Gold-leafed ceilings made my head ache. Lying in the center of the massive, ridiculous bed was Luke, his breathing slow and shallow. Golden light from the bedside lamps highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, now pale and drawn. A dark ring of ruptured magic stained his collarbone where he’d intercepted the High Council's strike. Why had he done it? No one from the golden sector risked their skin for a street rat from the Penance Wing. It defied every law of survival I had ever learned in the neon-soaked gutters. It made my chest tighten with a strange, uncomfortable heat that I absolutely hated. My wrist throbbed. Glaring down, I traced the glowing silver band of the geas wrapping around my skin. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, a constant, irritating reminder of my captivity. This arranged alliance was a noose, and the rope was tightening with every passing second. "Stupid prince," I muttered, my voice barely a whisper in the silent, cavernous bedroom. Sliding off the edge of the velvet armchair, I stood up. My leather boots made no sound against the thick, plush rug. Luke didn't stir, though a small frown marred his forehead, as if he were fighting off a bad dream. Part of me wanted to shake him awake and demand answers. I wanted to know what that shadow-brand on his neck meant, the one I'd glimpsed before he collapsed. It was a mark of a criminal, of someone who had broken the absolute laws of Paragon. But seeking answers from a sleeping royal was useless. Instead, I needed a way out of this gilded cage. If I didn't find a way to sever this bond, I would be dragged down with him when his secrets finally caught up to him. Softly, I slipped toward the double doors, leaving the prince to his healing sleep. --- Corridors in the Cinderella estate were designed to make people feel small. High, arched windows let in the artificial moonlight of the upper sector, casting cold, silver bars across the marble floor. Guards patrolled the main gate, but they didn't expect the gutter trash to wander. Memory served me well. During our forced tour earlier that week, the butler had mentioned the private family archives. It was a repository of ancient scrolls, bloodline contracts, and restricted magical texts. If a counter-spell for the geas existed, it would be hidden there. Stepping into the shadows of the west wing, I kept my hands shoved deep into my pockets. My fingers brushed against the cool edge of my playing cards. Just having them there calmed my racing pulse, reminding me of who I was. "Left at the portrait of the glass slipper," I murmured to myself. "Then straight down the hall of mirrors." Every step felt like walking through a museum of hypocrisy. These people built their empire on the backs of my kind, yet they painted themselves as saints. Reaching the heavy oak doors of the archives, I paused. No guards stood watch here. Clearly, they assumed the magical wards were enough to keep intruders out. Lucky for them, my card magic was built on bypassing rules. I slid a glowing red jack from my sleeve, pressing it against the lock. The card flared, absorbing the ward's energy, and the heavy doors clicked open. --- Whispers of old parchment and dry lavender greeted me as I slipped inside. Rows of towering bookcases stretched up into the darkness, smelling of leather and forgotten centuries. Glowing glass globes floated near the ceiling, casting a faint, warm light over the massive room. Finding a needle in a haystack would be easier than finding a specific spell here. Walking slowly down the central aisle, I ran my fingers along the spines of the ancient books. Most were bound in pristine white leather with gold lettering—disgustingly on-brand for this family. "Cinderella Lineage," I read under my breath. "The History of the Light Spells. The Sanctity of the Geas." Bingo. Pulling a thick, heavy tome on geas magic from the shelf, I carried it to a nearby reading desk. I flipped the book open, the pages crackling loudly in the silence of the room. Images of glowing magical bonds filled the pages. Scanning the text, I searched for any mention of a counter-ritual. My eyes darted across complex magical diagrams, but the more I read, the tighter my chest became. Every entry said the same thing. *A Royal Geas can only be severed by the death of one of the bound parties, or by the explicit consent of the High Council.* "Damn it," I hissed, slamming my fist onto the open page. Anger flared hot in my chest. There had to be another way. My mother had always said that every lock had a key, even the magical ones. "Looking for a way to run back to your gutter?" A sharp, mocking voice shattered the silence. Spinning around, I saw Princess Celeste leaning against the doorway of the archive room. