Morgan, wearing a long thick black coat that covered her hair and most of her face, ran quickly toward the palace gates. Luckily, there were no guards around. Five years ago, this place was always heavily guarded.
She stared at the firmly shut doors, breathing heavily. She had expected this. Sweat beaded on her forehead, only to be erased by the cool air.
Morgan planned to take the chef's route into the palace. She inhaled sharply as she pressed herself against the wall she had climbed. Her flames flickered in her palm as she grabbed the pavement, pulling herself up with effort. She sat on the edge of the wall, steadying her balance. After scanning the darkness, she jumped down, nearly bruising her skin on the landing.
She moved slowly in the darkness, the small flame in her hand her only light. Morgan ran quietly, her heart pounding, until she reached the kitchen door. She tried the bolt, but it refused to move.
She cursed under her breath, frustration rising. While thinking of another way in, she heard muffled voices from inside the thick door. Her eyes widened. She wasn't alone.
Morgan hurried to hide in the shadows. She gently rolled the burning stick to a corner where she could retrieve it later.
She waited, watching the door. She prayed silently for someone to open it. If she could just get inside, she could unlock the palace entrance from within and escape later.
Minutes dragged on. Her knees ached as she thought about squatting to rest. She was already considering another entrance when the lock finally gave way.
Morgan's breath hitched. Light flickered closer from inside, but she couldn't see who held it. She dodged backward, pressing into the darkness as the figure walked past her and hurried to the left.
She clutched her racing heart, relieved she hadn't been noticed. The darkness hid her well. Morgan slipped toward her torch and snatched it off the ground. Covering her face with her coat, she hurried back to the door.
She closed her eyes briefly and unlocked it. The door opened with a soft sound. Excitement and fear twisted in her stomach.
Inside, candlelight lit every corner of the kitchen. Morgan knew she didn't need her own flame anymore, and she tried to put it out.
Morgan stepped farther into the kitchen. Five years ago, she often came here to collect food orders for Queen Elizabeth, back when she worked as a palace gardener. Back then, the room smelled like delicious dishes being prepared.
Now, it only smelled idle, faint candle wax and warmth, mixed with the absence of cooking.
Morgan moved carefully, staying silent. The chef was usually a loud woman, proud of her food. Morgan expected that if she was here now, she might hear her.
She hurried to the small doorway leading to the gardens. Closing her eyes, she prayed it wasn't locked.
It was.
Morgan bit back a frustrated cry. She scanned the cabinets, having no idea where the keys would be kept.
Then, crash!
A loud clatter of falling utensils echoed through the room.
Morgan jumped and quickly hid behind the counter. A familiar voice cursed softly as the person gathered the fallen tools. Morgan glanced and noticed keys hanging from the woman's waist.
Her eyebrows raised. Those had to be the keys she needed.
Morgan watched the woman disappear into a corner, then return again. Her mood unreadable, her figure heavy and tired. She leaned against a wall, whispering something to herself, arms wrapped around her chest.
Morgan knew she had to act fast, anyone else could return at any moment.
She grabbed a spoon from the counter and snuck closer to the garden door again, preparing a distraction. The woman stood there with her eyes closed, exhausted.
This was her chance.
Morgan crept forward, reaching a hand toward the keys,
Suddenly, the main kitchen door slammed open.
Morgan froze. Her breath caught in her throat. She ducked instantly, dropping low before the woman could even open her eyes.
A man stepped into the room. He tore off his coat, revealing a dark mustache. Morgan recognized tension in the air, the woman was terrified of him.
He reached her quickly and grabbed her by the arms. His voice shook with fury and twisted affection.
"Where do you think you're going? No one will rescue you. Just accept me again."
The woman, trembling, pleaded, "Leonardo, please. Why do you keep abusing me? Every day…"
He chuckled darkly and brushed his fingers through her hair.
"Because I cherish you," he said, breath hovering near her face. "I've waited for years to hold you again. This darkness finally gave me my freedom. Where is the fierce cook now?"
He moved to kiss her cheek. She turned away.
A harsh slap cracked through the kitchen.
Morgan flinched as the woman cried silently, her cheek red with pain.
He leaned in again, lips trailing toward her neck. She didn't resist, she was too weak, too used to the torment. For five years she had suffered his abuse, trapped and afraid to flee the darkness outside.
He pushed her down and began tearing at her clothes. A brassiere and undergarments were all she had left.
"Lie down," he ordered. "Spread your legs. You have no say."
He laughed cruelly as she obeyed, still crying.
Then he bent to pick up the keys at her waist. They slipped through his fingers, rolling right to Morgan's feet.
She snatched them silently.
