The east wing of the palace was whispered about more than it was visited. Servants avoided it, guards only patrolled its outer corridors, and even the nobles lowered their voices when its name arose. Sophie had heard fragments—collapsed chambers, cursed foundations, a place "the queen should not tread."
Which, of course, made it irresistible.
It was nearly midnight when she and Eira slipped out of her chambers. The palace slept uneasily, its great halls blanketed in silence but never truly safe. Sophie had learned by now that silence in this world was treacherous; it always seemed to hold its breath before something happened.
Eira carried a small lantern, its flame dimmed under a layer of gauze. Sophie followed close, her pulse quickening with every step. She clutched the memory of Seraphina's words: "The truth lies beneath the east wing, where stone meets water."
"What exactly are we looking for?" Sophie whispered as they wound through a servants' passage that curved toward the east side of the palace.
"Anything," Eira replied softly. "A door, a tunnel, even an inscription. The queen's words would not be so careless."
Sophie hesitated. "Do you think she's still alive?"
Eira slowed, her gaze hardening in the weak lantern light. "Hope is dangerous, Sophie. But it's the only thing that keeps me from despair."
The passage narrowed until it opened into a gallery long forgotten. Dust choked the air, cobwebs clung thick between the pillars, and the smell of damp stone crept into their lungs. Windows arched high above, their stained glass broken or clouded with grime, so the moonlight seeped in fractured and dim.
Sophie drew her shawl tighter. "This place feels wrong."
"That is why no one comes," Eira said. Her lantern cast jittery shadows across the cracked floor. "And why we must."
They pressed deeper. Columns lined the gallery, each carved with murals half-eroded by time: kings long dead, battles fought and won, rivers twisting like veins across the stone. Sophie paused at one, tracing her fingers over the faint outline of a woman's figure.
"Is that…"
"A queen," Eira supplied. "But not Seraphina. This was built generations ago."
Sophie tilted her head. "Then why erase her? Why hide something this old?"
Eira's silence was answer enough. Some truths, Sophie realized, the palace buried under stone and dust so they would never rise again.
At the far end of the gallery stood a sealed archway, its doors chained with iron so rusted it flaked at their touch. Faded sigils etched into the stone pulsed faintly in the moonlight, as if warning them away.
Sophie stepped closer. "Beneath the east wing," she murmured. "Could this be it?"
Eira examined the ground, her sharp eyes scanning cracks in the marble floor. Then she crouched, brushing away dirt until her fingers found a seam. "Here," she whispered. "Help me."
Together they pried at the stone. It was slow, grueling work—one stone then another until a panel loosened, revealing a narrow shaft descending into blackness. A waft of cold, damp air rose to meet them, carrying the unmistakable scent of water.
Sophie's heart leapt. Stone meets water.
Eira lowered the lantern. A staircase spiraled downward, slick with moss, vanishing into shadow. "If Seraphina hid something here, this must be the way."
Sophie hesitated only a moment before following. The air grew colder with every step, her breath fogging in front of her. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly, steady and patient, like a heartbeat in the dark.
They emerged into a cavernous chamber beneath the palace. Pillars of stone rose from an underground lake, the water dark and still except for ripples where droplets fell from the ceiling. In the center of the lake, half-submerged, stood the remains of what looked like an altar.
Sophie's pulse pounded in her ears. "What is this place?"
Eira's lantern flickered, throwing wavering light across the water. "An old temple," she whispered. "Older than the palace itself."
They inched along a narrow ledge toward the altar. Sophie's shoes slipped on wet stone, and she clutched Eira's arm for balance. Every step felt like trespassing into something sacred and forbidden.
At the edge of the altar, they found carvings—symbols Sophie didn't recognize, spirals and jagged lines that seemed almost alive in the lantern glow. But it was the object in the center that froze her breath.
A crown.
It was delicate, wrought of silver filigree, encrusted with sapphires dulled by time. But even in ruin, it radiated power. Sophie reached out before she could stop herself.
"Don't!" Eira hissed, grabbing her wrist.
"I wasn't going to—" Sophie began, but her voice faltered. She had been. The pull of the crown was undeniable, like it had been waiting for her.
Eira leaned closer, her voice tight. "This is no ordinary crown. If it belonged to Seraphina…"
Sophie swallowed hard. "Then why is it here, abandoned in the dark?"
Before Eira could answer, a sound shattered the stillness.
The scrape of steel on stone.
Both women whirled. Across the cavern, torchlight flared. Figures emerged from the shadows—guards, at least half a dozen, their armor glinting. And at their head stood Lord Draven, his expression carved into a mask of cold triumph.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying easily over the water. "Our queen and her handmaiden. Playing at secrets where they do not belong."
Sophie's stomach plummeted. Her eyes darted to the crown, then back to Draven. He knew.
Eira stepped forward, shielding Sophie with her body. "This is not what it looks like," she said quickly.
"Oh, I believe it is exactly what it looks like," Draven sneered. He motioned to his men. "Seize them. And bring the crown."
Panic surged through Sophie. If they were caught here, with Seraphina's relic in their hands, there would be no explaining it. Alexander would see betrayal, not truth.
Her gaze snapped to the water. The altar jutted only a few feet from its edge. She could almost imagine the cold bite of the lake swallowing them whole.
"Eira," she whispered. "The water."
Eira's eyes widened—but then, to Sophie's surprise, she nodded.
As the guards closed in, Sophie grabbed the crown and leapt.
The freezing shock of water consumed her instantly, dragging her down into darkness. She kicked wildly, clutching the crown to her chest, the roar of her heartbeat deafening. Somewhere beside her, she felt Eira's hand seize her arm, pulling, guiding.
Above, muffled shouts echoed, torches flickered, steel clattered against stone.
But below, in the hidden depths of the east wing, Sophie and Eira vanished into the water's embrace—carrying with them the first undeniable proof that Seraphina's story was far from over.