Hatred filled the noblewomen’s glares, but they made no retort as the guards nudged me forward. I didn’t miss the way they watched me as I passed, their scowls poorly concealed behind their silk fans.
The guards ledme deeper into the palace and then up a grand staircase before passing through a wide corridor. My senses were alive with curiosity as I passed various rooms. I gazed with envy at a library full of ancient books that held memories older than this palace. I wistfully eyed a set of foreign luggage that waited outside a guest room; I’d had little chance in my life to explore memories from other nations.
A young page passed us, walking briskly, and I edged close enough to “accidentally” brush against the stack of papers he held, hoping to get some insights into the monarchs who had possibly pored over these documents. Unfortunately my brief contact yielded only a fragmented snapshot of the page himself scrambling to gather up the pages a few minutes ago when he’d dropped them.
Garrett’s eyes narrowed at my contact with the papers and he shifted positions so that I was now buffered on all sides by the royal guard, unable to use my magic on any other objects.
At last, after nearly losing count of the number of staircases we’d ascended, we arrived in the highest tower at a door carved from dark oak, its iron hinges shaped like vines, more ornate than the guest chambers they’d placed me in before. One of the guards swung it open, revealing a room far too luxurious to be comforting—quilts and curtains embroidered with golden thread, air perfumed with something sweet and floral, a curving arched window that gleamed in the fading light like a promise I couldn’t reach.
The moment I stepped across the threshold, the door shut resolutely behind me, revealing this room for what it truly was: a cage disguised as courtesy. An elegant paradise compared to the dungeon…but at least the dungeon had been honest. They claimed I’d passed some royal test—and yet here I was, locked away yet again, like a threat rather than a chosen heir.
I waited, counting silently until a minute had passed, then pressed my ear to the wood. Muffled voices, signifying the guards were still stationed outside. I tried the handle. Locked. Of course.
I turned back towards the room, letting my gaze sweep across it with the same precision I’d use to scan a vault. Fireplace—sealed. Windows—latched tightly and etched with a faint silver rune that shimmered when the light hit just right, with a sheerdrop beyond too high to survive even if I managed to pry them open.
The walls were smooth stone, the ceiling high and bare. No vents, no hidden servant passages I could detect. The wardrobe was locked, as was the vanity. The mirror was mounted too high to inspect properly without standing on the delicate chaise, but soiling the elegant furniture was the least of my worries. I climbed up and tapped the frame’s edges, searching for hollows or hidden compartments. Nothing.
Next I checked the hearthstones for loose bricks, shifted the rugs for trapdoors, even checked the baseboards, just in case some clever architect had left a trick panel. But if this room held secrets, they didn’t trust them to thieves.
Still, I didn’t stop, nibbling on the lunch that had been left on the nightstand as I worked my way around the room. My fingers brushed each surface I passed: the curved bedpost, the velvet armchair, the table carved with twining vines. I kept waiting for the flicker of memory, a trace of the magic I’d felt the night before.
But the objects remained stubbornly silent, as if the spell had retreated into the shadows, waiting until I found the right object and story to awaken it.
The hours dripped by like candle wax as I continued my futile search. Outside, the light shifted through the latticed glass, trailing long, golden bars across the polished floor.
By mid-afternoon, the light began to fade into that golden hush just before dusk. I stood at the window, watching birds sweep in slow, arching spirals across the sky. From this height, I could just make out the edge of the western gardens—and beyond them, the dark curve of the forest towards the freedom that shimmered on the horizon, just out of reach.
I paced across the room and pressed my ear back against the wood of the door, still faintly warm from the last time my cheekhad rested against its smooth surface. I strained to catch even the faintest noise detecting the guards’ lingering presence—the shifting of boots, the whisper of armor.
They were still there, not that I expected otherwise. But with nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, I found myself checking again and again.
I fished a slender hairpin from my updo—my lockpick. My backup I kept in my boot had been confiscated during the search Their Majesties had ordered before imprisoning me in this gilded prison, but they'd overlooked this. I smirked at the memory of the guards’ surprise at how little they’d found.
There was a reason I rarely carried any personal effects; I couldn’t risk dragging certain memories back into the light.… especially the grief from losing the one I cared for most.
My smile faded as I twirled the pin between my fingers, doubtful that it would help much. The enchantment woven into the lock was beyond anything I’d encountered before, but I fiddled with it anyway—not because I thought I’d succeed, but because not trying felt like surrender.
Several painstaking minutes passed, but the lock didn’t give, leaving all I had to show for my efforts the faint burn of frustration. With a sigh, I slid the pin back into my hair, where it nestled among tangled strands. This cage was proving more formidable than most.
I wasn’t getting out of here…at least not tonight. But I felt no hint of panic—such an emotion was reserved for people who ran out of options, and I was just getting started.
A slow grin tugged at the corners of my mouth as I scanned the room again—impenetrable locks, guards posted outside, and a tangled mystery. The perfect tools for an adventure in the making.
If I was going to be trapped, I might as well make it interesting.
But for once I couldn’t pretend. For a faltering moment, the mask I wore constantly slipped, just enough for a sliver of the vulnerability I was so desperate to hide to penetrate.
I stole objects for a reason beyond the stories embedded within—each theft allowed me to experience the fleeting illusion that my life was mine to command.
Each piece of information I gathered or escape route I meticulously planned, each coin or trinket I stole, each memory or secret I acquired…none could change that for the moment, I was truly trapped—unable to save myself, and unable to follow the last faint clues that might reveal the fate of my missing friend.
I walked the perimeter of the room yet again, trying to recall every piece of evidence I’d gathered. The memories were murky, and I found to my horror and confusion that even my recollection of that dear face had grown blurry. Frantically I tried to recreate our shared history, but it came to me in disjointed fragments—breaking into a room together, creeping through a garden at night, quiet conversations with whispered hopes for a future life.
I turned back into the room, forcing myself to do something—anything—besides pace. I let my hand trail across the cool surface of the vanity but no memory stirred, not even the hint of a whispered story. Whatever magic had haunted me the night before had gone quiet.
A shuffling sound at the door made me jump. I chastised myself for allowing this situation to affect me so greatly; normally I was easily able to stay cool under pressure. I watched apprehensively as the door swung open just enough to slide a tray of food in, then thudded shut once more.
I paused in my search long enough to eat some of the simple but nourishing dinner and regain my scattered focus. Light was fading when I finished and I cast a tired glance at the bed,wondering if this one would lead to a new set of bruises and disturbing visions. I was exhausted from the events of the last day and the ill sleep of last night, and was tempted to pause my attempts for the evening.