He turned his back to lock the door. Morgan took the chance to slide the key into the garden lock as quietly as she could.
Another slap hit the woman. Morgan felt it in her bones.
Her heart pounded. She stared at the man, the monster, ripping away the last of the woman's defenses.
Morgan reached for a weighted pestle nearby. Her eyes hardened.
"This is for her," she whispered.
She tossed the spoon to the far corner. The man's head snapped toward the sound.
Morgan moved behind him.
Crack!
The pestle smashed against the back of his skull. Blood streamed instantly as he cried out, collapsing.
The woman rushed to grab her clothes.
Morgan raised the pestle again.
"For every time you abused and threatened her."
Crack!
Blood poured from his mouth and nose, his head torn open.
One more strike, and he went still.
"He's dead," the woman whispered, clutching her clothes to her chest. She stared at Morgan, then at the man's motionless body, covered in thick blood.
"It's better he dies than you," Morgan said emotionlessly. She tried to lean the pestle against the wall, but it slipped and fell with a loud thud.
"Put your dress on," Morgan added quickly. "Help me tie him up. If his soul comes back, he won't be able to escape."
The woman nodded, thankful, and hurried to dress.
Morgan covered her nose from the strong metallic smell. Together, they tied the man's wrists and ankles tightly with thick braided ropes.
"We should take him outside," Morgan said quietly. "His blood will attract the beasts eventually."
"He deserves it," the woman muttered bitterly. She kicked his tied legs, making sure he didn't move.
Morgan grabbed his arms, the woman his feet, and they dragged him out to the pitch-black yard. Morgan stepped on his face once, frustration spilling out, before heading back inside.
The woman poured water for them to wash the blood from their hands. Morgan wiped them dry with the towel she was given.
"Thank you," the woman finally spoke, voice trembling but sincere. "I wish I was as brave as you. Look what you just did."
Morgan looked up. "Sometimes pain changes people. Some become silent. Some become wise. Some become dangerous. Something has to happen to make a person courageous."
The woman stared at her, curious. "How did you even get in here?"
Morgan hesitated, then answered, "I need a favor. I came to steal."
"Steal?" she repeated, surprised.
"Yes, but not from you." Morgan pulled her hood over her head again. "Clean up your enemy's blood proudly. You won tonight."
She unlocked the garden door and slipped through. The cook watched her disappear, then hurried to clean the stained floors.
Morgan lowered her face, moving through familiar surroundings. She unlocked the chef's inner door with the first key she tried. Flames lined the walls as she stepped inside the long hallway.
She listened. Voices echoed from ahead. Morgan stopped and quickly hid behind a wall as two guards walked past.
When they were gone, Morgan silently opened the door to the staircase. It creaked slightly. She winced, slipping in and closing it behind her.
Stairs climbed up to the king's hall.
Morgan moved quickly, yet careful not to make a sound. The thick red carpet led down a long corridor. Flames flickered from torches mounted on the walls. Even though the royal family was gone, even though Petra was abandoned, these fires were still replaced every night by the loyal guards who remained.
She hurried to the king's door and pulled a single heavy metal key from her coat. The one she had taken from home after kissing Landon goodbye. She twisted it. The lock gave away loudly.
Heart racing, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.
The room was swallowed in darkness. Morgan lit a torch and stepped in, shutting the door behind her.
A cold chill hit her skin.
This was the room of the late king, the one rumored to have made a pact with the devil.
She walked carefully across the huge bedroom. She lit the remaining torches around the room, bringing the space to life.
She rushed to the tall cupboards, searching through scrolls and items. Nothing useful.
She checked under the bed. Nothing.
She stood, frustrated. All this danger, just to go home empty-handed? At least she saved Elaine. But still…
Morgan moved to the large wardrobe. When she opened it, the stuffy scent hit her nose. Thick dust. Old royal clothes.
She flipped through the queen's gowns, picking three that seemed close to her size. She threw them on the bed. They still held their royal insignias , but she needed clothes, so she'd take them.
Morgan dug deeper, but only found old items. Nothing valuable. Panic crept in again.
Then she saw it.
A dark red stain on the floor, partly hidden under the carpet.
Her stomach tightened. Slowly, she knelt and touched it. Dried. Long ago.
Blood.
Her eyes traveled further, to the corner of a wooden seam in the tile. Without hesitating, she yanked the thick carpet aside, revealing a small wooden trapdoor.
Morgan grabbed the handle and pulled, nothing. She set her knees and pulled again, harder, still stuck.
She shook out her tired arms and gave one last angry tug,
Crack!
The door snapped open. Morgan had to press a hand to her forehead, almost laughing with relief.
Danger or not, she couldn't leave now.
