As we neared the palace gates, I finally got a clear view of them—something I hadn't been able to do the last time I was here, slipping through the shadows at night. Now, in the late afternoon light, the gates stood towering and majestic before us, more imposing than I had imagined. They were made of intricately woven black iron, with sharp, angular patterns twisting through them like ancient runes, each symbol pulsing with a quiet power that felt both protective and threatening. The iron bars were thick, polished to a gleam, but dark as if they absorbed the light. At the very top, the royal crest—a raven in mid-flight—was carved into the metal, its wings spread wide as if guarding the entrance.
Two massive stone pillars flanked the gate, each one carved with detailed reliefs of past kings and queens. The figures looked both regal and ominous, their eyes seeming to follow us as we approached. Above us, banners bearing the kingdom's sigil fluttered in the wind, though now the once-vibrant purple was muted, as if even the cloth mourned the loss of King Renfell. The gate loomed taller with every step we took, a reminder that this was not just a place of luxury and power, but a place where secrets were buried—and where I might find answers.
When the gates creaked open with a heavy groan, we were ushered inside by the guards. The courtyard beyond was vast, with manicured hedges and grand fountains, but there was an eerie stillness to it. The palace itself stretched before us, a sprawling mass of grey stone towers and walls, each corner sharp and precise, every window dark as if the very life had been drained from the place. The towering walls seemed to breathe, whispering ancient tales of the darkness that now clung to its very stones.
We moved as a group, our footsteps echoing against the stone pathways. The soldiers kept us in line, though they weren't as forceful as I'd expected. I could feel the eyes of the assistant on me still, that quiet suspicion gnawing at him. But I kept my head down, focusing on the path ahead.
Once inside, we were guided through a maze of stone hallways until we reached a grand room. The high ceilings were adorned with hanging chandeliers that cast a soft glow over long, heavy wooden tables. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting scenes of battles won and royal ceremonies long past. The air here felt thick, the history of the place pressing down on us all.
We were ushered to the tables, and I couldn't help but notice the spread before us—trays piled high with roasted meats, bread still steaming from the oven, and bowls filled with fruits and vegetables of every color. It was a feast fit for royalty. I wasn't sure if it was prepared for us, or if this was simply the way the palace fed all who entered. Either way, the sight made my stomach growl loudly.
Without thinking, I dove into the food. I grabbed a hunk of bread, tore off a piece of roasted meat, and stuffed it into my mouth as if I hadn't eaten in days. The flavors burst in my mouth—rich, salty, tender—but I barely tasted them, my hunger taking over. I devoured the food with no thought to the others around me, unaware of how I must have looked. Each bite was quick and desperate, my body taking in as much as it could. It wasn't until the plate in front of me was empty that I noticed the silence.
I looked up slowly, and my face flushed with embarrassment. The others at the table were staring at me, their eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Some whispered to each other, others smirked, and I realized just how I must have appeared—like a starving animal that had finally found a meal.
I wiped my mouth quickly, forcing a sheepish smile. "Guess I was hungrier than I thought," I muttered, though the heat of embarrassment still burned on my cheeks.
But something else caught my attention. At the far end of the table, there was a girl—barely sixteen, if I had to guess. She was the same one I'd noticed earlier, the one whose uncle had shoved her forward for the selection with such hatred that it had made my skin crawl. She hadn't touched her food. Her head was bowed, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed quietly to herself. Her plate sat untouched, the steam from her meal wafting gently in the air.
My heart clenched as I watched her, feeling a pang of sympathy. I knew that kind of fear, that feeling of being trapped in a situation where there was no way out. She had been forced into this, and the weight of it was clearly too much for her. I stood from my seat and walked toward her, my steps soft so as not to startle her.
When I reached her, I knelt down beside her and whispered, "It's going to be okay. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're not alone. You're stronger than you think."
She didn't look at me at first, just kept her gaze down, her tears silently falling onto the table. But after a moment, she glanced up, her red-rimmed eyes meeting mine. "I… I didn't want to be here," she whispered, her voice shaking. "He made me come."
I nodded, my heart aching for her. "I know. But you can get through this. Don't let him control how you feel, how you live. You're here now, and you can make your own way."
She stared at me for a moment, and I could see something shift in her eyes—a small spark of strength, like she was grasping onto my words, holding onto them for dear life. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and, slowly, picked up her spoon. With a trembling hand, she scooped up a bite of food and brought it to her mouth.
"That's it," I said softly, giving her a small smile. "One step at a time."
She nodded again, chewing her food slowly. I could see the determination in her face now, fragile but growing. I patted her hand gently before standing up and heading toward the door. I needed some fresh air—between the tension of the day and the way I had practically inhaled my food, I was sweating more than I realized.
I stepped outside into the palace courtyard, breathing in the cool evening air. The sun had begun to set, casting long shadows over the stone walls, and for a moment, I stood there, letting the wind cool my flushed skin. The palace loomed behind me, its dark towers stretching into the sky, and I couldn't help but feel the weight of what lay ahead. I was inside, finally, but the real challenge was only just beginning.
After a few minutes, a guard called us back inside. We were shown to our various rooms, each of us led down different hallways until we reached our quarters. The room they gave me was simple but comfortable—far more luxurious than anything I had experienced in recent memory. A large, plush bed with thick blankets sat against the wall, and a wooden dresser and washbasin filled the space.
I hadn't realized just how tired I was until I sank onto the bed, my body aching from the day's events. I hadn't had a proper bath in days, so I took the opportunity to wash up. The water was warm, soothing my sore muscles as I scrubbed away the grime of the road. When I finally slipped into the bed, clean and refreshed, I felt a sense of satisfaction wash over me. I had made it. I was inside the palace, and for once, I felt comfortable.
As I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my mind drifted back to the girl at the table, to the pain in her eyes. I had done what I could for her, but I knew that there were limits to how much I could help. The palace was not a place for the faint-hearted, and we would all have to find our own way.
Sleep came quickly, pulling me into a deep, dreamless slumber. And for the first time in a long time, I felt… safe. At least for now.