Chapter 20: A Deep Conflict
The first breath of fresh air Shapira inhaled after days locked away in the underground cell felt like the sweetest drink she had ever tasted. Every fiber of her soul cried out to absorb freedom, to feel the touch of the wind against her bruised and dirty skin. The stench of blood and the damp, moldy prison that had been her blanket was now replaced by the distant fragrance of palace gardens, a promise of life that had been denied to her. William stood there at the threshold of the gaping iron door, tall and imposing, yet his eyes shone with such profound relief that Shapira nearly felt dizzy from the force of his emotions.
"Shapira," William's voice was hoarse as it shattered the silence cloaking the dungeon. He stepped forward, his strides steady yet careful, as if Shapira were a fragile gem newly rescued from destruction. "You are free. They have admitted Isabelle's lies. You are innocent."
Shapira could not utter a single word. Her tongue felt tied, silenced by the overwhelming flood of pain, gratitude, and relief crashing inside her. She only nodded faintly, her tear-filled eyes gazing at William, her savior. William moved closer and drew her into a strong, warm, protective embrace. His scent, fresh mint and the masculine notes of forest, enveloped her senses, sweeping away the remnants of darkness still clinging to her. She buried her face against his chest, finally letting loose the tears she had held back for days.
"I'm so sorry, Shapira," William whispered, his trembling voice brushing against her ear. "I should never have let this happen to you. I should have protected you better."
"It's not your fault, William," Shapira finally managed to speak, her voice weak yet sincere. "They just … hated my presence."
William gently lifted her chin, locking his gaze with her swollen eyes. "No one hates your presence, Shapira. Not me. I … I love you. I will always protect you." A vow of truth carved itself onto the face of the prince, now hardened with resolve and maturity. Then, he carefully lifted Shapira into his arms, as though afraid of hurting her further. With firm steps, he carried her through the cold stone corridors, toward the light waiting at the end.
As they emerged from the prison's darkness, soldiers and servants passing by stopped, their eyes fixed on the sight before them. Prince William, their hero, carrying Shapira, the palace maid who had only just been accused of treachery. Whispers accompanied them, no longer whispers of hatred, but of awe, of admiration, of unshakable love. Some servants whom Shapira had once helped looked at her with sympathy and relief. It was an unforgettable scene, living proof that the prince's love could not be broken. William carried her to Shapira's chamber, which now felt like heaven, and gently placed her upon the bed.
The peace Shapira had only just found shattered into pieces when the door slammed open, revealing Lady Isabelle standing at the threshold, her eyes blazing with fury and jealousy. Isabelle no longer pretended to be weak. She stood tall, radiating an aura of piercing vengeance. The sweet perfume clinging to her body mingled with thick anger, creating a suffocating atmosphere.
"So this is how you play the role of the innocent heroine, Shapira?" Isabelle sneered, stepping closer toward Shapira, who still lay on the bed, trying to recover from her wounds. "Do you think this will earn you sympathy? Do you think you can steal William from me just because you resemble Anya?"
Though her body still ached, a wave of fury surged within Shapira. She tried to rise, but pain forced her back down. "I never tried to steal anyone, Isabelle," she answered, her voice stronger than she expected. "William and I … our relationship is none of your concern."
"None of my concern?" Isabelle let out a bitter laugh, cold and humorless. "The entire palace knows you are a problem! Since you arrived, you've brought nothing but chaos! William is blinded by that face, that face that reminds him of the past!" Isabelle pointed a slim, crimson-nailed finger at her, as if her nails themselves reflected her venom. "You do not deserve William's love. You are nothing but a servant, an intruder from another world. No matter how often William defends you, the nobles will never accept you!"
Beyond the chamber, the faint murmurs of passing courtiers carried through. They still clung to the belief that William had been blinded by his emotions, that Shapira was a threat to the kingdom's stability. Isabelle's presence and venomous words only reinforced that belief, deepening the chasm between Shapira and palace society. Shapira felt her heart shrink. She could have ignored Isabelle, but the words about her unworthiness, about William being "blinded," struck her deepest vulnerability. She was just a girl from another world, with no title, no status, no knowledge of Astellian politics or magic.
"You know nothing about me, Isabelle," Shapira shot back, her eyes sharp and defiant. "And you know nothing about William. He loves me for who I am, not because of anyone's shadow."
Isabelle only laughed again, crueler this time. "We'll see, Shapira. We'll see how long your so-called 'love' lasts in the storm that's coming. You will only bring ruin to William, and to Astellia." She spun on her heel, her mocking laughter and threats echoing in the air as she left. The door closed with a soft thud, but her words lingered, resonating in Shapira's mind, stirring waves of painful doubt.
Seeing Shapira's troubled expression after the confrontation, William knew he had to do something. He couldn't let the shadows of the past and palace intrigue devour her spirit. The palace air, thick with gossip and hatred, was suffocating. He had to take her away, at least for a while, to somewhere they could breathe freely.
"Come with me, Shapira," William said softly yet firmly, offering his hand. "There is a place that always calms my soul. Maybe it will calm yours too."
Shapira looked at him with slight hesitation, but the sincerity in his eyes convinced her. She reached for his hand, feeling the warmth and strength flowing from him. Together, they slipped out of the palace, avoiding the stares of guards and servants still whispering about Isabelle's outburst.
