The palace gardens had always seemed too quiet at night, their manicured hedges standing like guards of their own. Sophie pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, following Eira along a shadowed path. The air smelled faintly of roses and damp earth, but Sophie's thoughts were too restless to appreciate it.
Ever since Alexander's soldiers began shadowing her steps more closely, the palace no longer felt like a gilded cage—it felt like a prison. Every time she left her chambers, she could sense eyes watching, boots echoing just behind her. She had asked Eira about it earlier, and the handmaiden's nervous glance had told her everything: Alexander had tightened his control.
And Sophie hated it.
Tonight, though, they weren't sneaking into the east wing or forbidden halls. Their plan was subtler, quieter—perhaps even more dangerous. They were meeting someone who might actually remember Seraphina.
"Are you sure she'll talk to us?" Sophie whispered as Eira led her toward the servants' quarters.
Eira nodded firmly, though her voice was hushed. "Marta has been in the palace longer than anyone. She served the queen herself before… before she vanished. If anyone knows something, it's her. But we must be careful. She fears speaking of the past."
The weight of those words made Sophie's stomach tighten. If even a servant feared whispering Seraphina's name, then the truth was more tangled than she imagined.
At last they reached a small stone outbuilding tucked near the kitchens. Smoke curled faintly from a crooked chimney, and light flickered behind a narrow window. Eira knocked lightly, three times in rhythm, and after a moment the door creaked open.
Marta stood there, stooped with age but sharp-eyed, her gray hair pulled into a severe knot. Her gaze flicked over Sophie, lingering too long, as though trying to measure the shape of her face.
"You shouldn't be here," Marta muttered, stepping aside reluctantly. "Come quickly before the guards see."
Inside, the cottage was warm and cluttered, herbs hanging from the rafters and old linens folded neatly along shelves. Sophie sat on the edge of a wooden chair, suddenly aware of how out of place she must seem in her borrowed gown and cloak.
Marta's eyes had not left her. "It's uncanny," the woman finally said, her voice almost a whisper. "As if the queen herself walked back through my door."
Sophie swallowed, forcing her voice steady. "That's… why we came. I'm not her. But I need to understand her. People see her when they look at me. They judge me for her absence. Please, tell us about Seraphina."
For a long moment, Marta said nothing. Only the crackle of the fire filled the silence. Finally, she lowered herself into a chair opposite Sophie, her gnarled hands twisting together.
"She was kind," Marta began slowly, her voice carrying both fondness and sorrow. "Gentle, but stronger than most believed. The people adored her, though they never knew how heavy her crown weighed."
Sophie leaned forward. "What happened to her? Why did she disappear?"
Marta's hands froze. Her gaze flicked to Eira, then back to Sophie. Fear shadowed her features. "That is dangerous to ask."
"I have to know," Sophie pressed, her voice firmer now. "Because whether I want it or not, I'm tied to her. And I can't keep walking these halls blind."
Marta's lips pressed into a thin line, but then she sighed, as though surrendering to something inevitable. "There were whispers… always whispers. Some said she had grown ill, others that she betrayed the king. But I—" She hesitated, eyes darting to the window as though checking for unseen listeners. "I know what I saw."
Eira tensed beside Sophie. "What did you see?"
Marta's voice lowered, rough with age but steady with memory. "The queen did not vanish of her own will. The night she disappeared, I saw her led through the east wing. She was pale, frightened, and she begged someone not to make her go. And the one holding her arm…"
She broke off, her hands trembling now.
Sophie's heart thudded. "Who?"
Marta's eyes, full of both fear and grief, met Sophie's directly. "It was Lord Draven."
The name hit Sophie like a stone thrown into still water. She had already felt wary of the ambitious advisor, the way his dark eyes lingered during the royal dinner, the sharpness in his questions. Now the ripples spread outward in her mind—if Draven had been the last to lead Seraphina away, what had he done with her? And why did Alexander never speak of it?
"Are you certain?" Eira whispered, her hand gripping Sophie's sleeve.
"As certain as I am of my own name," Marta said. "I told no one. To accuse Draven would have been to sign my death warrant. And the king…" She shook her head, voice trembling. "He changed after that night. Harder. Colder. I feared he knew, and chose silence."
Sophie's breath caught. Alexander. Did he know what happened to Seraphina? Had he protected Draven—or had he been blind to the truth all this time?
Before she could ask, Marta leaned closer, her voice barely audible now. "Be careful, girl. If you carry Seraphina's face, Draven will not suffer you long. You are a danger to whatever lies he has woven. Do not trust him."
A knock suddenly rattled against the door. All three of them stiffened.
"Marta?" A guard's voice called from outside. "Is everything well?"
The old woman's face drained of color. Eira leapt to her feet, gesturing frantically toward the back door. "Go!" she hissed to Sophie.
Sophie rose, her pulse racing, but she paused just long enough to squeeze Marta's trembling hand. "Thank you."
The woman's eyes softened for the first time. "Stay alive, child. That is thanks enough."
Eira tugged her through the back, into the cold night air. They hurried through the shadowed hedges until the palace loomed once more ahead of them. Sophie's lungs burned, but her thoughts burned hotter.
Lord Draven.
If what Marta said was true, then Seraphina's disappearance was no accident, no divine prophecy fulfilled. It was treachery. And the man still sat at Alexander's side, whispering in his ear.
Eira caught Sophie's arm, forcing her to stop. Her eyes searched Sophie's, wide with fear. "We can't let anyone know we spoke to Marta. Not yet. If Draven suspects…"
Sophie nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead. Draven was powerful, cunning, and dangerous. But he was also human—and humans left traces, secrets, and cracks in their armor.
For the first time, Sophie felt less like an imposter and more like a player in the palace's game of shadows. She could not leave the mystery alone, not now.
If Draven had stolen Seraphina, she would find out why.
And if Alexander truly knew… then Sophie had to decide whether he was her enemy—or the only ally strong enough to bring the truth to light.