LightReader

Chapter 13 - Chapter 12: A Princess’s Shadow

We slipped in through the back of the mansion so no one would notice our arrival. The moment the door opened, my mother was there to greet me, her arms outstretched.

"How are you, my princess?" she said warmly, pulling me into an embrace.

Sylvia, ever diligent, went straight upstairs to place my belongings in my chambers.

"I'm well, Mother. And you?" I asked in return.

"I've been wonderful today," she replied with a delighted smile. "I stopped by the boutique earlier—something came to mind so suddenly, I simply had to see if I could find it. Oh, and your father is in his office. Ana," she turned to her handmaiden, "please inform your lord that Dravina has arrived."

My mother and I made our way toward the grand sala, the soft rustle of her gown trailing behind us as the polished marble floor reflected the glow of the chandeliers. Our handmaiden followed closely, carrying a silver tray. She bowed once we were seated and began preparing tea, the faint scent of jasmine and herbs filling the air.

Moments later, the heavy door of my father's study creaked open. He emerged with quiet authority, his presence commanding the room even before he spoke.

"How are you, my princess? How is school?" he asked as he drew closer, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead.

"I'm well, Father. Most of my subjects, I share with Zein," I answered politely.

"Ah, yes," he said, settling into the chair beside Mother. "I nearly forgot to tell you—the prince is also among your classmates."

His voice softened, laced with reassurance. "You needn't worry about anything that might trouble you. Reports reach both me and the Emperor. Whatever storms may rise, you are shielded."

"I see…" I murmured, before adding, "I've met someone new. Her name is Beatrix, from the House of Morosini."

A spark of recognition flickered in his eyes. "Oh? So you've encountered her?"

"She's in my medical class. Her seatmate is Zein," I said.

My father leaned back, as though sifting through memories long kept. "Yes… Beatrix Morosini. She is the cousin of Vesperianth, aligned with Empress Catherine's side. Her mother and the Empress are sisters. As a child, she was a companion to the Prince—though closer still to the King in his youth. The last I saw her, she stood before the Emperor himself, requesting a scholarship to secure her place at the Imperial Academy."

That's curious… such perfect, precise information, I thought to myself, my curiosity stirring.

Our conversation drifted on, winding through details and recollections, until weariness finally tugged at me. I set my teacup down and rose with a small bow.

"Then, with your permission, Mother, Father, I'll retire to my chambers. I feel rather exhausted, and I suspect my red days will begin tomorrow," I said softly.

Concern flickered in my mother's gaze. "I'll have Ana bring you the medicine that will steady your blood and keep your mood at ease, my dear."

I lowered my head respectfully. "Thank you, Mother."

With that, I bowed once more to both of them, the weight of the day pulling at my shoulders as I ascended the grand staircase toward the solitude of my room.

 - The Price of Stolen Gold - 

I went straight to my bath, eager to wash away the weight of the day. Warm water cascaded over me, yet no matter how hard I tried to clear my mind, my thoughts drifted back to Prince Ashen.

It was foolish, perhaps, to long for something so fleeting—yet I couldn't stop myself. I craved the memory of his touch. Though it had only been the second time his hand brushed against mine, it lingered in me like fire beneath the skin.

There was a quiet warmth to it, not only comforting but dangerous in its sweetness. With him, I felt strangely at ease—as though the world outside could not reach me, so long as his presence was near.

A sudden knock sounded at my door. "This is Sylvia. May I enter, my lady?" came her voice through the wood. "Yes, come in," I replied. She stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, a sealed envelope in her hand. "I have another piece of information. I'll place it here on your study table," she said softly, setting it down. "Thank you, Sylvia," I murmured with gratitude.

The moment she left, I rose at once, water still clinging to my skin, and reached for a towel. I hadn't even dressed yet when curiosity overpowered me. My eyes fell on the envelope waiting on my desk, and with impatient hands, I reached for it.

It was yet another piece of damning information about the House of Flavian. The report detailed their corruption with almost merciless precision: funds meant for the rebuilding of Goble's markets and city roads had been siphoned into their personal coffers, disguised beneath false ledgers and forged signatures. Gold meant for the people had instead been converted into luxury—fine wines, imported silks, and private banquets where the poor could never enter.

