Chapter 2 - The Room Beneath the Chapel
The wounded page survived the night, but he did not wake.
By midnight, the palace had changed into a maze of locked corridors, whispering servants, and armed guards. Every door was watched. Every candle seemed to cast two shadows. The anniversary banquet had been abandoned, its untouched food cooling beneath silver covers while the court waited for dawn and an explanation no one trusted.
Elara remained in Doctor Halven’s rooms under Captain Rovan’s protection. The physician had given her a clean dress, though it was far too long and had to be tied at the waist with a strip of cloth. She sat near the fire while Halven examined the royal mark again.
“The pattern is not painted,” he said. “It is part of your skin.”
“Can a person be born with a mark like this by chance?”
“Many marks appear by chance. This one was recorded as unique.”
Elara touched the locket at her throat. “Why would my foster mother keep me hidden?”
Halven looked at the flames. “Perhaps she was protecting you.”
“From the queen?”
The physician did not answer.
Captain Rovan entered carrying a ring of keys. “The east archive has been sealed. We found signs that someone entered through a concealed passage.”
“A passage from where?” Halven asked.
“The chapel.”
Elara stood. “The royal chapel?”
Rovan nodded. “There is a stone panel behind the altar. It opens into a narrow stairway leading below the palace.”
“And the passage was used recently?”
“Dust was disturbed. A candle stub was still warm.”
Halven reached for his cane. “Then we must see it.”
“You are not going anywhere,” Rovan said. “You are seventy-eight years old.”
“And you are thirty-six, yet you still allow queens to slap possible princesses in your presence.”
The captain grimaced. “I was not close enough to stop her.”
“You were close enough to remember the law. The queen cannot order a prisoner beaten without the king’s consent.”
“She did not beat me,” Elara said.
Halven looked at her. “A public slap from a queen is sometimes more dangerous than a beating. It tells everyone who is allowed to hurt you.”
Rovan opened the door. “We have little time. If someone used the passage tonight, they may return.”
The chapel was dark except for three lamps burning before the royal altar. The painted windows showed the kingdom’s founders beneath a golden sun, but the faces of the saints had been worn smooth by age. Elara felt cold the instant she stepped inside.
The blue door from her memory did not belong to the chapel. Yet something about the air reminded her of that night: wet stone, melted wax, and the faint scent of rosemary.
Captain Rovan pressed his palm against a carved panel behind the altar. A hidden latch clicked. The stone swung inward, revealing a stairway disappearing beneath the floor.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
They descended.
The passage was so narrow that Halven’s shoulder scraped the walls. Water dripped from the ceiling. At the bottom, they found a small chamber with shelves built into the stone.
On the floor lay a broken wooden box.
Halven knelt with difficulty. “This was an archive container.”
Inside were scraps of parchment, a rusted seal, and a strip of crimson fabric.
Elara reached for it, but Rovan stopped her.
“Do not touch anything.”
The fabric was the same deep red as the cloth described in Mara’s letter.
Halven stared at it. “The princess was wrapped in crimson wool.”
“Could this be from eighteen years ago?” Rovan asked.
“Possibly.”
“It looks too clean.”
Elara studied the fabric. A tiny golden thread ran through its edge in the shape of a sun.
“That was on my blanket,” she said.
Rovan looked at her. “You remember?”
“No. I know it.”
She touched the locket. The edge of the silver case had a matching golden thread pressed beneath the hinge, almost invisible beneath years of scratches.
Halven picked up the broken box with a cloth. “The ledger may have been stored here after it disappeared from the archive.”
“Why hide it beneath the chapel?”
“Because the chapel was considered sacred ground. No guard would search it without permission.”
Captain Rovan moved toward the back wall. “There is another door.”
The door had no handle, only a circular depression shaped like a sun.
Elara removed the locket from her neck.
“Wait,” Rovan said.
But the locket fit the depression perfectly.
The stone wall shuddered. Somewhere inside the passage, gears groaned. A section of the floor lifted, revealing a shallow compartment beneath it.
Inside lay a black leather book wrapped in oilskin.
Halven whispered, “The ledger.”
Captain Rovan reached for it, but before he could touch the book, footsteps echoed from the stairway.
Someone was coming.
Rovan drew his sword and pushed Elara behind him. Halven extinguished the lamp. The chamber fell into darkness.
The footsteps descended slowly.
One person. Perhaps two.
