The chamber smelled of dust and secrecy. Alexander's boots ground softly against the stone as he stepped deeper inside, torchlight cutting across shelves of forgotten records. Soldiers fanned out around him, their flames illuminating ancient scrolls and tomes that had not been touched in years.
He raised a gloved hand, halting them. Silence settled heavy, broken only by the faint hiss of torchfire. His gaze swept the room like a predator hunting prey. Something was wrong.
"Someone has been here." His voice was low, calm, but it carried the sharp edge of command.
The soldiers shifted uneasily. One bent to the ground, brushing his fingers against the disturbed dust. "Your Majesty… fresh tracks."
Alexander crouched, his eyes narrowing as he studied the impressions. Two sets of feet. Smaller. Light. Not soldiers. Not intruders trained for stealth. He touched the grooves with his hand, almost feeling the warmth of trespassers lingering in the stone.
He already knew.
Straightening, he scanned the shelves until his eyes landed on a scroll left slightly out of place. His jaw tightened as he pulled it free, shaking off dust. The parchment unrolled beneath his fingers, its script a blend of elegance and foreboding.
The words drew his eyes like a magnet:
"A queen of two worlds shall come, cloaked in the shadow of another's crown. She will bring either salvation or ruin, and the king who binds her fate shall decide which path is taken."
Alexander's chest tightened. His soldiers remained still, watching him as if the scroll itself had cursed the room. He reread the lines slowly, each word striking like a hammer.
A queen of two worlds.
Salvation—or ruin.
His gaze darkened.
"Sophie," he muttered under his breath.
The resemblance to Seraphina had unsettled him from the beginning. But it was not merely the face. It was the timing. The sudden appearance. The way the realm itself seemed to stir since she had arrived. And now this.
If Sophie had touched these scrolls, she had seen the same words. What would she think? What would she do?
The thought unsettled him.
"Seal this chamber," he ordered coldly, thrusting the scroll into the hands of a captain. "No one enters without my command. Not even the council."
The captain bowed deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Alexander turned sharply, his cloak sweeping against the dust. His soldiers fell into step behind him as he strode into the corridor. Yet his thoughts were no longer steady. They raced, tangled with fragments of memory.
Seraphina's disappearance. The whispers that she had been swallowed by prophecy. And now Sophie—an echo of a queen who had vanished, standing defiant in a world not her own.
Could it be coincidence? He did not believe in coincidence.
As he climbed back into the torchlit hallways of the palace, his steps slowed. He had seen something else in the chamber—not just prophecy, but subtle signs. A shelf disturbed more than others. Dust smeared by fingers, not time.
She had been there. Sophie.
He closed his eyes briefly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Anger simmered beneath his calm exterior, but beneath it lurked something far more dangerous: fear.
If she was tied to the prophecy, then his kingdom was on the brink of something he could neither control nor predict. And if she had already begun to seek answers…
"Your Majesty?" A soldier broke his silence cautiously.
Alexander opened his eyes, his expression iron once more. "Double the guard around her chambers. Discreetly. She is not to know."
The soldier bowed and hurried off.
Left alone in the corridor, Alexander lingered in thought. He remembered her laughter, light and foreign in these halls, so unlike Seraphina's composed grace. He remembered the way she had looked at him during dinner—half defiance, half fear.
And he remembered the way his chest had tightened when she held his gaze, as if she were daring him to see her, not the queen she resembled.
He clenched his jaw. He could not afford such thoughts. Not now.
If Sophie was the queen of prophecy, then she was either the greatest threat he had ever faced… or the salvation he had waited for all his life.
And he would find out which.
Later, alone in his private chambers, Alexander lit only a single lamp. Shadows clung to the walls as he sat at his desk, unrolling the scroll once more. His fingers traced the faded ink, as though he could draw meaning from the very strokes.
"The king who binds her fate shall decide which path is taken."
His reflection in the polished surface of the desk glared back at him—cold, weary, unyielding. He had bound kingdoms before. He had crushed rebellions, conquered rivals, silenced betrayal. Yet this… this was not a battle fought with steel.
This was a battle of destiny.
And destiny had brought Sophie into his halls.
He leaned back, steepling his hands. Somewhere in the palace, she was likely restless, whispering secrets with that handmaiden Eira, perhaps even laughing softly to keep her courage.
He wondered if she knew he was already two steps ahead.
A knock sounded at his door. "Your Majesty," came Lord Draven's voice, oily with calculated reverence. "The council grows uneasy. They say the woman wears Seraphina's face too well."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. Draven had always been too perceptive for his liking.
"She is under my protection," Alexander said coldly. "And the council would do well to remember their place."
"Yes, sire," Draven replied, though his tone carried the shadow of doubt.
When the door shut again, Alexander rose, pacing slowly toward the window. The night spread over the palace gardens, moonlight gilding the paths. Somewhere out there, Sophie walked the same stones Seraphina once had.
He pressed his hand against the cold glass.
If you are the queen of two worlds, Sophie… he thought grimly. Then I will decide which world you save—and which you doom.