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a cruel, satisfied smirk playing on her lips. She wore a gown of spun silver that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood in the Penance Wing. --- "Do you ever knock, or do princess lessons only cover sneering?" I asked, leaning back against the desk and crossing my arms to match her posture. Celeste stepped into the room, her high heels clicking sharply on the polished floor. Her nose wrinkled as if she had smelled something foul. "You don't belong here, Heart," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "You don't belong in this house, and you certainly don't belong in our world." "And yet, here I am," I retorted, flashing her a cold, sharp smile. "Living rent-free in your gorgeous guest room is quite the upgrade from the slums. Honestly, the service is a bit slow, but I can't complain about the company. Your brother is incredibly accommodating." Her eyes flashed with sudden fury, her cheeks turning a light pink. "Don't you dare speak of Luke," she snapped. "He only saved you because he has a martyr complex. He would save a dying rat in the street if it looked pitiful enough." "Ouch," I said, mocking a wince by placing a hand over my heart. "You really know how to hurt a guy's feelings. But let's be real, Celeste. If Luke wanted me gone, he wouldn't have jumped in front of a magical death beam for me." Walking closer, Celeste stopped just a few feet away. Her perfect, polished appearance couldn't hide the ugly sneer on her face. "Do not flatter yourself," she whispered, leaning in. "A street rat like you is nothing but a sacrificial pawn in our grand game. The High Council doesn't want you here because they care about your integration. They want you here because your mother's bloodline carries a debt, and you are the payment." Her words hit like a physical blow. I forced my expression to remain perfectly blank, refusing to let her see the sudden, cold knot of dread tightening in my stomach. A sacrificial pawn. I had always suspected it, but hearing her say it so bluntly made the reality sharper. "A debt?" I scoffed, tilting my head. "Is that what you call it? Funny. I thought you guys were the 'good guys.' But here you are, extorting teenagers to pay for the sins of their parents. Truly noble." "We do what is necessary to keep Paragon safe," she snapped, her chin rising. "You are a spark in a powder keg. If we must snuff you out to keep the peace, we will." "Then you'd better bring a bigger bucket of water, princess," I whispered, stepping right into her personal space. She flinched back slightly, her eyes widening. I let my card magic spark at my fingertips, a tiny, glowing red spade dancing across my knuckles. "Because if you try to burn me, I promise I'll set this entire glittering palace on fire before I go." For a second, she looked genuinely terrified. The perfect, polished facade of the princess cracked, revealing the scared girl underneath. "You... you are disgusting," she spat, her voice trembling slightly as she took another step back. "A street rat playing at being a king. You'll never be one of us." "Thank God for that," I said, letting the magical spark vanish. "Being one of you looks incredibly boring. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some light reading to do. Or are you going to stand there and drool over my cards all night?" Red flushed her cheeks, creeping up from her collarbone to her ears. With a frustrated huff, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, her silver gown rustling angrily. --- Silence returned to the archives, heavier than before. Breathing out a long, shaky sigh, I let my shoulders drop. My bravado faded instantly, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache. Celeste was right about one thing. I didn't belong here. I was a street rat, a pawn to be traded away when the board got too crowded. I didn't want to be a hero, and I certainly didn't want to be their sacrifice. My hand gripped the edge of the reading desk until my knuckles turned white. Everyone in this place looked at me like I was a disease. Even Luke's kindness felt like a trap, a gilded cage designed to make me lower my guard. Suddenly, a faint hum echoed through the quiet room. It wasn't a sound I could hear with my ears, but rather a vibration in my blood. My card magic reacted to it, a sudden warmth spreading through my chest. Frowning, I closed the thick book on geas magic. I followed the pull, walking past the rows of towering bookshelves toward the very back of the archives. Here, the air was colder, smelling of ozone and old metal. Hung on the back wall was a massive, stitched banner of the White Queen, her frozen eyes staring down with cold majesty. As I drew closer, the hum in my blood grew stronger. My geas wrist throbbed violently, the silver light pulsing in a rapid, erratic rhythm. Something was nearby, something powerful and incredibly active. Reaching out, I brushed my hand against the heavy, embroidered fabric of the banner. The material was stiff, but it gave way easily as I pulled it aside. Hidden behind a stitched banner of the White Queen, I discovered a hidden passage dripping with fresh, glowing blue magic.

Chapter 6: Whispers in the White Hall