She lifted the door completely and saw nothing but darkness below. She took a torch from the wall and stepped onto the first creaking wooden step.
Then the second.
The third.
She descended into the hidden chamber.
At the bottom, she lifted the torch higher, and gasped.
Treasure.
Everywhere.
Gold coins piled on shelves and floors. Silver cups. Glittering rubies. Jewels scattered like rocks. Ancient art pieces she'd only heard rumors about.
Morgan covered her mouth to hold in her shock.
She quickly set the torch down and pulled the sack from her shoulder. She began stuffing it with anything she could grab, gold coins, jewels, crowns, shining plates. Anything that could help her and Landon survive.
She tried not to think about guards, beasts, or the price of being caught.
She was here for a reason. And this time, she would not leave empty-handed.
Morgan hoisted her sack of treasure over her shoulder, careful not to knock over the piles around her. Every step was careful, the torch in her hand danced shadows on the rough stone walls. She didn't dare make a sound, not a single creak of the floor could betray her.
She reached the stairs and climbed slowly, torch held high. Each step groaned under her weight. At the top, she paused, looking back at the glow of the treasure-filled chamber. Her heart pounded. She had to get out before anyone noticed the trapdoor open.
The palace hallway stretched ahead. Flames burned faintly in the sconces along the walls. The red carpet rolled toward the far end, showing the path to the main halls. Morgan moved quickly but carefully, keeping her sack close and her coat pulled over her face.
Voices echoed from ahead. She froze, pressing herself against the wall. Two guards walked past, their armor clinking softly. Morgan held her breath until they disappeared. She moved again, taking three steps at a time, silent.
Finally, she reached the main doors leading to the garden. She pulled out the key from her coat, the one she had picked up earlier from Elaine, and slid it into the keyhole. The bolt gave way with a soft click.
Morgan opened the door slowly, peering out. Darkness stretched before her. The faint moonlight barely lit the palace grounds. She slipped through the doorway and moved quickly toward the nearest tree line, keeping low.
Suddenly, she heard shouts behind her. "Hey! Who's there?" One of the guards called, catching sight of movement. Morgan's heart leapt. She ran faster, weaving through the dark shadows, the sack of treasure thumping against her back.
She considered throwing the torch to mislead them, but knew she might stumble in the darkness. Better to keep it and see where she was going. She dodged through the trees, pushing toward the palace gates.
The gates loomed ahead. Locked, of course. And more guards were appearing behind her, their footsteps echoing. Morgan's chest heaved. Her life flashed before her eyes. She had to find a way out.
Then a light appeared ahead. A flame bobbed in the darkness. A voice called urgently: "This way! Come with me!"
Without hesitation, Morgan followed the torch. She barely had time to think, adrenaline carrying her forward.
As they reached a wall, the voice shouted from the shadows. "Throw your flame! Across the wall! They're tracking it! I got you!"
Morgan obeyed, flinging the torch into the distance. Flames arced through the air, drawing the guards' attention away. A hand grabbed hers, pulling her behind a hidden stone wall.
"It's me. We should hide here for a while," the voice said. Morgan recognized it instantly, Elaine. "I know a route to get you out safely. You just need to wait."
Morgan swallowed hard. Thoughts of Landon and Pluto flashed in her mind. She shook them off. She had to stay alive.
The guards searched in three directions, scattering themselves. Morgan stayed low, heart pounding, torchlight faintly illuminating the secret path Elaine had found.
"You came to steal from the palace? I wouldn't have guessed," Elaine said once they were alone, her tone a mixture of awe and suspicion.
Morgan took a deep breath, her voice quiet. "I came for treasures."
Elaine's eyes widened. She lifted her torch to Morgan's face. "Treasures? In the palace?"
Morgan nodded.
Together, they moved quickly through narrow corridors and hidden passages. Elaine guided Morgan to a small gate, one Morgan had never known existed.
Elaine unlocked it. "Here. Keep this. In case you want to come back for more," she said, handing Morgan the keys.
Morgan glanced down at her hand. She wondered if she'd ever want to return to the towering palace. Still, she took them.
"Run straight to the market junction. You'll know the rest from there," Elaine instructed.
Morgan nodded. She grabbed the torch Elaine handed her. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You saved my life today."
"And you saved me," Elaine replied softly. "I had sworn I'd end myself if Cai ever came back. You stopped that. You saved me from running forever from him."
Morgan nodded. "It's better he dies than we do."
They shared a brief, silent hug before Morgan slipped through the gate. Elaine watched her go, securing the gate behind her.
Morgan ran through the dark streets, her sack of treasure heavy but her resolve stronger. The faint glow of the torch in her hand guided her toward the market junction, toward safety, toward a future she had fought to reclaim.