My eyes lingered on every word, my thoughts heavy with disgust. How many families went hungry because of their greed? How many streets still lay in ruin, while the Flavians laughed over goblets of stolen wealth? It was shameful—no, it was monstrous.

And yet, I could not stop reading.

The parchment blurred slightly as droplets of water slid from my hair, trailing down my shoulders, then tracing the curve of my back before falling soundlessly onto the marble floor. The warmth of the bath clung to my skin, but my chest tightened with something colder—an unease, a kind of simmering anger that left me restless even in the privacy of my chambers.

The longer I read, the more the picture sharpened. The House of Flavian was not simply corrupt—they were dangerous. Their reach extended into trade routes, city guards, even whispers of the council. The documents suggested that their influence had brought silence from men who should have spoken, and loyalty from those who should have stood with justice.

I leaned back against the edge of the bath, letting the water ripple around me, yet my mind refused to quiet. Every line on the page pressed itself into my thoughts. The mansion felt too still, too hushed—as though the shadows themselves leaned closer to listen, to memorize the same truths I was uncovering.

My fingers brushed over the ink, and I realized I was gripping the parchment too tightly. I forced myself to loosen my hold, though my pulse remained unsteady.

So that was why they feared Prince Ashen taking the crown. The truth struck me like a blade sliding into place. If he ascended, their power would shatter; their stolen wealth, their control, their secret networks—all of it would crumble beneath him.

A chill rippled through me despite the warmth of the water. Could it be that I, too, had been drawn into their crosshairs? That their hatred of him now spilled over onto me? It was a thought I had pushed away before, but here in the quiet, with nothing but the drip of water down my skin and the hush of my own heartbeat, it came roaring back.

Even after the king's death, why had they insisted on keeping me hidden? Why the veils, the restrictions, the endless warnings not to show my face publicly? Was it merely tradition—or was it fear? Fear of me? Fear of what my presence beside Prince Ashen might mean?

The questions coiled tighter and tighter in my mind. There had to be something I was missing, some truth that had not yet surfaced. The House of Flavian played a game older than me, older than Ashen, a game of knives and shadows. And if they were now plotting against him, their strike would not stop at him alone.

The thought lodged itself in my chest like ice: if they are targeting Prince Ashen, then they are targeting me, too.

I closed my eyes, water streaming from my hair in silent rivulets, each drop echoing softly against the marble floor. The bath felt less like a refuge now, and more like a confessional—every secret laid bare, every fear reflected back at me.

And earlier, a new question had begun to gnaw at me, sharper than the rest: did the Flavian twins know about me? Did they know that I was not just another noblewoman at the Academy, but the princess destined to take the crown alongside Prince Ashen?

If the answer was yes, then my every movement, my every word, was no longer my own. It would mean that my face, my future, even my heartbeat was already on someone's ledger—written, tracked, and measured.

I wrapped my arms around myself as water trailed down my skin in slow, trembling streams. It no longer felt like bathing. It felt like being watched.

If the Flavian twins knew, then someone was keeping an eye on me. Not just on me, but on my whole family—the servants, the guards, even the handmaidens who moved silently through our halls. Spies hidden among the marble pillars, whispers carried through corridors, eyes glinting in the dark where no one should be.

A shiver cut through me despite the warmth of the bath. Every detail suddenly seemed sinister—the faint creak of wood, the slow drip of water, the echo of my own breath.

If they're watching Ashen… they're watching me too. And if they're watching me…what about my Family?

The thought grew heavier, darker, until it pressed against my ribs like a weight. The House of Flavian wasn't just corrupt. They were patient. And patience in the hands of the powerful was far deadlier than any sword.

 - The Gardener's Lie - 

I dressed quickly, the fabric whispering against my skin as I slipped into fresh clothes. Dinner was near, but my appetite had been replaced by unease. The flicker of my earlier thoughts refused to leave me, and so, instead of waiting in my chambers, I descended the grand staircase.

