Rose stood alone in the moonlit corridor of the eastern wing, her fingers grazing the cold stone wall as she followed the faint echoes that led her here. This part of the palace had been sealed off since the old king's death—supposedly cursed, supposedly forgotten. But Rose knew better. She remembered the whispers, the secrets her former self had been too naïve to notice.
Now, she listened.
Kyle had warned her not to wander alone. Not tonight. Not with tensions rising at court and shadows growing bolder by the day. But there were truths here—buried truths—and Rose had never feared ghosts. She had become one.
At the end of the corridor, behind a faded tapestry, she found it: a narrow passage, hidden by time and dust. Her heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but purpose. She lit the small lamp she carried, its glow flickering as if resisting what lay ahead.
The corridor led to a chamber—round, vaulted, silent except for the eerie hum that seemed to resonate from the stone itself. The Whispering Gallery.
"Your Majesty," a voice murmured from the shadows.
Rose turned sharply, her hand flying to the dagger hidden in her gown.
A figure stepped forward. Not an assassin. Not a ghost. A girl—barely seventeen, with ink-stained fingers and a crest of House Trevane stitched into her robe. A scholar's apprentice.
"I thought no one came here anymore," Rose said quietly.
"No one does," the girl replied. "But I read the old texts. They say the walls here remember everything. If you listen closely... they speak."
Rose tilted her head, wary. "And what do they say?"
"That you're not the princess they were promised," the girl whispered. "But maybe the one they need."
Before Rose could respond, the wall behind her pulsed—an unnatural ripple of energy. Her lamp flared, then dimmed. A low, shivering voice echoed around them, not from the girl, not from any living mouth.
"The throne will fall by blood known but unseen. Beware the crown of ash."
The girl gasped. "You heard it too?"
Rose's grip tightened on the dagger. "I always do."
Suddenly, the door to the passage slammed shut behind them.
Back in the main palace, Kyle was running.
He had found her note too late. Something was wrong—he could feel it in his bones. The shadows were moving faster now, no longer content to watch from the edges. And someone in the court had discovered who Rose truly was. He had seen it in the Queen's smile.
She knew.
And Kyle wasn't sure if he could protect Rose from what was coming next.