CHAPTER FOUR — WHAT WAS LOST
911 Words
The broken royal seal...
...was gone.
For a heartbeat, Finnian simply stood there.
His fingers searched the inside of his pocket again, slower this time, as though panic could be persuaded by patience. He checked the lining. Then the other pocket. Then the leather satchel slung over his shoulder.
Nothing.
A servant carrying folded linens brushed past him.
"Watch where you're standing," she muttered before hurrying away.
Finnian barely heard her.
The seal hadn't disappeared.
It had to be somewhere.
His eyes drifted back to the hidden door concealed behind the marble statue.
Every instinct urged him to return.
Just open the door.
Look for it.
Make sure no one else finds it.
His foot moved before his mind could stop him.
"Finn."
The voice was familiar.
Finnian turned sharply.
Mistress Elowen stood several paces away, a ring of keys hanging from her belt. She wasn't looking at him with suspicion—only irritation.
"I've been looking for you."
"My apologies."
"You disappeared."
"I took the wrong corridor."
"You seem to do that often."
There was a dry edge to her voice that made Finnian lower his head.
"It won't happen again."
"It had better not."
She stepped closer and straightened the collar of his uniform with quick, practiced hands.
"The prince has left for the council chamber. The royal wing is to be cleaned before he returns."
Finnian nodded.
"Yes, Mistress."
"And keep your head down."
"I always do."
She gave him a long look.
"I don't believe you."
Then she turned and walked away.
Finnian followed in silence.
His thoughts, however, never left the missing seal.
---
The prince's chambers were quieter than the rest of the palace.
Sunlight spilled through tall windows, falling across polished wooden floors and shelves lined with neatly arranged books. Everything had its place.
Nothing looked extravagant.
It surprised Finnian.
He had expected gold.
Jewels.
Displays of royal wealth.
Instead, the room felt... lived in.
"You're polishing the shelves."
The older servant handing out assignments pointed toward the far wall.
"Be careful with the books. His Highness notices when anything is moved."
Finnian accepted the cloth.
"I understand."
The woman left him alone.
He worked slowly, dusting each shelf with careful movements.
History.
Military strategy.
Astronomy.
Poetry.
His fingers paused over the titles.
The Crown Prince read poetry?
Somehow, that wasn't what he'd imagined.
A loose sheet of paper slipped from between two books and drifted silently to the floor.
Finnian bent to pick it up.
His eyes caught a line written in elegant handwriting.
"A ruler who fears the truth will one day fear his own people."
There was no signature.
Only that single sentence.
"It isn't polite to read another person's notes."
Finnian froze.
He looked up.
Prince Alaric stood in the doorway.
He had returned without a sound.
"I wasn't reading it."
Alaric glanced at the paper still in Finnian's hand.
"No?"
Finnian sighed quietly.
"I read one sentence."
"And?"
Finnian hesitated.
"I liked it."
The prince walked into the room.
"Most people don't."
Finnian placed the paper back inside the book.
"I suppose most people never get the chance."
A corner of Alaric's mouth lifted.
"You speak more honestly when you forget you're speaking to a prince."
"I'll remember next time."
"I hope not."
The words slipped out so naturally that both of them seemed surprised.
An awkward silence followed.
Finnian returned to dusting the shelf.
He could feel Alaric watching him.
Not with suspicion.
With curiosity.
"You've worked in noble houses before?" Alaric asked.
"No."
"You knew how to handle those books."
"I like books."
"Can you read?"
Finnian looked at him.
"Is that unusual?"
"For servants?"
Alaric shrugged.
"Not common."
Finnian smiled faintly.
"My brother taught me."
The smile disappeared almost as quickly as it came.
He hadn't meant to say that.
Alaric noticed.
"You had a brother."
The question was gentle.
Finnian's hand tightened around the cloth.
"I did."
"What happened to him?"
A thousand answers rushed through his mind.
None of them could be spoken.
"He died."
"I'm sorry."
Three simple words.
No pity.
No empty sympathy.
Just sincerity.
Finnian looked away.
"So am I."
Another silence settled between them.
Outside, bells rang across the palace grounds.
Somewhere below, servants laughed as they crossed the courtyard.
Life continued.
Inside the room, neither man moved.
Finally, Alaric spoke again.
"When I was younger..."
Finnian looked up.
"...I thought every person inside this palace wanted something from me."
"And now?"
"Now I know they do."
Finnian couldn't help smiling.
"That's a lonely way to live."
"It is."
Their eyes met.
For the first time, neither of them looked away.
There was no accusation between them now.
Only questions.
Questions neither of them was ready to answer.
A sudden knock broke the silence.
A palace attendant entered, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness."
"What is it?"
"We found something in the private corridor."
Finnian's heartbeat stopped.
The attendant held out a small velvet cloth.
Resting on it...
was a broken piece of engraved silver.
Finnian recognized it instantly.
It wasn't the entire seal.
Just one fragment.
Enough to identify it.
The attendant frowned.
"It appears someone dropped this."
Alaric reached for the fragment.
Before his fingers touched it, his gaze shifted to Finnian.
He didn't say a word.
But the look in his eyes said enough.
He remembered the tiny movement Finnian had made toward his pocket in the hidden corridor.
And now...
He was beginning to put the pieces together.
- Writer
