Chapter 15
769 Words
PENELOPE POV
The library fell silent.
Too silent.
The only sound was the soft crackle of the candle between us.
I refused to loosen my grip on my father’s journal.
Raphael remained where he was, calm and patient, as though he had expected me to find this place all along.
“The final truth?” I repeated quietly. “What truth?”
His silver eyes lingered on the torn pages.
“Elias believed some truths were powerful enough to destroy the people who carried them.”
“My father never hid things from me.”
Raphael’s expression softened.
“He hid everything from you.”
The words stung because they were true.
My father had hidden our past.
Our name.
Our enemies.
Even the reason we spent our lives moving from city to city.
I looked down at the journal.
“So why leave this for me?”
“Because he knew one day the castle would choose.”
I frowned.
“Everyone keeps saying that.” My voice rose. “What does it mean? What does this castle want from me?”
Raphael didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he walked to one of the towering shelves and pulled out a book so old its leather had almost turned to stone.
He laid it gently on the table.
The cover bore the same symbol carved into the great stone door.
A raven wrapped around a crown of thorns.
“This castle was built long before the House of Valerius ruled it,” he said quietly.
“They inherited it.”
“They didn’t build it?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
The honesty surprised me.
“There are things even the King doesn’t know.”
Before I could ask another question…
The floor trembled.
Not violently.
Almost…
Like a heartbeat.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The candle flame bent toward the floor.
Raphael looked down.
“It feels you.”
My mouth went dry.
“What feels me?”
“The castle.”
A cold chill climbed my spine.
I laughed nervously.
“Castles don’t feel.”
“No.”
His gaze met mine.
“This one does.”
Another tremor passed beneath our feet.
This time the bookshelves rattled.
Several ancient books slid from the shelves, landing heavily on the floor.
One fell open by itself.
Neither of us touched it.
My eyes drifted toward the page.
There was no writing.
Only a drawing.
A king kneeling before a massive black gate.
Behind him stood twelve young men wearing crowns.
Before him…
Stood a woman.
She held a white blade in her hands.
Her face had been scratched away.
Someone had deliberately destroyed it.
Raphael stared at the drawing.
“So it was true…”
“You’ve seen this before?”
“I’ve heard stories.”
“What stories?”
He closed the book carefully.
“That every generation waits for two people.”
“The King…”
He paused.
“And the Thorne.”
A lump formed in my throat.
“You mean me.”
“I mean whoever the castle chooses.”
Silence settled between us again.
Then I noticed something.
Raphael wasn’t looking at me anymore.
He was staring behind me.
His face had gone pale.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
I turned around.
The enormous stone door I had entered through was closing.
By itself.
“No…”
I rushed toward it.
The gap became smaller.
Smaller.
I shoved my shoulder against the stone.
It didn’t move.
“Help me!”
Raphael grabbed the edge with both hands.
Veins stood out along his neck as he pushed.
Nothing.
The doors slammed shut with a deafening boom.
The sound echoed through the library.
Then…
A voice came from the other side.
Low.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Penelope.”
Julian.
I froze.
His voice echoed through the stone.
“I know you’re in there.”
Raphael stepped back immediately.
His composure was gone for the first time.
“He found you.”
I looked between the sealed door and Raphael.
“Can he open it?”
Raphael slowly shook his head.
“No.”
Relief washed over me.
Then he added quietly,
“…not unless the King gives him the key.”
Before I could respond…
A second voice echoed from outside the library.
Older.
Weak.
Yet unmistakably commanding.
King Darius.
“Open the door, Julian.”
A long silence followed.
Then the King’s next words made every drop of blood in my body turn to ice.
“She deserves to know…”
“…why her father betrayed us.”
- Writer
