The faint echo of the door closing seemed to linger, pressing into the air like an unwelcome silence. Sylvera sat on the bed for a long time, her fingers curled around the edge of the bed sheets, her thoughts circling back to his words over and over again.
"You are Lyria. In every way that matters."
The memory of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She hated that it still made her chest ache that even after everything, some part of her wanted to believe him.
But the doubt was louder.
She couldn't ignore it anymore
She hated it.
She hated that her chest still hurt when she remembered.
Hated that a small, stupid part of her still wanted to believe him.
But doubt was louder now.
And it wouldn't stay quiet anymore.
She let out a soft breath and stood up. Her bare feet touched the marble floor, and she winced at the cold. The room was dark. Only thin moonlight slipped through the curtains and painted pale lines across the floor.
For a second, she hesitated.
Curiosity… or caution?
No.
She straightened her shoulders.
If he's lying… I'll find out myself.
She grabbed the cloak from her chair and wrapped it tight around her body. The dark fabric blended into the shadows perfectly. Her heart beat faster as she reached for the door handle and turned it slowly, careful not to make even a tiny sound.
The hallway outside was silent.
The torches were dying, their weak orange flames shaking against the walls. The air smelled like smoke and old stone. Every step she took echoed softly, and she didn't even notice she was holding her breath.
The castle felt wrong at night.
Too quiet.
Too big.
Too empty.
By day it looked beautiful — carved pillars, shining mirrors, soft light.
But at night… it felt alive.
Like the walls were listening.
She walked slowly, peeking around corners, keeping one hand on the wall for balance. She didn't really have a plan. She just knew she needed answers.
If he's telling the truth about Lyria… there has to be proof somewhere.
Her feet carried her toward the west wing — the oldest part of the castle. The air there felt heavy, like secrets were hiding in every stone. Arther's father must have kept records somewhere. If anyone knew about Lyria… it would be him.
But when she turned the corner—
She heard something.
A soft murmur.
Sylvera froze.
Voices.
Her heart jumped. Instinct took over. She pressed against the wall and listened. The sound came from a room near the staircase. The door was slightly open. Light slipped through the crack.
She crept closer, barely breathing.
The voices became clear. One of them she knew right away.
Arther.
Her heart shot into her throat.
She crouched near the door and peeked inside. Firelight flickered across the room. Arther stood near a table with a map spread open. Two guards stood beside him. A woman in a long cloak stood nearby — runes glowed faintly on her sleeves.
A mage.
"You will guard the palace closely," Arther said. His voice was calm… but sharp. "No one slips through the gates. Especially not him."
"Yes, my king," a guard said.
Sylvera leaned closer.
Who?
Then she heard it.
"Lorian."
Her blood went cold.
She couldn't see Arther's face, but his voice grew heavy. "He's clever. And desperate. Don't underestimate him. He'll do anything to reach her."
Me?
Her thoughts spun.
The mage spoke next. Her voice was smooth. Too calm.
"Don't worry, my king. We prepared strong illusions and wards. Lorian won't even find the gates. The palace is sealed."
Arther gave a dry laugh.
"Good. Because if he does…"
His voice turned dark.
"…none of you will be spared."
The mage stiffened. "Yes, my king."
A chill ran down Sylvera's neck.
The same voice that sounded soft in her room now felt cold… cruel… merciless.
She barely recognized him.
He wasn't gentle.
He wasn't careful.
He was something else.
Arther turned away. "Dismissed."
The guards walked toward the door.
Toward her.
Panic shot through her body. She pressed flat against the wall just as the door opened. Two armored men walked out, their boots clanking softly. She didn't breathe.
Their torches flashed across her face for one terrifying second.
But they kept walking.
The mage came out last. Sylvera saw her pale face for a moment. Sharp eyes. A calm smile that didn't reach them.
There was something cruel hiding there.
When the hallway was empty again, Sylvera let out a shaky breath. Her heart pounded so loud she thought they might still hear it.
She looked once more through the door.
Arther stood by the fire, back to her, gripping the table tightly. His shoulders looked heavy… like he carried too many secrets.
So he's lying, she thought bitterly. Hiding things. Threatening mages. Guarding against Lorian.
What are you hiding, Arther?
Her mind screamed at her to run back to her room. Pretend she heard nothing.
But curiosity won.
Quiet as a ghost, she moved away and headed for the staircase.
The spiral stairs went up into darkness. No torches. No guards. Only blue moonlight from high windows.
She climbed slowly, fingers sliding along the cold railing. Every step creaked softly.
Every creak felt loud.
Her mind was chaos.
Lorian. Illusions. Wards. Lies.
If Lorian can't find this place… does that mean I can't leave either?
Her chest tightened.
When she reached the landing, she looked down once more. Arther still stood by the fire. He hadn't moved.
His head tilted slightly.
Like he was listening.
Her breath stopped.
Did he sense me?
She pressed against the wall and didn't breathe until her lungs hurt. Seconds crawled by.
Then Arther turned away… and put out the torch.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Sylvera let out a slow breath and walked forward again. The corridor above was long, lined with tall windows pouring silver light on the floor. She walked along the wall, silent on the rug.
Then she noticed something strange.
Carvings near the ceiling.
Symbols.
The same runes from the mage's cloak.
She reached up and touched one. It pulsed softly under her fingers. A faint hum made her skin tingle.
"Magic…" she whispered.
Her throat went dry.
Arther said the royal blood hated mages.
So why was his castle full of magic?
Each step felt heavier.
What if everything he said was a lie?
She turned a corner—
And froze.
Someone stood at the end of the hall.
Tall. Still. Cloaked in shadow. Back turned.
Not a guard.
Her pulse jumped.
Arther? No. This figure was leaner.
Before she could move, the figure turned slightly.
Not enough to show his face.
But enough for her to know.
The thing in front of her… was not human.
A tall, pale shape stood in the silver light.
And it was terrifying.