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“You are,” he insists. “You stand up to my father.”

A heavy pit forms at the bottom of my stomach at the mention of the king. I give a half-hearted smile.

“I do not think that is brave of me,” I reply, my voice small. I recall how often it has nearly claimed my life.

“Shivani,” he says. He speaks my name quietly, with reverence. The sudden drop in formalities takes me aback, but he does not seem to have noticed his mistake. “You are brave every day you are here. I…” he stammers to a halt before squeezing my hand. “I admire you.”

Butterflies explode in my stomach, and a deep heat crawls up my neck and over my face. I lower my eyes, bashful in the face of his sincere compliments. My brain churns quietly, trying to think of what I should say back. Should I tell him I admire him too? The way he perseveres through a brutal transformation so often? Or theway he has managed to live a life under the gaze of a cruel father and still have a soft heart?

I squeeze my eyes shut and decide to tell him all these things. How my heart flutters when he looks at me and how I look forward to each time we meet. I steel myself and open my eyes, but when I do, the prince is already asleep.

Chapter 19

Once a week, when the guards change shifts, two guards in particular end up working next to each other. Perhaps they are friends, or perhaps they are lovers—it does not matter to me. What does matter is they sneak off to abandon their posts for an hour because they, like myself, have learned they are unsupervised. Inez told me once over tea in the art room that the guard in charge likes to play tic tac toe with one of the older servants at the same time each week. I come across each segment of information individually, storing it away until they come together like a beautiful jigsaw.

For one hour each week, there are no guards outside of my door. I am free to roam. At least, the floor my bedchambers is on.

The first few times, I was too nervous to enjoy my limited freedom. I spend the time looking over my shoulder and jumping at every creak in my step. But the more I take advantageof the blessed hour and do not get caught, the more I relax into it.

Fascinated with the knowledge of more secret passageways littered throughout the castle, I begin exploring every item lining the corridor walls. Unsurprisingly, there are numerous portraits of the king—none of the prince or the late queen. Pale squares mark the walls, the ghosts of paintings the king had taken down. I wonder if they belonged to any of the monarchs before him.

I gently tug at a few of the portraits, but I find only flat walls behind them. I move onto the several shelves lined with pots of fresh flowers. I frown at them, wondering where they came from. The petals are soft like velvet, full and beautiful. They are not like the flowers found in Mossgarde with their tall stalks and small, delicate petals. I am reminded again of the prince and how he enjoys gardening. I resolve myself to ask about it next time I meet him—there must be a garden here somewhere.

I tap softly on the shelves, holding my ear close to hear any mysterious echoes which might give away the passage behind it. When that does not work, I carefully pull the shelf away from the wall. Instead of a secret passageway, there are yet more empty walls.

Sighing heavily, I flounce away. This floor of the castle is home to several other doors, all of them unknown to me. Curious, I open one ofthem and peek inside.

A bedchamber, identical in layout to mine, greets me. I cast a look around, but there is nothing of note, so I move on to the next door. This one is empty, bare of all furniture. I carry on until, a few doors down, I find something.

I swing open the door, ready to find yet another boring room, but this one is different.

It is a bedchamber again but much larger than mine. The air is stale, as though no one has breathed it for years, and the furniture is covered by white sheets. The curtains are drawn, leaving the chambers in deep gloom. I stare, lingering in the doorway.

I want to explore further, but I am unsure how much time I have left before the guards return. I cast a quick glance down the empty corridor.

One quick look, I think before stepping into the room.

It is as though I have stepped into a grave. The air is cooler than the rest of the castle, and the dust is thick around me. I shiver, arms prickling.

“What is this place?” I murmur to myself.

Pinching the sheets, I glimpse underneath only to find regular furniture. But the style is different to the rest of the castle—it is more ornate but not gaudy. It is familiar, yet I cannot place it.

The large object in the middle of the roomis clearly a four-poster bed, but I look under the sheet regardless, determined to turn over every stone. As I catch a glimpse, my pulse quickens.

The silk bedsheets were likely white at some point, but they have yellowed with age. But it is what is in the middle that catches my sight—a deep brown stain spreads across the centre of the bedsheet. Where the rest of the silk is still smooth and flat, the stain has turned it thick and stiff.

Blood.

I immediately drop the sheet, covering the bed once more. I want to turn and run back to my chambers, but I have not finished checking everything yet. I could wait another week for my next free hour alone, but…

I close my eyes. The stain on the bed will haunt me with questions. I need to find out as much as I can.

A sheet covers the wide bookcase against the far wall, so I hurry over. I did not want to leave anything disturbed, but time is of the essence, so I made a quick judgement—the room has not been touched for many years, so it is unlikely anyone will return. I tear the sheet down. It falls silently, leaving a plume of dust in its wake.

I am struck by the strangeness of the books. Instead of the uniform size and height of most books in the castle, these are oddly sized and do not fit together neatly. I tilt my head toread the spines and notice they are written in dragon text. They are dragon books.

I half-turn to look at the rest of the room, still covered in sheets. The style of the furniture now makes sense—it belonged to a dragon. Even as the pieces fit together, I am left confused. A dragon lived in Mossgarde Castle. I wrack my brain, trying to remember anything Aunt Meena told me about a dragon living in the castle, but I recall nothing.