Chapter 5: Secrets Beneath the Gilded Walls
I woke drenched in cold sweat. The memory of the lake pressed against me like a second skin: water over my chest, darkness swallowing me whole, lungs burning for air. The nightmare had come without warning, even three months before my eighteenth birthday. My fingers trembled against the canopy, my heart hammering. I was alive, yet the fear lingered—a quiet, gnawing reminder that someone had tried to take my life before the story even began.
Ana appeared at my door almost instantly. “Your Highness… are you well?” Her voice was cautious, wary, yet full of concern.
“I am awake. That is enough,” I replied, steadying my shaking body. “Today… we uncover the truth.”
Her eyes widened. “The truth, Princess?”
“Yes,” I said, allowing a faint, determined smile. “Someone wanted me dead, Ana. And I intend to find out who.”
Ana nodded silently. Her trust in me, unspoken, carried weight.
I dressed in a muted gown, simple and unassuming, hiding wealth and influence. My violet eyes—the gift of my maternal line, the Amethysts of the Viscount family—remained the only feature that might betray me. Ana braided my hair loosely, careful and silent. Being the least noticed princess was an advantage. Today, I intended to use it.
We moved through the corridors quietly. Every tapestry, carved arch, and flicker of torchlight became a potential clue. I had memorized the palace from the book, but now, walking it in life, each corner, each servant, each whisper could hold danger—or insight.
Our first stop was the library. The shelves towered over me, heavy with records, scrolls, and ledgers. Dust motes floated in the sunlight that spilled through tall windows. I skimmed visitor logs, correspondence, and minor incident reports. Names repeated themselves: courtiers, lords, servants. One caught my eye—Blestaire. Anaya Blestaire, the queen’s daughter. Favored. Ambitious. Precise. Ambition alone could not explain a near-fatal attack, but suspicion sharpened in my mind. I filed her name carefully, observation before accusation.
I moved next to servant quarters, corridors near the kitchens, halls rarely crossed by nobles. Whispers here carried more truth than polished speech in the audience chamber. I approached attendants carefully, posing questions as casual curiosity. “Did anyone enter your chambers that night?” I asked softly.
A young maid glanced over her shoulder. “I… I saw Lady Anaya near the lake entrance late at night. But… the King favors her now.” The pause was telling. Servants rarely spoke freely against someone so influential. Fear mixed with truth—a single hesitant statement I stored carefully, a thread I intended to follow.
As I wandered, my eyes caught subtle anomalies: hurried instructions, shifts in guard positions, and irregular palace routines. Someone had moved pieces quietly, ensuring intentions remained invisible to all but a keen observer. Whoever had pushed me into the lake had acted with precision: knowledge of patrols, access to restricted areas, awareness of timing. Cruel, calculated, political.
I reached the east wing, dusty ledgers and journals of long-dead palace physicians stacked neatly. Entries chronicled minor injuries, sibling rivalries, and unusual servant behavior. The palace had always been a web of secrets and betrayal. I was not the first princess in peril, nor would I be the last if I failed to act. Knowledge was my weapon. Observation, my shield.
Later, I passed the audience chamber, freezing as I glimpsed the King seated with his advisers. Broad-shouldered, with stormy gray eyes that could pierce anyone daring to meet his gaze, he leaned back in calculated disinterest. Two advisers huddled close, voices low, polished, yet laced with ambition and subtle fear.
“…Your Majesty, the Duke of Valleria returns victorious,” one whispered. “Valdoria’s northern border is secure. His strategy… impeccable. The people will speak of him.”
The King’s lips thinned. “Victory brings influence. Leverage. Any misstep… and he may grow too bold. We must channel it carefully.”
The second adviser’s voice tightened. “His sway among the borderfolk grows. Murmurs of admiration, even loyalty, ripple through the provinces. If left unchecked, his influence could surpass the Crown in certain regions.”
The King’s expression hardened. “Divide the lords. Distract the people. Keep them uncertain. The Duke is a tool, not a threat. And the fragile daughter… inconsequential. Her presence in the physicians’ court, or anywhere else, is irrelevant. Focus on the Duke, the border provinces, and the lords who dare whisper.”
I pressed myself closer to the wall, absorbing every nuance. The advisers were cautious, trying to warn the King of subtle dangers, yet his arrogance dismissed them. They spoke of me—ignored, fragile, a tool to be discarded. Their underestimation was my advantage.
“…And regarding the daughter, Your Majesty,” the second adviser whispered, voice meant only for the King. “The plan remains. Give her hand to the Duke of Valleria. He gains control over the minor royal line, the people perceive stability. The girl… insignificant.”
I froze. The plan I had read in the book, the event that would have claimed me, lay before my eyes. I was awake. Aware. Alive. They spoke of me as a pawn, yet they underestimated me.
I slipped back into the shadows, heart hammering, mind racing with analysis. Three months until my eighteenth birthday. Three months until the Duke’s arrival. Three months to observe, plan, and survive.
Returning to my chambers, I cataloged all I had seen:
Anaya Blestaire: suspicious movements near the lake, access to restricted areas.
Servant whispers: hints of secret plotting.
Palace routines: anomalies and hidden passages indicating stealthy movement.
The King: arrogant, dismissive, preoccupied with the Duke’s rising influence.
The Duke: victorious in Valdoria, growing in power and leverage.
The advisers: ambitious, manipulative, attempting to maintain influence and safeguard the King’s position.
Every detail mattered. Each observation became a potential weapon. I had survived once; I could survive again.
As dusk fell, the palace settled into gilded, deceptive quiet. Ana lit a candle beside me, worry etched across her face. “Princess… you are fearless. But do you understand what you are up against?”
I nodded. “Yes, Ana. Someone tried to kill me. I do not yet know who, but I will find out. Observation first. Proof second. Action last. Patience will be my ally.”
She nodded silently, trust enough.
I pressed myself along the walls, replaying every movement, every whispered caution I had overheard. Hidden stairwells, patrol routines, servant habits—every scrap of information a piece of my strategy. The palace, for all its gilded grandeur, concealed rot and treachery beneath the shine. I had been pushed once; I would not be pushed again.
Finally, in a quiet corridor near the east wing, I noticed a loose panel—an unused stairwell. Pressing against it, I discovered a scrap of parchment, partially hidden:
“…cannot fail… tonight… ensure it…”
The handwriting was delicate, precise, familiar from my prior observations. Not proof—but a lead.
I retraced my steps carefully, noting every detail, every shadow, every potential witness. Servants scuttled past, some avoiding my gaze, others curious. Danger was real. The culprit was close. Patience, observation, and subtlety would be my allies.
By nightfall, I returned to my chambers, gathering my notes. The palace had underestimated me. They had dismissed me as fragile, inconsequential. That was their first mistake.
I whispered to the flickering candlelight:
“I am not irrelevant. I am not powerless. And I do not die here.”