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Anya's heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as she hurried through the palace halls, her mind a storm of thoughts. Her mother's cryptic words had only deepened the mystery, and her father's absence from the banquet weighed heavily on her mind. If the Queen wouldn't give her answers, then she would find them herself.
She made her way to the west wing, the part of the palace that had always been off-limits to her and her sisters. The guards stationed at the entrance gave her wary glances as she approached, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Princess Anya," one of them said, stepping forward. "This area is restricted."
Anya straightened her spine, her voice steady and authoritative. "By whose order?"
The guard hesitated. "The King's, Your Highness."
Her jaw tightened. "The King is my father. Are you telling me that I, his daughter, have no right to enter his domain?"
The second guard shifted uncomfortably. "It's not our place to question, Your Highness, but the orders were clear."
Anya's eyes narrowed. "Then you can explain to him why you refused me. Now, step aside."
The guards exchanged a nervous glance before reluctantly moving to let her pass. Anya pushed open the heavy doors and entered the forbidden wing.
The air here was different—cooler, heavier, as though the walls themselves held secrets. The corridors were dimly lit, and the faint scent of aged parchment and candle wax lingered in the air. Anya's footsteps echoed as she moved deeper into the hall, her heart pounding in her chest.
She reached the end of the corridor, where a massive wooden door loomed before her. Intricate carvings of the royal crest adorned its surface, and the lock glinted ominously in the faint light. She pressed her hand against the door, and to her surprise, it creaked open under her touch.
Inside, the room was a study—her father's, she realized. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls. A large desk sat in the center, papers strewn across its surface. The faint glow of moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room.
Anya moved to the desk, her fingers brushing against the scattered documents. Most were mundane—records of trade agreements, correspondence with foreign dignitaries. But one letter caught her eye.
It was sealed with a black wax crest, one she didn't recognize. The handwriting was unfamiliar, elegant but sharp, and the words sent a chill down her spine:
"The debt remains unpaid. The shadow grows restless. You know the price."
Before she could read further, a voice broke the silence.
"What are you doing here?"
Anya spun around to see her elder sister, Princess Celia, standing in the doorway. Her expression was a mix of anger and concern.
"I could ask you the same," Anya retorted, clutching the letter behind her back.
Celia stepped into the room, her gaze sharp. "You're meddling in things you don't understand. This isn't a game, Anya."
"Then help me understand," Anya said, her voice rising. "What is going on? Why is everyone so afraid? What aren't they telling us?"
Celia hesitated, her composure faltering for a moment. "It's not my place to say."
"Of course it isn't," Anya said bitterly. "No one ever tells me anything. I'm just supposed to sit quietly and obey while the rest of you make decisions for me."
"This isn't about you, Anya!" Celia snapped, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. "This is about the kingdom. About keeping us all safe. Don't you think I wish things were different? That I didn't have to carry this weight alone?"
Anya blinked, caught off guard by the raw emotion in her sister's voice. "Celia..."
Celia shook her head, her expression hardening again. "You need to leave. Now. Before you make things worse."
But Anya didn't move. She held up the letter, her hands trembling. "Is this what you're all so afraid of? This 'debt'? What does it mean?"
Celia's face went pale, her eyes darting to the letter. "Where did you find that?"
"It was on Father's desk," Anya said. "Tell me the truth, Celia. Please."
For a moment, it seemed as though Celia might answer. But then she turned away, her voice hollow. "You shouldn't have seen that."
Before Anya could press further, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Both sisters turned toward the door, their hearts racing.
"Go," Celia whispered urgently. "Now."
"What about you?" Anya asked.
"I'll handle it," Celia said, her tone brooking no argument. "Just go."
Reluctantly, Anya slipped out through a side door, clutching the letter tightly. As she made her way back to her chambers, her mind raced with questions. Whatever her family was hiding, it was bigger than she had imagined. And she was more determined than ever to uncover the truth.
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