Chapter 2: Captive in the Palace
The door flew open, and Shapira fell through. She felt the cold of the hard stone floor, and the scent of damp moss immediately filled her nostrils. Instantly, strange sounds surrounded her, a menacing hiss, a low, trembling groan.
"Who is this girl?" a deep voice thundered above her.
Gasping for breath, Shapira tried to push herself up. She felt sharp, piercing gazes from all directions. "I … I don't know this place. I'm not from here," she said, her voice trembling.
A rough-faced soldier gripped her arm. "Get her up! Prince William wants to interrogate her at once."
She was dragged forcefully through a dark stone corridor, her every step followed by whispers and suspicious stares from figures she could only see as shadows. "Who are you? Let me go!" she shrieked in panic.
"She's a spy!" a soldier exclaimed. "Her face … it looks just like .…"
"Silence!" the deep voice barked again. "Do not speak her name here."
Shapira arrived in a magnificent hall, adorned with the banners of Astellia hanging from the high ceilings. Before her stood a formidable man, his jaw clenched, his eyes as dark as an abyss. *William,* Shapira thought, remembering the name from her dream.
"Look at me, girl," William said, his voice ice-cold. "Who are you? Why did you appear from the Seraphyne Gate, on the very day Isolde attacked?"
Shapira stared at him with wide eyes. "The Seraphyne Gate? I … I don't know what you're talking about, Prince. I come from another world. I'm Shapira Elanora, a university student from London." Her hands were shaking, but her eyes held a strange resolve.
"Another world?" William snorted, his gaze filled with doubt. "Don't play games with me. Is this one of Isolde's dirty tricks? Were you sent to spy on us? Your face … this is all part of her plan, isn't it?" He scanned Shapira from head to toe, as if searching for proof of her lies.
"No! By the gods I've never worshipped, I know nothing about Isolde or her plans!" Shapira pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "I woke up from a nightmare, and a door in my room brought me here. That woman, Isolde, she looked just like my mother in my dream."
A nearby nobleman whispered, "Her face … it is similar. Could she be .…"
William shot the nobleman a sharp glare. "Enough! She's trying to fool you with a foolish story. She came from the same Gate. That's too much of a coincidence, isn't it?" He stepped closer, leaning down until his face was level with hers. "You will tell the truth, or you will feel the cold of our dungeons."
Shapira swallowed hard. Her heart hammered against her ribs. "I've told you the truth. I'm Shapira, not a spy. I just want to go home to my world." She looked up at William, her tear-filled eyes radiating an honesty that pierced through his anger.
William stared at her, and for a moment, the hard expression on his face softened, like ice beginning to melt in the sun. He took a step back and let out a heavy sigh. "Take her to a temporary cell," he commanded, his voice no longer as cold as before. "I will decide her fate tomorrow."
"Wait!" another voice cut in. The King of Astellia, William's father, stepped forward. Light from a large window illuminated the crown resting on his head, radiating a calm, wise aura. "My son, look at this girl's eyes," he said, gesturing to Shapira. "Look at her innocence. Her eyes show not deceit, but pure confusion."
William turned, his brow deeply furrowed. "Father, she appeared from the Gate. We cannot take that risk."
"I understand your concern, William. But look at her. She is a young woman, alone, and her fear is real." The King approached Shapira, his eyes gentle. "This girl appears innocent to me. Placing her in a cell will prove nothing and may only work against us."
"Then what should we do, Father? Let her roam free?" William asked, his voice laced with annoyance.
The King smiled faintly. "No. Give her a chance to prove herself. Let her become a servant in this palace. We will watch her. If she is with Isolde, she will show her true colors. If not, then we will have saved an innocent soul."
William clenched his fists. "A servant? Father, that's too risky! She might
…"
"This is my decision, William," the King interrupted in a firm tone that could not be defied. "This girl's presence here is fate. We will not deny it. From this day forward, she will be a servant of this palace. Watch her, but treat her with fairness."
