Chapter Seventeen
The moment my words left my mouth, the air shifted.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, steady, sharp.
Her eyes flicked toward my inheritance vault, then back at me. For a heartbeat, I thought she might stumble—but she didn't. She stepped back, folding her arms as if measuring me, gauging how far she could push.
"What am I doing here?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice deceptively soft. "That's a question coming from you."
I stiffened.
Her gaze was calculating, her posture casual, but there was a spark in her eyes I did not like. "Aren't you supposed to be in your chambers?" she continued. "Under watch of the guards? Every hour of the day? Aren't you?"
I bit back a word. She was right. I was supposed to be confined, restricted, watched, and yet here I stood, questioning her presence in my own family chamber.
Then she smiled, that small, deliberate curve of lips that made the air colder. "And in case you want to know," she said lightly, "I was just… checking around. Exploring, I suppose. I… I didn't know how I got here."
Her words were clumsy, but her eyes were steady.
Then, as if testing me, she leaned slightly closer. "And… if you attempt to tell the king, or anyone, that you found me here," she said, her tone sharp and deliberate, "I will tell him that you left your chambers. That you tried to escape again. That's your choice—peace, or trouble."
I froze.
Her audacity was maddening. She had turned the tables, threatened me, and yet carried it off as if it were nothing.
"I saw you," I said finally, forcing my voice calm. "You were holding something."
Her eyes flicked toward the floor, then back to mine. "I didn't pick anything," she said, smooth, controlled. Then, bending slightly, she picked up a small silver bracelet that had apparently fallen. "This," she said, lifting it, "is mine. It fell. I picked it up. That's all. Nothing else."
I didn't respond. I watched her leave, brushing past me, her shoulder grazing mine, her chin lifted in quiet defiance. The door closed softly behind her, leaving me alone with my racing heart.
She had risked being caught. She had hidden something. I didn't know what it was. But I felt it—the weight of secrecy in the air, in her glance, in the way she carried herself.
There was no more time.
I moved quickly, deliberately. My hands hovered over the treasures I needed—not for the Guardian directly, not as offerings—but as currency. Rings with ancestral stones, ceremonial daggers, a vial of powdered moonstone sealed in silver. Items whose worth extended beyond gold. Few, careful choices—just enough to fund the sacrifices the Witcher required so I could connect with the Guardian.
The Guardian does not answer empty hands.
I wrapped the items carefully in my cloak, checking the folds so nothing rattled or slipped. Every motion had to be precise; every sound silenced.
Exiting the chamber was far more dangerous than entering it. The palace seemed alive now, alert to every shadow. Lanterns swung overhead, throwing pools of golden light across marble floors. Voices echoed from hallways I needed to cross. Footsteps drew too close for comfort. My pulse pounded in my ears.
I pressed flat against the wall as a guard passed. His shadow stretched across the corridor, lantern in hand. My breath caught, every muscle frozen. My heart felt as if it might betray me.
He stopped, scanning the hall with trained eyes. My skin itched with panic. I could see him turn, eyes sweeping the length of the corridor—almost to the corner where I crouched.
I held still.
Seconds felt like hours.
Then he moved on.
I didn't breathe until the sound of his steps faded.
The palace had become a maze of danger, every corridor a test of patience and control. I pressed on, careful, calculating each turn, each pause, until the familiar hallway leading to my chambers appeared.
The door was in sight, safe—but not quite.
Another guard emerged from a side passage. Lantern light swung dangerously close. I flattened against the wall, holding my breath, willing him not to notice the faint rustle of my cloak. My fingers were clenched so tightly around the items I could feel the edges of metal and stone pressing into my palm.
He paused, sniffed the air, glanced down the hall, and moved on.
Safe.
Finally.
I slipped inside my chambers, closing the door with the gentlest click. My legs shook violently, my pulse racing, sweat prickling my temples. I sank onto my bed, wrapping the items against my chest, feeling their weight as a lifeline.
The mistress's daughter. Her audacity. Her lies. The bracelet she claimed she "picked up."
And her mother.
The Guardian's warning rose sharply in my mind:
Control your power. Take charge. Know who you are before the mistress keeps.
He hadn't said what would happen, only that if the mistress gave birth unchecked, it would bring disaster. Now I understood enough. The mistress and her daughter were dangerous. They were hiding something, plotting, moving pieces in secret—and if I didn't act carefully, their influence could spread unchecked.
I weighed my options.
Leave immediately. Sell the inheritance items. Purchase the sacrifices the Witcher demanded. Connect with the Guardian. Gain the power I needed—power to protect myself, power to protect the kingdom.
Or stay. Investigate. Watch. Discover what the mistress and her daughter were hiding before it was too late.
Every moment I hesitated was a risk. Every choice carried consequences.
I thought of the bracelet she had lifted, the hidden glance, the way she dared to threaten me. Was it just audacity? Or was it a piece of something bigger? Something that could shift the balance of power within the palace?
I couldn't know. Not yet.
And yet, the clock was ticking.
I looked down at the inheritance items in my hands. They were small in number—one ring, one dagger, a vial—but together, they were enough to secure the sacrifices. Enough to summon the Guardian. Enough to tilt the balance.
I clenched my fists.
Stay, investigate, risk discovery. Or leave, act, secure the power I needed.
The warning echoed again, sharper this time:
Control your power. Take charge. Know who you are before the mistress keeps.
The words were a knife.
If I didn't move now, the mistress and her daughter would gain advantage, and everything—the palace, the kingdom, even my life—could unravel.
Yet leaving felt dangerous too. Too much was unknown. Too much could be lost.
I pressed my back to the wall, breathing shallowly, counting silent moments.
I had one advantage: the palace thought I was weak, restricted, contained. They didn't know I could move unseen. They didn't know I could act, think, and strike in the shadows.
The mistress and her daughter had underestimated me.
I had the items. I had the plan. I had the knowledge that the palace itself could not restrain me if I moved carefully.
But I also had the mystery of what they were hiding, the threat of the mistress's child, the unknown power that could erupt if left unchecked.
I pressed my hands to my temples.
I had to decide.
Would I leave immediately, sell the items, complete the sacrifices, and summon the Guardian?
Or would I stay, watch, and learn what the mistress and her daughter were hiding before it was too late?
Either choice could destroy me.
Either choice could save me.