Chapter 9: Michael’s Hidden Chest

The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the village as the locksmith hurried to Michael’s study. He hadn’t waited long after Tracy had left, her suspicious behavior gnawing at him. It wasn’t just her anxious demeanor or the late hour—it was the unmistakable crest etched into the chest, Michael’s symbol. As the king’s trusted advisor, Michael was not a man whose possessions should fall into unfamiliar hands, and the locksmith knew he had to act quickly.

Michael sat at his desk, his brow furrowed as he reviewed documents. The sound of hurried footsteps drew his attention, and he looked up as the locksmith entered, his large frame filling the doorway.

“Sir,” the locksmith said, his voice urgent but cautious. “I need a word with you. It’s about your chest.”

Michael stiffened, his gaze narrowing. “What about my chest?”

The locksmith placed his hands on the desk, leaning forward. “A woman came to me last night—a frantic one. Thin, with brown hair and freckles. She claimed her daughter’s medicine was locked inside the chest and she’d misplaced the key. But when I looked at it, I recognized your symbol. It wasn’t hers, was it?”

Michael’s expression darkened, the tension in the room thickening. “Describe her again,” he demanded, his voice low and sharp.

“She had brown hair tied back hastily and freckles across her face,” the locksmith continued. “She didn’t look like someone who should have your belongings, and her story didn’t sit right with me. She was desperate, and when I asked if she had stolen it, she avoided the question.”

Michael rose from his chair, his movements deliberate but heavy. He paced the room, his mind racing. “Tracy,” he muttered under his breath. It was the only explanation. She had gone too far this time.

“She paid me for the work,” the locksmith continued, “but I felt it was my duty to let you know. Whatever’s in that chest… I don’t think it’s safe in her hands.”

Michael stopped pacing, turning to face the locksmith. His jaw was tight, and his eyes burned with barely contained fury. “You did the right thing,” he said, though his tone carried the weight of his anger. “If she’s meddling with things she doesn’t understand, it could put us all in danger.”

The locksmith nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation. “Shall I do anything else, sir?”

Michael shook his head. “No. Leave it to me.” His voice was cold and decisive, the mark of a man who had spent years navigating crises. “And thank you for bringing this to my attention. You’ve done well.”

As the locksmith left, Michael’s thoughts churned. He knew Tracy’s resentment had been growing, her bitterness toward Ember unrelenting. But this—this was a betrayal he couldn’t ignore. The chest contained the truth of Ember’s origins, a truth that had been carefully concealed for her safety. If Tracy had opened it, there was no telling what damage she might do.

Michael clenched his fists, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He had always tried to keep the peace, to protect Ember while managing Tracy’s hostility. But it was clear now that Tracy had crossed a line, and Michael would have to act swiftly to prevent the situation from spiraling out of control.

With resolute steps, he left his study, his mind already forming a plan. The stakes were higher than ever, and Michael knew that every decision he made now could determine the fate of everyone involved—especially Ember.

Michael made it to his estate around midnight, the cool night air biting at his skin as he leapt from the carriage. His heart pounded in his chest, fear and anger intertwining as he sprinted through the grand halls toward Ember’s room. When he threw the door open, he was greeted by an empty bed and a silence that made his stomach drop. Ember was gone.

He stood motionless for a moment, his breath uneven, before rage surged through him. He stormed down the stairs, his steps heavy and resolute. He found Tracy in the master bedroom, perched at her desk, a book in her hands as if nothing had happened. Her calm demeanor only fueled the icy fury radiating from Michael.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. He entered the room with such force that the air seemed to grow colder, cold steam emanating from his core.

Tracy glanced up from her book, her lips curling into a mocking smile. She laughed softly, though there was no warmth to the sound. “She ran away, Michael,” she said with feigned sweetness. “I told her everything.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed, his body tense. “What do you mean, everything?”

Tracy’s expression shifted, her laughter dissolving into venomous glee. She stood, slamming the book shut. “I told her who she really is,” she snapped. “I told her she’s the daughter of the king and queen. I told her she has a twin, Eira. And I told her how you lied to her—how you kept her from her real family.”

Michael’s breath caught, his heart sinking. “You did what?” he whispered, his voice laced with disbelief.

“She said she hated you for it,” Tracy continued, her voice rising with manic triumph. “She left, Michael. She left you.”

Michael stepped closer, his hands trembling with barely suppressed fury. Tracy watched him, her confidence unwavering. Slowly, she set the book down and tugged at the collar of her dress, revealing the jagged scar across her face. “Look at what she did to me,” she said, her voice seething with rage. “That monster happened to my face. She attacked me, Michael. Now, what are you going to do?”

Michael froze, his gaze fixed on the scar. His mind reeled as he tried to process the storm of emotions—guilt, anger, disbelief—swirling within him. “What happened?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “What did you do to provoke her?”

Tracy’s eyes widened, her fury igniting anew. “Provoke her? How dare you?” she hissed. “I did nothing but try to raise her, to care for her, and this is how she repays me? With fire? With hatred?”

Michael took another step closer, his towering presence casting a shadow over her. “You’ve always hated her, Tracy. You’ve resented her from the moment I brought her into this house. Don’t think I don’t know the truth.”

Tracy’s laughter returned, sharp and unhinged. “The truth?” she spat. “You don’t even know the truth yourself. You’ve been so blinded by your precious Ember, you can’t see what she really is. She’s not your daughter, Michael. She never was. She belongs to them—to the king and queen. And you’ve been a fool to think you could protect her.”

Michael’s jaw tightened, his fury simmering beneath the surface. “And what did you hope to gain by telling her? Did you think she would turn against me? That she would trust you?”

Tracy’s eyes gleamed with malice. “I wanted her gone,” she said simply. “And now she is. You’ve lost her, Michael. And it’s all your fault.”

Michael’s chest heaved, his emotions boiling over as he stared down at her. The weight of her betrayal and the danger she had unleashed were too much to ignore. He reached for the hilt of his blade, his hand steady despite the turmoil within him.

“You’ve left me no choice,” he said, his voice cold and resolute.

Tracy’s smirk faltered, fear flickering in her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, her bravado crumbling.

Michael didn’t hesitate. With a swift, deliberate motion, he drew his blade. Tracy stumbled back, her confidence giving way to panic, but it was too late. She collapsed to the floor, her final breath escaping in a choked gasp.

Michael stood over her, his face a mask of cold determination. Yet beneath the surface, his heart ached with the weight of what he had done. He sheathed his blade, his thoughts turning to Ember. Somewhere out there, she was alone and vulnerable, and now more than ever, she needed him.

He wouldn’t fail her—not again.