Chapter 14: A New Obstacle
The echoes of cold voices crept from behind the massive oak doors, seeping through the narrow crack where Shapira pressed her ear. The air in the corridor felt frozen, or perhaps it was only the blood in her veins that had stopped flowing. She drew in a deep breath, steadying the tremor in her hands that clutched the rough folds of her servant's gown. Inside the Grand Hall, beneath the shimmer of crystal chandeliers casting golden light upon costly carpets, her fate was being debated by people who did not even know the color of her eyes.
"The relationship between the Crown Prince and a servant girl, Your Majesty, is a disgrace that cannot be tolerated," began a heavy, raspy voice. Shapira recognized it as Lord Valerius, an old noble whose gray beard was as rigid as his principles. "The Kingdom of Astellia was built upon honor and tradition. Noble blood must not be tainted by an improper union."
Shapira swallowed hard, her throat dry and aching. Servant. The word lashed her like a whip.
"Lord Valerius speaks the truth," another, younger, sharper voice cut in, Baron Falco's. "The girl is no one. A stranger from some unknown world, if the rumors are true. How can we be certain she is not a spy from Varkhiel? Or worse, a witch who has bewitched the Prince with her charms?"
Shapira's heart pounded so violently she feared they might hear it from within. She peered through the door's narrow slit, her eyes searching for the only person that mattered. William stood beside his father's throne, silent and unmoving. His posture was rigid, his face a mask of marble unreadability. His gaze fixed straight ahead, past the nobles who hurled accusations, as though he were staring at something far beyond the grand chamber. Something that did not exist there.
"Your accusations are too heavy, Baron Falco," the King of Astellia's voice sounded weary, yet still carried authority. Unlike his son, the King's eyes met every face that spoke. He saw the obstinacy in their expressions, the fear disguised as loyalty to the realm. "The girl, Shapira, has shown courage. She even assisted in the library under my command."
A flicker of warmth stirred within Shapira at the King's defense. But it was swiftly extinguished by the wave of rejection that followed.
"Courage, or cunning, Your Majesty?" sneered Lady Revanya, her voice shrill like a violin badly played. "She clearly knows how to place herself to capture the Prince's attention. We all know the Prince still mourns Princess Anya. That servant girl … her resemblance is a curse. A desecration of the Princess's memory."
Each word was an icy dagger piercing her heart. Shapira shut her eyes, trying to dispel the shadow of Anya, the girl of her dreams whose love was so strong it reached across worlds. Was she truly nothing but a shadow? An unworthy replacement?
Her eyes opened again, locking onto William. Say something, she screamed inwardly. Defend me. Tell them I am not just a servant. Tell them you see something in me. Anything.
But William remained silent. His silence rang louder than all the accusations flung across the hall. He simply stood there, his silver armor glinting beneath the light, a prince, noble and untouchable, while Shapira's world crumbled around her.
The King sighed deeply, his gaze flickering to his son, heavy with confusion and a trace of disappointment. I accept Shapira, the King thought. I see the kindness in her eyes, the same as I once saw in my queen. But why do the lords oppose her so fiercely? And why, my son, do you say nothing?
"Enough," the King finally declared, his voice cutting through the debate. "This matter will be considered. This meeting is adjourned."
The nobles bowed, satisfaction etched into their faces. They knew they had sown seeds of doubt. As they dispersed, whispering in tones of triumph, William finally moved.
He did not look at his father. He did not glance at the nobles. He turned with stiff, measured steps and strode toward the exit.
Shapira froze. Her heart ceased its beat as she realized William would pass her. She stepped back from the door, praying he would see her, perhaps say something, an explanation, a word of comfort.
The great door groaned open. William stepped out, his footsteps echoing in the silent corridor. He walked straight ahead, his eyes still fixed upon that distant void. He passed Shapira, trembling only a few steps away. Close enough that she felt the cold rush of his movement, caught the faint scent of forest and steel clinging to him.
But he did not stop. He did not turn. He did not even glance at her. As though Shapira were a ghost, unseen, nonexistent.
The sharp, unbearable pain ripped through Shapira's chest. That silent rejection hurt far worse than a thousand insults. She felt discarded, invisible, as though her existence meant nothing to the man who had begun to fill every corner of her heart.
The tears she had fought so hard to hold back finally spilled, trailing down her pale cheeks. She bowed her head, unwilling for anyone to witness her ruin.
But it was too late.
"Look at her," a scornful voice drawled from the doorway. Baron Falco stood there, a mocking smile curving his thin lips. His eyes swept over Shapira with disdain. "The servant girl isn't even worthy of a prince's glance."
The insult struck like a final blow. Shapira felt every shred of strength drain away. She could no longer remain in that corridor, beneath the cruel stares of nobles passing by with whispers and muffled laughter. Shame and heartbreak consumed her.
She turned and fled.
She ran through the cold marble corridors, past the grand tapestries and portraits of Astellia's ancestors whose vacant eyes seemed to follow her. Her tears blurred her vision, turning torchlight into smears of fire. Each step was an escape from the pain, from the humiliation, from William's crushing silence.
She did not know where she was going. She only knew she had to get away. Away from their eyes, their rejection, from the prince who would never be hers. She was not Anya. She was no princess. She was only Shapira, a girl from London lost in the wrong place.
London.
The thought struck her like lightning within the storm of her mind. The wooden door behind her mother's wardrobe. The whispering voice that had called her. The way back.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she reached her small servant's chamber in the servants' wing. She slammed the door shut, her trembling back pressed against it. Her sobs finally broke free, filling the tiny room. She hugged herself tightly, trying to hold together the shattered pieces of her heart.
There was no place for her here. Astellia was not her home. William would never choose her. The grief of losing something she had never truly possessed was crushing, deadly.
Her tear-filled eyes lifted, scanning the foreign room. No. She would not remain here to be humiliated again. She would not allow her heart to be trampled once more. There was one escape, one last hope.
With a resolve born of despair, Shapira wiped her tears away harshly. She would not cry again. She would act. She would return to where she belonged, to the world where she was someone, not just a shadow, not a disgrace to a prince.
She must go back. Whatever the cost.