Morning sunlight slanted through the tall windows of Sophie's chambers, gilding the air in gold. Yet to Sophie, the warmth of day brought no comfort. She sat at the edge of her bed, twisting the hem of her gown between restless fingers, while Eira brushed out her hair with slow, steady strokes.
"I couldn't sleep," Sophie admitted finally, her voice low. "Every time I closed my eyes, I kept hearing his words."
Eira stilled for a moment, then resumed the gentle motions. "The king?"
Sophie nodded. "It feels like he's watching me even when he's not here. As though the walls themselves report to him."
"You're not wrong," Eira murmured. "Palaces are built to listen. Too many ears, too many eyes. You learn to move quietly, or you don't last long."
That should have frightened Sophie. Instead, it sharpened her resolve. She turned, meeting Eira's gaze in the mirror. "Then we'll move quietly. But we will move. We can't sit still, waiting for him to decide whether or not to trust me. If Seraphina's disappearance ties into this prophecy, if Draven is involved… then knowing the truth may be the only thing that saves us."
Eira set the brush aside. "You're asking me to walk through fire with you."
"Yes." Sophie's lips curved into a wry smile. "But if it's any consolation, I'd be far more terrified walking through it alone."
Eira sighed, though her eyes softened. "Then let us take careful steps. Today, no east wing. Too dangerous. But there are older servants who've been here longer than I've been alive. If we can persuade them to speak—"
"—we might learn where Seraphina's trail began," Sophie finished.
They exchanged a look of unspoken agreement.
By mid-morning, Sophie and Eira slipped into the lesser-used servants' corridors, the kind that carried drafts of cold stone and the faint smell of oil lamps. Their footsteps echoed softly, a reminder of how far from the glittering courtly halls they were.
Few noticed them here—or so they thought.
Two figures, cloaked in plain garb but armed beneath, shadowed their path from a careful distance. The men moved with the discipline of soldiers, keeping to corners, never closer than an ear's reach. Their orders were clear: watch, record, and never interfere.
Alexander's trap had already begun to tighten.
Sophie drew her cloak tighter as they entered the laundry wing, where steam rose from great copper vats and women with worn hands scrubbed and rinsed. The air smelled of soap and damp linen. Few looked up as the queen passed, though some curtsied with wary eyes.
"There," Eira whispered, tilting her head toward a bent figure in the corner, carefully folding garments. An elderly woman with hair as white as winter frost. Her back was hunched, but her hands moved with steady precision, and her eyes, when she glanced up, were startlingly clear.
"That's Nara," Eira explained. "She's been here since the reign of the king's father. If anyone remembers the queen before she vanished, it's her."
Sophie hesitated only a moment before approaching. "Good day," she greeted softly.
The old woman blinked up at her, surprise flickering across her features. "Your Majesty," she said, dipping her head without rising. "I did not expect to see you among soap and steam."
"I needed… quiet," Sophie replied, choosing her words carefully. "And sometimes, those who stand closest to the ground see more than those who sit on thrones."
A faint smile tugged at Nara's lips. "Wise words, for one so young."
Sophie crouched a little to meet her eyes. "You knew Seraphina, didn't you?"
The old woman's hands paused mid-fold. For a moment, only the bubbling of the vats filled the air. Then Nara's voice lowered. "Knew her, aye. Too well, perhaps. Too much for my own peace."
Eira shifted closer, tension radiating from her. Sophie pressed on gently. "What happened to her? People whisper, but no one tells me the truth."
Nara's gaze sharpened, as though measuring Sophie's sincerity. Then she leaned forward. "The queen was not beloved, child. Not by the people, not by the court. She brought with her shadows, and shadows clung wherever she walked. Some said she dealt in things not meant for mortal hands. Others said she was cursed."
Sophie swallowed. "And the king?"
"He loved her once," Nara said simply. "But love can sour into fear. And fear…" She trailed off, eyes flicking around the chamber as though walls themselves might betray her.
Sophie leaned closer. "Fear becomes what?"
Nara's lips trembled. "Fear becomes prophecy."
Before Sophie could press her further, a sharp sound broke through the hum of the laundry—a crash of a dropped basin, followed by quick apologies. But the spell had shattered. Nara straightened, her hands resuming their work as if nothing had been said.
"I've said too much," she muttered. "Ask no more, Majesty. Some truths are teeth waiting to bite."
Sophie wanted to beg, but Eira's grip on her arm urged caution. The younger woman steered her away, and though Sophie's heart burned with questions, she followed.
From a shadowed corner, one of Alexander's spies leaned to his partner, murmuring low. "Did you hear that?"
"Aye. Enough to make His Majesty interested."
"Come. We'll report at once."
The two men slipped away, unseen.
Later, back in her chamber, Sophie paced like a restless storm. "She knows more," she fumed. "I could feel it in her eyes. But she was too afraid to say it."
Eira poured water from a jug into a cup, her movements calm despite the tension. "Afraid, or wise. Sometimes silence is safer than truth. Especially in this palace."
Sophie took the cup but barely tasted the water. "Prophecy," she whispered. The word clung to her tongue like iron. "If Seraphina was part of some prophecy… and Alexander is already suspicious of me—"
"Then you must tread more carefully than ever," Eira warned.
But neither of them knew just how closely their steps were already being traced.
In the king's private study, the report was delivered before dusk. Alexander listened in silence, fingers steepled, his expression unreadable.
"Prophecy," he repeated when the spy finished. His eyes darkened, the word tasting of memory, of warnings whispered by priests long ago. "So she seeks the truth of Seraphina still."
"Shall we intervene, Majesty?" the spy asked.
Alexander shook his head slowly. "No. Let her dig. Let her think herself clever. A rabbit flees faster when it believes it has slipped the hound. But she is not slipping anything. She is running straight into my snare."
As the spy withdrew, Alexander poured himself wine but left it untouched, staring instead into the fire.
Sophie was not only restless—she was dangerous. And if she continued down this path, she would lead him to the very heart of secrets buried deep.
The corner of his mouth lifted, cold and calculating. "Soon," he murmured. "I'll know whether you are salvation… or ruin."