny stars and a single closed eye.
Mira's fingers flew. "Prophecy. Sunlight and shadow."
Maren's eyes tracked the signs. "Yes. The eye that sees when closed. The child with no crown… but fire in her bones."
Charlotte's voice was low. "Where is she now?"
Maren's eyes dimmed. "I don't know. The rider never returned. But the crest—" she gestured to the silk, "—it belonged to a house long thought dead. Buried in the northern marshes. Forgotten by most."
Lightning cracked outside. Thunder growled across the hills.
Charlotte rose. The silk in her hand. Her voice steady.
"Then that's where we go next."
Mira tucked the cloth into her pouch, expression unflinching.
Elias stepped beside Charlotte, sword lowered, voice hushed. "Are you certain?"
Charlotte didn't waver.
"There's truth out there—truth the crown buried.And I won't leave it in the dark."