The mansion was alive with movement—soft footsteps, hushed conversations, the faint clang of silver trays being set down—but beneath it all there was a tension I could not name. Our household ran on order and precision, yet tonight it felt like an elaborate stage play, everyone moving in practiced steps while an unseen audience watched.

I entered the sala quietly, settling into a corner where I could see without being seen. Below me, the handmaidens were at work, their heads bent in concentration. The scent of polished wood and simmering spices drifted in from the kitchens.

I could sense their presence, though. Even when they weren't there, I felt them. Watching. Listening. Waiting.

I stayed perfectly still in the sala, my eyes drifting over the moving figures below. The art of observing had become second nature to me, like a blade always within reach. My nerves were fine-tuned to every flicker of movement.

And that's when I saw her.

A woman slipped from the kitchen door, her posture just slightly off—hesitant, as though she were about to step into the hall but changed her mind at the last instant. She retreated a fraction, thinking herself unseen.

Shoot.

She was wearing gloves. Gardeners wore gloves, yes—but not here. Not inside the mansion, not while slipping out of the kitchen like a shadow. My pulse quickened. She was part of the gardeners' staff; at least, that's what her uniform claimed. But I had never seen her before. Her face was new, fresh, almost deliberately forgettable.

I rose from my seat without a sound, every movement calculated. She thought she could vanish as easily as she appeared?

So you want to play hide-and-seek, I thought, the corners of my mouth curling slightly. Fine. Let's play.

I followed her, my steps ghosting hers down the corridor, out through the rear of the mansion. She moved quickly but not quickly enough, her gloved hands brushing against the doorframe as she slipped outside.

I could feel her now—in my bones, in the rhythm of my own breath, in the weight of every step she took. It was an instinct older than my training, older than my fear. A predator's sense of the prey who believes herself hidden.

The evening air was cool as it wrapped around us. The mansion behind me was warm and golden; ahead, the gardens stretched like a maze, full of shadowed paths. She was walking into them without looking back.

But I was there. Following. Watching. Waiting.

I returned to the sala, only to find Kalix and Sylvia waiting for me.

"My lady, I assume you already know," Sylvia said quietly, her voice heavy with implication.

I didn't answer her. I had no time for words. The moment was slipping, and if I hesitated, the truth would vanish into the shadows. I brushed past her instead, my steps sharp and deliberate.

They followed me up the grand staircase without protest, silent guardians flanking me as I entered my chambers. Without a word, I crossed to the window and pulled it open. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and flowers from the gardens below.

The sun was sinking fast, the sky painted in hues of amber and violet. It wasn't yet fully dark, but shadows already stretched long across the lawns. From my vantage, I counted the gardeners—only four moving among the hedges, their tools glinting faintly in the fading light.

But there should have been five.

My eyes narrowed. Where is the missing one?

"Kalix." I didn't turn, my gaze fixed firmly on the gardens.

"Yes, my lady. I'll take the move." His bow was low, precise, and within moments he was gone, the door closing behind him like a promise.

"Sylvia," I said next, my voice sharper, more commanding. "Go to my mother. Make sure she is safe. Stay with her, and do not leave her side until I say so."

She bowed deeply. "As you command, my lady." And then she too was gone, leaving me alone with the whisper of the evening breeze curling through the window.

I stood there, watching the grounds with an unblinking gaze, waiting for the darkness to deepen—waiting for the missing one to reveal themselves.

I descended the staircase once more, my steps unhurried but deliberate, and made my way into the gardens. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and trimmed hedges, the last glow of twilight painting everything in shades of fading gold.

There they were: four gardeners. Two men, two women. I studied them carefully, my gaze sharper than any veil I could have worn. One of them, a girl younger than me, froze the moment her eyes met mine. All four of them stiffened, their shock unmistakable—not at my sudden presence, but at the fact that I stood before them without concealment. No veil. No silks. No shadow between my face and their eyes.

"The Princess…" the eldest gardener murmured, his voice wavering with awe. At once, all four bent low in a respectful bow.

The youngest—yes, she was his daughter, I realized at once. Their resemblance was subtle, but it was there, clear in the eyes.

