Chapter 2: Prisoner in the Palace
The door burst open, and Shapira tumbled in. She felt the chill of the hard stone floor, and the scent of damp moss immediately filled her nostrils. Immediately, strange sounds surrounded her, a menacing hiss, a low, guttural moan.
"Who is this girl?" a heavy voice boomed above her.
Shapira, gasping for breath, struggled to prop herself up. She felt piercing gazes from every direction. "I … I don't know this place. I'm not from here," she stammered, her voice trembling violently.
A rough-faced soldier seized her arm. "Get her up! Prince William wishes to interrogate her immediately."
She was forcibly dragged through a dark stone corridor, each step accompanied by whispers and suspicious glances from figures she could only perceive as shadows. "Who are you people? Let me go!" she shrieked, panicked.
"She's a spy!" a soldier exclaimed. "Her face … it's so much like…"
"Silence!" the heavy voice snapped again. "Do not speak that name here."
Shapira arrived in a magnificent room, adorned with Astellian banners draped from the high ceiling. Before her stood a handsome man, his jaw tightly clenched, eyes as black as an abyss. William, Shapira thought, recalling the name mentioned in her dream.
"Look at me, Miss," William stated. "Who are you? Why did you emerge from the Seraphyne Gate, precisely on the day Isolde attacked?"
Shapira stared wide-eyed at him. "The Seraphyne Gate? I … I don't know what you're talking about, Prince. I came from another world. I am Shapira Elizabeth Swan, a university student from London." Her hands trembled, but her eyes radiated a strange resolve.
"Another world?" William scoffed, his gaze filled with skepticism. "Don't trifle with me. Is this one of Isolde's dirty tricks? Were you sent to spy on us? Your face … this is all part of her plan, isn't it?" He scrutinized Shapira from head to toe, as if searching for proof of her deception.
"No! By the gods I've never worshipped, I know nothing about Isolde or her plans!" Shapira pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "I woke from a nightmare, and the door in my room brought me here. Isolde's face, in my dream, resembled my own mother."
An old nobleman nearby whispered. "Her face … it is indeed similar. Could she be .…"
William glared at the nobleman. "Enough! She's trying to trick you with a foolish story. She came from the same Gate. That's too much of a coincidence, isn't it?" He leaned closer, his face level with Shapira's. "You will tell me the truth, or you will experience the coldness of our prison cells."
Shapira swallowed hard. Her heart pounded against her ribs. "I have told you the truth. I am Shapira, not a spy. I just want to go home to my world." She stared at William, her tear-filled eyes radiated an honesty that seemed to pierce William's fortress of anger.
William looked at her, for a moment, the harsh expression on his face softened, like ice beginning to melt under the sun. He stepped back, letting out a heavy sigh. "Take her to a temporary cell," William commanded. "I will decide her fate tomorrow."
"Wait!" another voice interrupted. The King of Astellia, William's father, stepped forward. "My son, look into this girl's eyes," he said, gesturing toward Shapira. "Look at her innocence. Her eyes show not deceit, but pure bewilderment."
William turned, a deep frown etched on his brow. "Father, she emerged from the same Gate."
"She is a young woman, alone, and her fear is genuine." The King approached Shapira, his eyes gentle. "This girl appears innocent in my eyes. Placing her in a cell will prove nothing, and might only harm us."
"Then what should we do, Father? Allow her to roam free?" William asked.
The King smiled faintly. "No. Give her a chance to prove herself. Let her become a palace servant. We will watch her. If she is part of Isolde, then she will show her true colors. If not, then we have saved an innocent soul."
William clenched his fists. "A servant? Father, that's too risky! She might .…"
"This is my decision, William," the King cut him off with an undeniable firmness. "This girl's presence here is destiny. We will not deny it. From today, she will be a servant of this palace. Watch her, but treat her fairly."
William let out a long sigh. He stared at Shapira with disbelief, as if Shapira were a new curse he was destined to bear. Shapira, on the other hand, felt a flicker of relief, although the idea of becoming a servant to a prince who clearly despised her was hardly her dream.
"Very well, Father," William finally relented. "She will be a servant. But remember, strict surveillance will be maintained. She won't escape my sight."
The following days felt like torture for Shapira. William was devoid of empathy, constantly ordering her to perform servant's duties, even though she was, indeed, a servant.
"I don't want to see a speck of dust in this place," William said, as if he were the most powerful being.
Shapira lifted a towering basket, which nearly obscured her face. "Yes, Prince," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. Some time later, as she was serving breakfast in the main dining hall, her foot caught on a rug. William, who was passing by, suddenly stopped. A splash of water from the tray she was holding landed squarely on William's polished leather shoe.
"Look what you've done, clumsy woman!" William snapped, glaring at his shoe with disgust. "Did you deliberately mean to get me wet? Is this your way of trying to gain my attention?"
Shapira's face flushed crimson. Her heart thrummed. "It wasn't on purpose, Prince! The carpet … I tripped."
"Excuses! You always have an excuse for every mistake!" William retorted.
Shapira lifted her chin, her eyes, usually filled with fear, now blazed with a fire of defiance. "At least I make mistakes by accident, not by intentionally making an innocent person's life difficult!"
The other servants who heard this, including the friendly Lila, gasped. William fell silent, his eyes narrowing, not expecting such a sharp retort. He turned without a word, leaving her with a simmering fury in his chest. That night, after all her duties were finished, Shapira walked slowly through the quiet palace corridor.
William, who had just returned from a late-night meeting, happened to be passing through the corridor. His steps halted abruptly. He heard that sound, that melody. His heart, which for years had been locked tight in grief, throbbed with a familiar rhythm, a rhythm he had long buried. He recognized the song, every note, every hum. It was Anya's song.
He froze in the shadows, observing Shapira humming, unaware of his presence.
Shapira found a mirror in her room. Its surface was dark and tarnished, but suddenly, she heard a whisper. As if inviting her to enter the mirror.
"Beware, Anya," the voice buzzed in her ear, soft yet clear. "Danger lurks in this palace. Trust no one."
Shapira stepped back, fear clutching at her. She looked at the mirror again, but the whisper vanished, leaving an oppressive silence. Goosebumps prickled her skin. She was certain she hadn't imagined it. Who was speaking? Why did this mirror call her Anya? She wanted to scream, to find William or the King, but something held her back. The fear of being labeled mad, or worse, a dangerous witch, silenced her. She chose to keep the secret, alone with her new fear.
William, from the dark corridor outside Shapira's room, had observed everything. He saw Shapira leap back from the mirror, saw the pure terror on her face. He didn't hear the whisper, but he felt a strange vibration emanating from Shapira's room. William's suspicion of Shapira deepened, he was convinced the girl was hiding something far greater than just her identity. Yet, there was something else. Something in Shapira's gaze, in her sudden vulnerability, kept drawing him in, his eyes unable to tear away, as if there was an answer hidden there, a secret he wanted to unravel more than he dared admit.