The torches along the palace corridors burned low, their flames snapping against the hush of midnight. Yet the silence was deceptive. Beneath the polished marble and carved arches, the palace thrummed with movement. Guards moved in hurried formations, boots striking in steady rhythm, as if the stone itself obeyed the urgency of their king.
Alexander strode ahead of them, his cloak billowing behind him, his presence impossible to ignore.
"Lock the outer gates," he ordered. "No one enters. No one leaves. Not until I give the command."
"Yes, Majesty!"
The words echoed down the passage as men scattered to carry them out.
Alexander's hands tightened at his sides as he swept into the Great Hall, where his senior captains had already assembled in a half-circle. Each man straightened under his gaze, though unease flickered in their eyes. They had not seen him like this in years—not since the betrayal that had cost him more than half his trust in men.
"The queen has vanished," he said without preamble. "She left her chambers with her handmaiden. Their destination is unknown. Their reasons are theirs alone—for now. But hear me clearly: I want every passage, every wing, every hidden stairway searched until we find them."
The captains exchanged quick glances. One cleared his throat. "Sire, the east wing has been sealed for years. Do you believe they—"
"I believe nothing," Alexander cut in. "I act. And so will you."
A murmur of assent rippled through the hall.
Draven stepped forward then, his dark eyes gleaming in the torchlight. "Majesty, forgive me, but perhaps this is unnecessary alarm. If she has simply wandered…"
Alexander's gaze snapped to him, sharp as a drawn blade. "Do you take me for a fool, Draven? She did not wander. Not in the dead of night, not in silence, not with her handmaiden gone as well."
Draven bowed smoothly, though his lips twitched at the edges. "Of course, Majesty. Yet one must ask—why does she vanish, if not to escape? You, more than any of us, know how easy it is for an impostor to hide behind a crown."
The words landed like arrows, each laced with venom. The captains shifted uneasily.
Alexander's jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm, low. Dangerous. "I will not hear whispers of impostors while she remains under my protection. Let that be understood."
Draven inclined his head, hiding whatever thoughts burned behind his eyes.
Alexander turned back to his men. "Begin in the lower levels—the kitchens, the servant quarters, the cellars. Then move upward. Search the libraries, the east wing, the old cloisters. If she has hidden herself, you will find her. If she has fled, the gates will trap her."
The captains saluted, their armor clattering in unison. Within moments, they dispersed, barking orders to their units. The palace stirred to life around them, the air thick with urgency.
Alexander remained where he stood, his expression carved from stone. Only when the hall had emptied did he move again, his boots echoing against the polished floor.
"Follow me," he said to his most trusted guard, a grizzled veteran named Garrick. Together, they moved toward the eastern corridors.
The east wing had been locked for nearly a decade. Dust layered the heavy doors, cobwebs clung to the corners. Yet as Alexander approached, he felt the faintest draft stir against his cheek—cool air, slipping through cracks where there should have been none.
He signaled Garrick to break the seal. The man pressed his shoulder to the door, the hinges groaning as they swung inward.
The corridor beyond stretched long and shadowed, lined with faded tapestries and crumbling sconces. The air smelled of disuse, damp stone and secrets long buried.
Alexander's gaze swept over it, sharp and searching. He did not miss the faint trail of disturbed dust, the impressions of footsteps where no one had walked in years.
"They've been here," Garrick muttered.
Alexander nodded once. "Light the torches."
The flames roared to life, chasing shadows back into the cracks of the walls. As they advanced deeper into the wing, Alexander's thoughts circled, relentless.
Why here? Why now? Sophie had shown curiosity, yes, but not recklessness. Or had he underestimated her? Had her wide-eyed defiance been nothing more than a mask?
Or—worse still—had Draven been right all along?
The thought scraped against him like rusted steel.
Yet even as suspicion gnawed at him, another truth pulsed harder: fear. Fear for her safety. Fear of what secrets she might uncover in these forgotten halls, secrets better left buried.
They reached the far end of the corridor, where a tapestry hung heavy against the wall. Alexander pulled it aside, revealing a narrow archway carved into the stone. The steps beyond descended into darkness.
Garrick cursed under his breath. "The old tunnels."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. Few knew of the tunnels beneath the palace—passages used in times of war, or treachery. If Sophie had found her way there, it was no accident.
"She is being guided," Alexander said softly, almost to himself.
Garrick looked at him. "By who, Majesty?"
Alexander did not answer. The possibilities were too many, and each more dangerous than the last.
He descended the steps without hesitation, the torchlight casting long shadows against the walls. His boots echoed in the narrow space, the air growing colder the deeper they went. The tunnels branched in several directions, a labyrinth designed to confuse invaders—and now, perhaps, the king himself.
At the first junction, Alexander paused. The dust here was disturbed as well, footprints scattered but fresh. A flicker of relief stirred in his chest—they were alive, at least. Still moving.
"Take men and seal the western exits," he ordered Garrick. "If they emerge, I want them contained. No harm is to come to the queen or her handmaiden, understood?"
"Yes, Majesty."
Garrick departed quickly, leaving Alexander alone with the shadows.
He stood there for a long moment, torchlight flickering across his face. The silence pressed heavy, the weight of stone and secrecy all around him.
He should have been angry. He should have been furious that she had defied him, that she had slipped past his guards, that she treated the palace as though it were hers to explore.
And yet, beneath the anger, something else clawed at him.
Why does she risk so much? What is she searching for?
And why, in the deepest chamber of his heart, did he dread finding her not because she was guilty, but because she might be lost to him forever?
His grip tightened on the torch. The fire flared, illuminating the stone passages before him.
He would find her. Whatever her secrets, whatever her purpose, he would find her.
And then—then she would answer to him.