"Please, lift your heads," I said softly. Their faces tilted upward, and in them I saw a tangled storm of fear, admiration, and disbelief.

I let the silence linger a moment before I asked, "Why are there only four of you here?"

The eldest straightened, swallowing before he spoke. "Your Highness, one of our co-workers has fallen ill. She has not been able to work for a week now. In her place, her daughter has stepped in." He motioned discreetly toward the youngest girl.

Suspicious. My instincts stirred immediately. Still, I nodded as if appeased. "I see. Then you may continue your duties tomorrow. The sun is nearly gone, and it is time for rest. Have you eaten?"

They exchanged uncertain glances before shaking their heads.

"If not, speak with one of the handmaidens inside the mansion. Tell them what you wish to have prepared. It shall be arranged," I said, my tone warm but edged with command.

They bowed, murmuring their thanks.

"And you," I said, turning my attention to the youngest girl. Her wide eyes darted nervously as I pointed to her. "How old are you?"

"T-thirteen, Your Highness," she stammered, her voice trembling.

Her nervousness clung to her like the dirt on her hands, but I saw no malice in it—only fear, perhaps awe. Slowly, I drew one of my embroidery handkerchiefs from my sleeve, the thread work glimmering faintly in the dying light. Extending it to her, I said, "You've done well today. Take this as a token of thanks. You will do well in this garden."

For a heartbeat, they all froze as if they could not believe what they had seen. The girl gasped softly before clutching the handkerchief to her chest. She bowed again and again, whispering her gratitude, her voice cracking with disbelief.

"You have my thanks as well, all of you," I said, turning gracefully toward the mansion. "Rest well tonight."

I left them bowing behind me, their murmured voices fading into the twilight as I walked back inside.

 - The Secret Warehouse -

But instead of returning to my chambers, my steps carried me toward my father's office. The scent of ink and parchment greeted me as I entered, the shelves towering with records of every servant and staff who had ever stepped foot in our household.

I pulled the register of gardeners. My eyes moved swiftly down the neat columns of names. Yes—just as I thought. The eldest man's daughter was indeed among the replacements. But then my gaze caught on something else.

One of the older women on record. Age forty-nine. No children. No relatives. Abandoned by her own family long ago. Yet—according to what I'd just heard—she had a daughter stepping into her place.

The ink on the page seemed to darken beneath my stare. Lies. Fabrication. Someone was inserting shadows into my household.

I tore a small slip of paper from my father's desk and copied the woman's address onto it, folding it with care. If the truth was hidden, I would drag it into the light myself.

The moment I returned to my chamber, Kalix was already there, standing by the window as if he had been waiting all along. His posture was rigid, his expression unreadable.

"My lady," he began, his voice low and steady. "She's tied inside the warehouse. For now, she remains unconscious."

I froze, the slip of paper I had taken from the records still clutched tightly in my hand. My suspicion had been correct. She was no ordinary gardener.

"Thank you, Kalix. We will deal with it tomorrow evening." I forced my tone into calm command, concealing the unease that coiled in my chest.

He bowed once, sharply, then slipped out of the room without another word, leaving a silence behind him that pressed heavier than anything he had spoken.

I turned away, but my eyes no longer saw the walls of my chamber. Instead, I saw the warehouse. The old, abandoned building lay at the far edge of the estate, cloaked in vines and shadows, overlooked by nearly everyone. It had always been nothing more than a relic of another era. To others, forgotten. To us, a secret.

I remembered the day we discovered it—Sylvia first noticing the hidden door, Kalix forcing it open, and I, reckless even then, being the first to step into the dark. What was once our childhood refuge, a place to hide from the watchful eyes of guards, had now become something else entirely.

A prison.

And the thought chilled me: was it more terrifying that someone had slipped past the walls of our home, or that they had chosen that place, the one sanctuary only the three of us should have known?

My hand tightened against the desk until my knuckles whitened. Someone was watching. Someone was drawing closer, step by step, into the circle of our guarded lives.

"Tomorrow evening," I whispered to myself. "We'll get our answers. No matter how grim they may be."

More Chapters