Bound in his hands

Chapter Five “Secrets Beneath the Palace"

Lian waited until darkness had settled over every corner of the palace and the guards’ voices had faded completely, knowing the time had come.

She picked up the small key she had found while cleaning the corridors, steadying her breaths to appear calm, though excitement and fear raced through her simultaneously.

“One step at a time… don’t rush,” she whispered to herself, trying to slow the pounding of her heart.

She moved lightly, each step on the stone floor sending a faint echo through the silence. The weak flicker of candlelight cast long, frightening shadows on the walls, but she refused to look back.

“The shadows… they move with me,” she thought. “I feel as if the palace itself is watching.”

She began cautiously exploring the corridors, inspecting corners, listening for the guards’ movements, noticing which doors were open and which were closed. Every room, every hallway told her something about this place: where the hidden passages were, which doors could be opened silently, which corners might conceal a watchful eye.

She could not stop herself from pausing at a wall engraved with a strange carving—a fine line shaped like the broken crescent she had seen on her own body.

“What does this mean? Is everything here connected to the mark?” she murmured silently, her heart racing.

She touched the wall with her hand, feeling the cold seep into her palm, then grasped a door handle, testing that it could open without a squeak.

“The night dogs will find me if I’m not careful,” she whispered, gathering every ounce of focus and alertness she had.

A light breeze drifted through a small window in one of the corridors, carrying the faint scent of burning candles. The strange smell reminded her she was still alive, that freedom was possible—even with danger lurking around every corner.

“I… I will get out of here. I can’t let this cruel beast trap me,” she whispered, forcing herself to believe the words. A strange sense of control filled her chest, for the first time since arriving in the palace.

With every step she took, her mind analyzed everything she saw: the guards’ positions, the dark corners, the dining halls, the key storage rooms… every detail could matter for her escape plan.

Every step was calculated, every breath measured. But each touch of the key in her hand reminded her: freedom was no longer a dream—it was a goal.

“How have I never seen these corridors before?” she wondered. “And how does the palace hide itself like this? Everything here feels like a living prison.”

And so, in the silence of the night, Lian began carefully mapping her path, step by step, through the shadows and the stillness, sneaking through the heart of the palace, eyes alert for every detail, every feeling, every sign that might guide or warn her.

She had approached a narrow corner of the corridor, trying to avoid any shaft of light that might reveal her… when suddenly she froze. She felt something pressing deep within her body—a strange, heavy sensation, as if someone were watching.

The hairs on her arm rose.

“Who’s there?” she whispered to herself, but no answer came. Only the palace’s silence, and the echo of her own steps between the walls.

Then a long shadow appeared—Azar’s figure. There was no need to think. She recognized him instantly and felt a shiver run through her body, but she forced herself to contain it.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was low, sharp, yet not loud—every word filled the air with authority.

She trembled but tried to maintain composure, hiding all trace of weakness.

“I… I thought this corridor was part of the library,” she said softly, searching for an excuse with her words. “I… I like reading.”

He raised an eyebrow, his piercing gaze catching every detail of her face. A brief silence fell before he continued: “The library?” His words seemed to echo within him before he spoke, then he gestured for her to follow silently.

He led her through hidden doors and narrow passageways, each step quickening her heartbeat. She did not dare speak, her eyes scanning everything around her: the cold stone, the flickering shadows, the faint scent of candles.

Finally, they arrived at a vast room, unlike anything she had seen in the palace before. The walls were lined with towering shelves, reaching the ceiling, filled with manuscripts, maps, ancient papers, and rare symbols. The scent of old paper and ink mingled with fine wood, and Lian felt a strange warmth, different from the usual cold of the palace.

“This is my private library… the oldest collection in all the kingdoms,” Azar said, his voice calm this time, but his eyes carried the weight of a secret he shared with no one.

Lian stepped forward slowly, her eyes widening in astonishment, her fingers brushing the edges of the books, though she did not dare touch anything. Her heart pounded violently, every part of her mind questioning: how could this mystery be real?

Azar stopped in front of a large table, took out a carefully rolled document, and held it up before her.

“This…” he said, his voice lower this time, as if whispering to himself before speaking to anyone else, “is the secret of my mark, something no one knows. Only a few truly understand the symbols I leave behind.”