Anders heard the King sigh. He was listening to the King and the Princess’s low voices from the lavishly decorated bedroom he had been delivered to by the guards. The carpets were plush and the walls and doors were thick, but he found he could hear most of their conversation if he pressed his ear to the wall.
“That’s the point, Isadora. You do not sleep. Nobody knows what you do all night or where you go. This can’t go on, too many noble young men have disappeared. Every day I receive letters requesting news, and their safe return. I can only mollify their parents with empty promises for so long. If anyone outside of this castle were to find out…It is only a matter of time before one of the other kingdoms decides to launch an attack against us. The prisoner has volunteered to find out the truth and put an end to this nonsense, and I suggest you allow him to do so. At least the loss of a common soldier won’t add to our mounting diplomatic problems.”
The Princess let out a frustrated sound. “Father, please see sense.”
“No,” the King retorted. “This has gone on long enough. You will obey me or suffer the consequences. If I hear you have obstructed him in his mission, I shall not be pleased, Isadora. You will be confined to your rooms until this blasted curse has run its course. You and your sister.”
“If mother were here—”
“Well, she is not!” The King roared, pain and frustration evident in his voice.
Anders moved away from the door as he heard footsteps thudding towards him. A moment later, the guard opened the door and King Aurelio entered. Anders caught a glimpse of Princess Isadora standing in the hall, her expression stormy, and their eyes met briefly before the door closed between them with a loud, resounding click.
King Aurelio ran a finger across the surface of the console table by the door and inspected it for dust. Anders could see the man’s chest heaving as he mastered his emotions and regained his composure. “I trust you have everything you need. I shall have a maid bring you some supper this evening, until then you’re free to explore the palace and grounds—within reason, and accompanied by your guards. If there is anything you require, they will take care of it.”
Anders bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The King gave Anders a long look, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he simply gave Anders a firm nod and swept out of the room.
Anders followed a minute later, his guards falling into step behind him as he took a tour of the palace, boots whispering over the plush carpeted floors. The halls were lined with enormous oil paintings of royals wearing elaborate crowns decorated with the sun and stars. One such painting towards the far end of the hallcaught Anders’ eye. It portrayed a beautiful, dark-haired woman with bronze skin and dark blue eyes, wearing a red gown and a gold locket which bore a symbol he recognised, but couldn’t place. The painting was almost an exact representation of Princess Isadora—that expressive gaze and the high cheekbones. She appeared to glow from within, as though the sun’s warmth radiated from her skin. But this woman looked to be at least ten years older than the Princess. Her mother, then. Queen Idalia. But the similarities were breath-taking.
Anders recalled hearing about the Golden Queen’s death. She’d been struck by a wasting sickness that had carried her to her grave within days of becoming ill. The Princesses had been no older than ten and twelve at the time, and Anders remembered hugging his own mother tighter each night before bed for weeks, concerned she would suffer the same unimaginable fate.
He turned away from the painting, forcing down the sorrow that rose up in his gut when he thought of his mother. He hadn’t been home in over five years, he hoped she was well and that his absence hadn’t been too difficult for her; left behind with only his strict father and obedient brother for company.
He studied the two guards in their dark-brown uniforms with the sunburst emblem emblazoned on their chests in gold thread. “What are the rumours? Where do the guards and servants believe the Princesses go each night?”
The guards shared a look that told Anders he wasn’t going to get much, if anything, out of them. Frustration burned in his chest, clearly the prejudices between their two countries were going to get in the way of his investigation, if he let them. He tilted his chin. “The King said to give me anything I require. How am I supposed to get to the root of the problem if I don’t know where to begin?”
The younger looking guard, a muscular man with a square jaw, cleared his throat.
“Marco,” the older guard warned.
Marco shifted his feet and mumbled, “He’s right, Paolo. The King did say to give him whatever he needed.”
“Within reason.”
“If it will help the Princesses…”
The grey-haired guard—Paolo—snorted and folded his arms. “Well, I’ll have nothing to do with it. Sharing palace secrets with a spectre, indeed.”
Anders watched the exchange with curiosity, until Marco rolled his eyes at Paolo and turned to Anders, a frown creasing his forehead. “No one knows for sure, but word around the barracks is they slip out and go down to the docks to flirt with sailors and dance all night in bars.”
“Poppycock!” Paolo grumbled.
“Alright then, what do you think is going on?” It was Marco’s turn to cross his arms and look affronted.
“There’s no chance they’re leaving the palace. Someone would have seen them coming and going. No, they’re definitely not leaving their rooms.”
Marco threw his hands up. “Then, how do you explain the shoes?”
“The shoes?” Anders’ brows knitted together. He’d heard the group in the tavern mention something about shoes but hadn’t understood the significance.
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Paolo mused. “How are they wearing through their slippers each night when they can’t leave their rooms, and no one sees or hears a thing?”
Anders scratched his chin, where a straggly beard had sprouted since his last shave. He’d need to borrow some soap and a razor soon, if he was going to be wandering the palace hallshe wanted to look the part. “So, you believe the Princesses are inside their rooms all night? And the slippers are, what, faulty?”
Paolo shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. But, you take it from me, those girls are not leaving this palace.”