William let out a long sigh. He stared at Shapira in disbelief, as if she were a new curse he had to bear. Shapira, on the other hand, felt a sliver of relief, though the idea of serving a prince who clearly hated her was far from her dream.
"Very well, Father," William finally relented. "She will be a servant. But mark my words, she will be watched closely. She will not escape my sight."
The following days felt like torture for Shapira. William seemed to enjoy every opportunity to make her life difficult.
"Shapira, take this laundry basket to the washroom," William said one morning, his voice flat. "And make sure the floor in there is clean. I don't want to see a single speck of dust."
Shapira lifted the towering basket, which nearly obscured her face. "Yes, Prince," she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Later, as she was serving breakfast in the main dining hall, her foot caught on the edge of a rug. William, who was walking past, stopped abruptly. A splash of water from the tray she was holding landed squarely on his polished leather boots.
"Look what you've done, you clumsy girl!" William snapped, glaring at his boots in disgust. "Did you do that on purpose? Is this your way of getting my attention?"
Shapira's face flushed crimson. Her heart thundered. "It was an accident, Prince! The rug … I tripped."
"Excuses! You always have an excuse for every mistake you make!" William retorted, his voice rising.
Shapira lifted her chin, her eyes, usually full of fear, now flashing with a fire of rebellion. "At least my mistakes are accidental, not a deliberate attempt to make life difficult for someone who is innocent!"
The other servants, including the friendly Lila, gasped. Some looked at her with a mixture of awe and horror, while others flinched, worried for her fate. William fell silent, his eyes narrowing, stunned by her sharp retort. He turned without another word, leaving her with a rage simmering in his chest.
That night, after all her duties were done, Shapira walked slowly down a quiet palace hallway. She missed her home, her world. Unconsciously, she began to hum softly, a melody that had haunted her since childhood, he same song Anya had sung in her dream. The sound was so soft, it drifted through the cold stone corridors, filling the silence with a piercing melancholy.
William, who had just returned from a late meeting, happened to be passing through the same hall. His steps came to a sudden halt. He heard the sound, that melody. His heart, locked away in grief for so many years, began to pound with a familiar rhythm, a rhythm he had long since buried. He recognized the song, every note, every hum. It was Anya's song.
He stood frozen in the shadows, watching Shapira hum, completely unaware of his presence. Her face, so much like Anya's, was now paired with a voice that was just the same. A wave of emotion washed over William—a painful longing and a deep confusion. "This is impossible," he whispered to himself, denying the feelings that surged within him. He turned and walked away, his steps quick and hurried, as if fleeing from the haunting melody.
Shapira returned to her room that night, her heart still feeling empty. She lit a candle, its light dancing on the stone walls. As she turned, her eyes fixed on an ancient mirror standing in the corner of the room. Its surface was dark and tarnished, but suddenly, she heard a whisper.
"Be careful, Anya," the voice hummed in her ear, low but clear. "Danger lurks in this palace. Trust no one."
Shapira stumbled backward, fear gripping her. She stared at the mirror again, but the whisper was gone, leaving a suffocating silence. A shiver ran down her spine. She was certain she hadn't misheard. Who had spoken? Why did the mirror call her Anya? She wanted to scream, to find William or the King, but something held her back. The fear of being branded a madwoman, or worse, a dangerous witch, kept her silent. She chose to keep the secret, alone with her new terror.
William, from the dark hallway outside Shapira's room, had seen it all. He saw Shapira jump back from the mirror, saw the look of pure terror on her face. He hadn't heard the whisper, but he had felt a strange vibration from within her room. William's suspicion of Shapira deepened; he was certain she was hiding something far greater than just her identity. And yet, there was something else. Something in her gaze, in her sudden vulnerability, continued to draw him in, making it impossible for him to look away, as if an answer was hidden there, a secret he wanted to solve more than he could admit.