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Chapter 2: Shadows in the Court

The cold evening breeze enveloped the air as the procession to the crypt came to an end. Nobles of the realm lined both sides of the stone path, murmuring among themselves—some in solemn tones, others in whispers barely audible. Vaiolet felt those murmurs like invisible daggers, but her own grief weighed too heavily for her to fully notice.

However, as the cortege dissolved and small groups began to form, the scattered words reached her ears, growing clearer with each passing moment.

—They say she was poisoned... —murmured a lady of the court, adjusting her shawl as she cast a furtive glance toward the castle.

—Poisoned? Impossible! The queen was healthy until a few weeks ago. The physicians said it was a sudden illness —replied her companion, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

—Yes, but... —the first insisted, lowering her voice further—. Isn’t it strange how quickly it all happened? Just before the Harvest Festival, when the queen was about to announce important changes for the kingdom’s future.

Standing near the steps of the crypt, Vaiolet sensed a shift in the air around her. The atmosphere of mourning transformed, heavy now with insinuations that floated like a dense fog among the nobles.

—They say Princess Vaiolet... —began another noble some distance away, though his words faded into a whisper before she could catch the rest.

A wave of unease washed over her. She looked up, scanning the faces of those gathered. Some avoided her gaze entirely, while others shot her furtive glances, like children caught discussing forbidden things. What began as speculation about her mother’s death was turning darker, and the undercurrent of those whispers deeply unsettled her.

Vaiolet took a step closer to the crowd, straining to hear. Then, she heard it clearly.

—It wasn’t an illness... someone killed her —said an elderly woman with a lined face, leaning toward a man who listened intently.

—Someone? —the man repeated, raising an eyebrow—. Who would dare do such a thing?

The woman glanced toward Vaiolet, unaware that she was close enough to hear.

—I’ve heard rumors... —she whispered venomously—. Some say it was... the princess.

It felt as if the ground beneath Vaiolet’s feet was giving way. Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, the pain of losing her mother was replaced by an indescribable anguish. How could anyone even suggest such a thing? Her? An assassin of her own mother?

Her legs trembled. The urge to scream, to defend herself, surged within her, but no words came out. Instead, she withdrew, retreating from the crowd with quick, unsteady steps. The castle gardens, once a refuge, now felt distant and foreign. All she wanted was to escape the stares, the whispers, and the accusations that loomed over her like shadows.

Back in the castle's dim corridors, her mind spun wildly. The rumors were absurd, of course. But the doubt—the doubt poisoned her soul. How could anyone believe her capable of such treachery? What had they seen to make them imagine it?

As much as she tried to dismiss the gossip, one question haunted her: Why now? She knew the court thrived on intrigue, but this time, it felt personal—something dangerous, aimed directly at her.

Her thoughts drifted to her father and Cedric. Her father, so cold and detached. Cedric, with that unsettling smile during the funeral. Had they heard the whispers too? Did they know something she didn’t?

The seed of doubt planted itself firmly in her heart.

Vaiolet wandered until she found herself in front of her mother’s chambers. The western wing of the castle, sealed since Queen Amaranta’s death, stood untouched, as though keeping the doors closed could somehow freeze time. She had avoided this place since the tragedy, afraid that confronting the memories would shatter her fragile composure.

But tonight, after what she’d overheard, everything felt different. She needed answers. Her mother wouldn’t have left things to chance. If there was more to her sudden death, Vaiolet trusted that Amaranta would have left a clue.

The hallway was dimly lit, and shadows from flickering torches danced on the walls as Vaiolet approached the grand wooden doors. Once, they had been a threshold to her mother’s warmth and love. Now, they loomed as barriers to secrets she wasn’t sure she was ready to uncover.

Taking a trembling breath, she pushed them open. A faint lavender scent lingered—her mother’s favorite—but the room felt oppressive, as though it held its breath, waiting for her return.

She moved to her mother’s desk, where letters, documents, and personal diaries had always been meticulously arranged. Desperation drove her to search, rifling through papers with trembling hands. Most were mundane: treaties, royal correspondence, reports of little importance.

Then, in one drawer, she noticed something unusual—a hidden compartment, its outline barely visible in the dim light. Her fingers hesitated, then pressed against the faint groove. A small panel slid aside, revealing a letter sealed with the queen’s personal crest.

Vaiolet’s pulse quickened as she broke the seal. The parchment inside was aged and the ink dark, the strokes hurried. Her hands shook as she unfolded it.

“To whoever reads this in my absence, know that a threat lurks within these walls, more insidious than any outside enemy. I have discovered that not all who sit among us are loyal. Smiling faces hide treachery, and danger comes from where we least expect it.

For weeks, I have sensed something dark stirring in the shadows. I have tried to warn the king, but my words fall on deaf ears. I can trust no one—not even those closest to me. If anything happens to me, do not believe the official account. My death will not be natural. Someone within the castle wants me gone.”

Vaiolet’s breath caught. Her mother had suspected foul play—she had known. The queen, so strong and wise, had been aware of the danger but unable to escape it.

The final lines shattered Vaiolet.

“Vaiolet, if you ever read this, trust your instincts. Do not place your faith blindly in those around you. The enemy is not far; they are closer than you think. Seek the truth, my daughter, and protect yourself. The future of Vestria depends on it.”

The letter slipped from Vaiolet’s trembling hands, landing softly on the desk. Her mind reeled as the weight of her mother’s words settled on her. Queen Amaranta hadn’t died of an illness. She had been murdered, and the culprits were still inside the castle—trusted faces, nobles, perhaps even... family.

Her fists clenched as tears blurred her vision. The whispers from earlier echoed in her mind, taunting her with the truth she now knew. The air felt heavy with unspoken accusations, with betrayal.

Her mother’s warning resonated in her heart: Trust no one.

The sense of isolation she had felt during the funeral multiplied. Now, the castle, her home, seemed like a place full of shadows and betrayal. Who had wanted her mother dead? And why? The letter gave no names, but the warning was clear: she could trust no one. Vaiolet clenched her fists tightly, feeling the anger and despair grow inside her. Her mother had tried to protect her until the very end, and now, it was her responsibility to uncover the truth. She vowed to herself that she would not rest until she unearthed the culprits, no matter what it entailed.

She left her mother’s chambers, her heart heavy with a grim purpose. The game of intrigue had begun, and Vaiolet was not willing to be just another pawn. Her transformation had begun.

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