lock Door
1106 Words
Chapter 4 — Locked Doors
The silence unsettled me more than the cold ever had.
Back in the Lower Ward, the nights were never quiet. People shouted across the streets, dogs barked until dawn, neighbors coughed through thin walls, and barges drifted along the river. The palace was nothing like that. It was almost silent, and every creak in the old timber made me tense while every whisper of wind beneath the door sounded like someone standing outside.
Just after dawn, I heard the lock scrape open.
I was already standing by the door before it swung wide. My hand reached for the knife that should have been at my hip, but my fingers closed on empty air.
Three women walked into the room.
They wore matching gray dresses with white aprons, and all of them kept their heads lowered. None of them looked at me. One stripped the bed, another cleaned the fireplace, and the oldest carried in a large wooden bath followed by a servant with a copper pitcher of steaming water.
They worked quickly without speaking.
I stepped in front of the older woman and held out the folded note.
"Who left this under my pillow?"
She continued pouring hot water into the bath as steam rose between us, carrying the smell of lavender and strong soap.
"We only speak when the Lord Regent or the Captain of the Guard addresses us," she said quietly.
"I'm talking to you."
She paused for a moment. Instead of looking at my face, her eyes settled on the rope burns around my wrists and the dried mud still clinging to my clothes. Fear crossed her face before she lowered her gaze again.
"Your bath is ready, my lady," she said. "The seamstresses are waiting with your clothes, and the High Council expects you to be presentable."
"I don't care what the council expects."
I unfolded the note and held it where she could see it.
"It says the fourth chair is waiting in the crypt. Who wrote it?"
The moment I said the word crypt, the youngest maid dropped a silver bed ring.
It struck the floor with a sharp clang that echoed through the room.
The girl gasped and hurried to pick it up, but her hands shook so badly that she almost dropped it again.
"Hush," the older maid whispered.
For the first time, she looked directly at me. Her face had turned pale, and there was something in her eyes that looked a lot like fear.
"The dead don't need answers," she said quietly. "They need shrouds."
She leaned a little closer before lowering her voice.
"Wash yourself before the curse reaches you too."
I frowned.
"What curse?"
"What happened to the other three heirs?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she picked up the empty pitcher, motioned for the others to follow, and hurried out of the room.
The heavy door slammed behind them, and a second later the key turned in the lock.
I stared at the door for a long moment.
Locked in again.
I looked at the bath. The clear water reflected the ceiling above me, but for a moment I imagined the muddy canals of the Lower Ward staring back instead.
Slowly, I undressed.
The hot water stung the cuts around my wrists, but after a while the warmth eased the ache in my muscles. I scrubbed until the water turned gray with dirt. The smell of coal smoke and fish disappeared from my skin and hair, but I couldn't wash away the memory of a guard's boot forcing my face into the mud.
When I finished, I dried myself with a linen towel.
Fresh clothes had been laid neatly across the bed.
There was a heavy green silk dress embroidered with gold thread and a tight corset stiffened with whalebone.
One look was enough.
I pushed both aside.
Inside the wardrobe, I found a pair of dark riding trousers and a loose linen shirt. They had been made for a young nobleman, but after tightening the leather ties they fit well enough.
I crossed the room and stopped at the window.
Thick iron bars covered the opening.
I wrapped both hands around them and pulled with all my strength, but they didn't move.
Beyond the bars, the palace stood on the edge of towering white cliffs. Far below, the river crashed against jagged rocks, throwing white spray into the air.
There was no climbing down.
I turned back toward the door.
It was the only way out.
I grabbed the brass handle and pulled.
Nothing happened.
I slammed my palm against the wood.
"Let me out!" I shouted. "I'm not a prisoner."
"You are not a prisoner."
Cassian's voice came from the other side.
The lock clicked, and the door opened.
He stood in the doorway wearing the same black tunic as the night before. His sword rested at his side, and the polished hilt caught the morning light pouring in from the corridor.
His eyes moved over my damp hair, the plain linen shirt, and the riding trousers before settling on my face.
"You are simply not free to wander."
"I want to go outside."
I stepped toward the doorway.
"I want to see the gardens."
Cassian didn't move.
He blocked the doorway without any effort.
"The palace is a maze," he said. "Some parts are safer than others. Until the Regency Council accepts your claim, these rooms are the only place where I can guarantee your safety."
I folded my arms across my chest.
"They dragged me here in a royal carriage. They gave me a bath. They tried to dress me like a princess, and now you're telling me I'm not even an heir?"
"You have the blood," Cassian replied calmly. "But blood alone means very little in this palace."
He held my gaze.
"The lords are gathering even now. They will decide whether you are someone they can control or someone they need to remove."
I studied his face for a moment.
"And what do you want?"
Cassian stepped a little closer.
I caught the clean scent of rain, cedar, and oiled leather.
"I want you alive," he said. "It makes my job easier."
"And if I refuse to stay here?"
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"Then I lock the door again, and I keep the key."
We looked at each other for a long moment before I finally stepped back into the room.
Without another word, Cassian closed the door.
The lock clicked once more.
I was alone again, and somehow the room felt even smaller than it had before.
- Writer
