The night was not meant for peace. Alexander knew this as he sat in his private study, a single candle guttering against the shadows. His advisors had retired, the court silenced for the evening, yet his mind remained restless.
Paperwork lay forgotten across his desk—petitions, trade agreements, reports of border unrest. He should have been poring over them, as he always did. But instead, his thoughts circled back, again and again, to the strange woman who now slept in chambers too near his own.
Or at least, she was supposed to be sleeping.
Something about Sophie unsettled him. Her eyes carried the weight of someone who had seen beyond the palace walls, beyond the realm itself. She spoke with defiance one moment, wit the next, as though she belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once.
And yet—he found himself listening when she spoke, even when her words irritated him. He found himself watching when she moved, noticing details he should not notice: the way her laughter softened her features, the unguarded glimmer of fear she tried to hide, the stubborn tilt of her chin.
It was dangerous. Dangerous because he could not afford distraction. Dangerous because she reminded him of Seraphina.
And most dangerous of all—because she did not.
A knock jarred him from his thoughts. A guard bowed low as he entered.
"Your Majesty," the man said, hesitant. "We cannot locate the queen."
Alexander's body went still. "What?"
The guard swallowed. "Her chambers are empty. The handmaiden is gone as well. There are… signs that they left some time ago."
For a moment, the only sound in the study was the hiss of the candle. Alexander's jaw tightened. He rose slowly, his chair scraping against the stone floor.
"Show me."
The corridors were silent as he strode through them, the guard trailing nervously at his heels. At the queen's chambers, two sentries stood stiffly, their faces pale. They parted quickly as Alexander entered.
The room was immaculate at first glance. The bed covers smoothed, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers. But his eyes were sharp, trained to notice what others missed.
The wardrobe stood slightly ajar. A shawl lay discarded near the window, as though dropped in haste. And near the door—muddy footprints, faint but undeniable, marring the pristine marble floor.
Alexander crouched, touching the marks with his gloved fingers. Damp. Recent.
"She did not leave alone," he murmured.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. "Sire, could it be foul play? An intruder—"
"No," Alexander cut in, his voice cold. He rose to his full height, his cloak whispering against the stone. "She left of her own will."
The words tasted bitter.
Why? What compelled her to wander the palace at night, to vanish into shadow when she should have been safe under guard?
Unless—
His thoughts flickered to Seraphina. To the whispers of prophecy. To the nagging suspicion that Sophie was not who she claimed to be.
And yet, deep in his chest, another thought struck harder.
What if she is in danger?
The possibility gripped him, sharper than steel.
He turned abruptly to the nearest guard. "Summon Lord Draven. Quietly. And double the patrols along the east and south wings. If she is within the palace, she will be found."
The guards scrambled to obey, though unease shadowed their faces.
Alexander lingered only a moment longer in the chamber. His gaze fell to the shawl near the window. He stooped, lifting the fabric. It was soft, carrying her scent faintly, like jasmine after rain. He closed his fist around it before setting it aside, his face an unreadable mask.
When he entered the council chamber minutes later, Lord Draven was already waiting.
"You called for me, Majesty?" Draven's voice was smooth, practiced. His sharp eyes flickered with something Alexander did not like—anticipation.
"The queen is missing."
Draven's brows rose. He made a show of surprise. "Missing? Surely she has not gone far. Perhaps a walk to clear her thoughts?"
"At midnight?" Alexander's voice cut like a blade.
Draven bowed his head. "Of course, sire. Yet it is no secret she has been… restless. The adjustment has not been easy."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. He did not miss the faint curl of satisfaction at Draven's mouth. Something in his gut twisted.
"What do you know?" he asked quietly.
Draven blinked, feigning innocence. "Know? Why, nothing at all. Except that she may not be the woman she claims. There are still unanswered questions, are there not? How convenient, that she appears when Seraphina vanishes. How convenient, that she carries no proof of her origins."
Alexander's temper flared, though his expression remained composed. "Careful, Draven. You tread on dangerous ground."
Draven spread his hands. "I speak only as a loyal servant, Majesty. The court will ask the same questions, in time. Would you rather they ask them in whispers, or to your face?"
The words struck a nerve, but Alexander shoved down his fury. He could not let Draven see more than he already had.
Instead, he dismissed him with a curt gesture. "Return to your duties. Leave the queen to me."
Draven bowed low, but his smirk lingered as he withdrew.
Alone again, Alexander braced himself against the table. His mind whirled with questions, doubts, fears.
If Sophie had gone willingly, what was she searching for? If unwillingly—why had none of his guards seen a thing?
And if Seraphina's shadow lingered in this mystery, then what role did Sophie truly play?
The answers eluded him, but his instincts screamed one truth: Sophie was more than she appeared. A pawn, perhaps, or a key to something greater.
But she was also a woman. Flesh and blood. And if she was in peril, he could not—would not—allow harm to come to her.
He straightened, his decision made.
"Bring me a horse," he ordered the guards outside. "If she is not in the palace, then I will search beyond its walls."
The men saluted, rushing to obey.
For a fleeting moment, Alexander's hand tightened around the shawl he had tucked beneath his cloak. It was reckless, sentimental—an emperor should not cling to scraps of fabric as if they tethered him to someone.
And yet he did.
Because beneath the iron weight of duty and suspicion, something dangerous and undeniable had begun to stir within him.
And it was all because of her.