Their journey led them to a hidden lake William had told her about. Its surface mirrored the clear blue sky, while the surrounding trees created a tranquil, sheltered haven. The fragrance of damp earth and forest leaves greeted them, sweeping away the staleness of palace air. Sitting at the lake's edge, William shared stories of his childhood, of how he often came here to escape the crushing weight of royal duties.
"Anya loved this place too," William said, his voice softening at the mention of his late fiancée. "She said she felt free here, like the swans gliding on the water. I always thought she was my swan."
Shapira listened closely, her heart aching at the memory. Anya's shadow was always there, like a veil draped over their bond. "I … I understand," Shapira whispered. "She must have meant a great deal to you."
William turned to her, his gaze burning with intensity. "She did, Shapira. But you … you are different. You are Shapira. And I love you for who you are. Not because you resemble Anya, but because you are you. You give me hope, a strength I never thought I still had." He took her hand, his fingers brushing gently across her skin. "Do you doubt that?"
Shapira lowered her gaze, staring at her reflection in the water. "I don't know, William. Sometimes, the shadow feels too heavy. I fear I'll never fill the space she left behind. And Isabelle's words … they cut deep."
"Don't let those cruel words rule you, Shapira," William lifted her chin once more, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I know your heart, not Isabelle. I am the one who chose you. And I will never regret it. We'll face everything together." He smiled, a rare smile for the usually rigid prince. That smile warmed Shapira's heart, giving her a flicker of peace amidst the storm of doubt. They shared small laughter, escaping harsh reality, cherishing the moment as though the world beyond did not exist.
But peace was short-lived. Hidden in the dense bushes around the lake, sharp eyes watched. Isabelle had followed them, her fury burning like hellfire, her jealousy gnawing at her soul. Watching them share laughter and tender touches sparked a storm of madness within her. She would not allow their happiness. She would not.
William, distracted by Shapira's presence, never noticed the danger creeping closer. His eyes were locked on hers, their silence heavy with feeling.
The next moment, everything changed.
With sudden speed, Isabelle lunged out from the bushes. Her face twisted with pure hatred, her lips curling into a cruel smile. She shoved Shapira with all her strength into the cold, dark water.
"Take your precious William, Shapira!" Isabelle screamed, her shrill voice piercing the trees.
Shapira staggered, caught off guard. She didn't even have time to cry out before the lake swallowed her, icy water enveloping her body. She sank, the surface exploding in ripples. William roared in fury, his eyes wide with horror at what had just happened.
"Isabelle!" he bellowed, rage thundering like a storm. Without hesitation, he leapt into the water, clothes and all, his resolve unshakable. He knew exactly where Shapira had fallen, his gaze fixed on the spot where the ripples had stilled. Isabelle lingered at the shore, her wicked smile still etched on her lips, satisfied with her deed before fleeing into the forest's shadows, fearing William's wrath.
Beneath the lake's dark surface, Shapira was overwhelmed by panic. The cold gnawed at her bones, extinguishing all warmth. She struggled, kicking her legs, flailing her arms, but her body felt heavy, paralyzed by shock and despair. Her lungs burned, begging for air, yet each attempt to breathe only swallowed water, choking her. The world spun, the roar of water filled her ears, and the light above dimmed to a shrinking speck.
As her consciousness faded, suddenly, a strange warmth enveloped her. A soft glow shimmered before her, faint but clear. From the light emerged a young woman, her face graceful and beautiful, her dark hair flowing like riverweed in the current. It was Princess Anya, her face exactly as in Shapira's dreams, smiling gently at her. The smile held no jealousy, no sadness, only pure kindness.
Anya said nothing, but her eyes spoke. They radiated understanding, shared pain, and eternal love. Slowly, like a reflection in a mirror, she reached out her hand. Her slender fingers touched Shapira's cold ones. The touch was not cold, it was warm, a mysterious energy flowing between them. Not just the strength to swim, but the strength to hope, the strength to live.
As though an invisible thread pulled her upward, Shapira felt her body rising. Her hand clung to Anya's translucent one, guiding her toward the surface. Just before she broke through into the air, William dove down, his body cutting through the water with frantic strength. His wide blue eyes lit up in shock and relief as he saw her.
He pulled her into his arms, lifting her above the surface. Shapira coughed violently, water pouring from her lips, trembling uncontrollably. William held her tightly, kissing her wet hair, her cheeks, everywhere, as if to assure himself she was real, that she was alive.
"Shapira … Shapira, are you alright?" William choked out, his voice trembling with tears and relief. He carried her to the shore, clutching her close, uncaring of their soaked clothes or her shivering body. All that mattered was Shapira, breathing and alive.
Shapira buried her face into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat, his warmth spreading into her, driving away the lake's chill. In her mind, Anya's face still lingered, her mysterious smile, her saving touch. Why had Anya appeared? Had she truly saved her? Or was it merely a hallucination at the edge of death? And what did it mean for the future? A whisper in the depths of her soul asked if she was only a puppet of fate in a game of love and vengeance that had begun long before her birth. And would William forever compare her to the shadow of Anya, now more real than ever?
William continued to hold her, pure relief flowing through every touch, unaware of the weight of questions now haunting Shapira, waiting for answers.