Elara pressed herself against the wall. She could hear the captain breathing through his nose, steady and controlled. The approaching figure stopped at the bottom stair.
“You should not have opened that,” a voice said.
Elara recognized it.
The queen.
Maribel stepped into the chamber carrying a lantern. Behind her stood a man wearing the black-and-gold robes of Chancellor Varron, the king’s most trusted adviser.
Rovan raised his sword. “Your Majesty, step away from the ledger.”
Maribel’s gaze moved past him to Elara. “You have no idea what you are holding.”
“I know it proves the princess existed,” Elara said.
“It proves nothing.”
The chancellor smiled faintly. “The ledger is damaged. Ink fades. Signatures can be forged.”
“Then why come here?” Rovan asked.
Varron’s smile disappeared.
Maribel lifted her lantern toward Elara’s face. “Because your arrival has placed the entire kingdom in danger.”
“My arrival?”
“You should have remained a village servant.”
The words were not an accusation. They were a warning.
Elara stepped around Rovan. “Did you know Mara Venn?”
For the first time, Maribel looked genuinely surprised.
“Everyone in the palace knew Mara,” she said.
“Did you order her to hide me?”
The queen’s eyes hardened. “You were not hidden from me.”
“Then from whom?”
The chancellor moved his hand inside his robe.
Rovan noticed and lunged forward. Varron drew a short knife, but the captain struck his wrist and sent the weapon skidding across the floor. Maribel cried out as the lantern fell, its flame rolling toward the oilskin-wrapped ledger.
Elara threw herself forward and pulled the book away just before the fire reached it.
At the same moment, another figure appeared at the stairway.
King Aldric.
He was alone, dressed in a dark robe without his crown. His eyes traveled from the ledger to Varron, then to Maribel.
“I gave no one permission to enter this passage,” he said.
The queen straightened. “You should not have followed us.”
“You should not have come here.”
The king’s gaze fell on the crimson cloth.
His face broke.
He crossed the chamber, took the strip in both hands, and pressed it to his mouth.
“I wrapped her in this,” he whispered.
Maribel said nothing.
Aldric turned to the chancellor. “Why were you with her?”
Varron looked toward the queen.
It was a small movement, but it answered everything.
The king saw it.
“Open the ledger,” Aldric ordered.
Elara carefully removed the oilskin. The leather cover had swollen with age, but the first pages remained intact. Halven leaned close, reading by the light of the captain’s lamp.
Births. Deaths. Royal bloodlines.
Then he reached a page marked with a red ribbon.
His fingers froze.
“What is it?” Aldric asked.
Halven turned the book toward him.
The entry was written in dark brown ink.
Princess Seraphine Aldric Maribel. Born beneath the sign of the morning sun. Mark recorded below the left collarbone. Locket placed beside her at birth.
Below the entry appeared a second line, written in a different hand.
Child declared deceased before dawn.
The king stared at the words.
“She was never declared dead,” he said.
Halven looked at Maribel. “Who wrote this?”
The queen’s face became empty.
Elara leaned toward the page. “There is something beneath the ink.”
The captain brought the lamp closer. A faint impression showed through the parchment, as though another sentence had been scraped away.
Halven whispered, “Someone altered the record.”
Aldric looked at his wife. “You told me our daughter was taken by traitors.”
“She was,” Maribel replied.
“Then why does the ledger say she was declared dead?”
Before Maribel could answer, a bell began ringing above them.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
Captain Rovan stepped toward the stairs. “That is the alarm bell.”
King Aldric gripped the ledger. “Who activated it?”
From somewhere above, a terrified servant screamed.
Then another voice shouted through the chapel.
“The king is dead!”
The shout echoed down the stairwell, followed by the scrape of hurried footsteps. Aldric looked at the hidden ledger, then at Elara.
“Take the book,” he said.
“What about you?”
“If someone wants the palace to believe I am dead, then my living face is the best answer.”
Rovan moved between them. “Stay close. Whoever raised that alarm knows we are below the chapel.”
Maribel picked up the fallen lantern. Its flame illuminated the fear in her eyes.
“We should destroy the ledger,” she said.
Elara pulled it against her chest. “You have had eighteen years to do that.”
“And I regret not doing it.”
“You regret being discovered.”
May you like
The queen’s silence answered her.
They climbed toward the noise, carrying the proof that could either restore the royal family or tear the kingdom apart.
