The Secret Gallery

Chapter 5: The Secret Gallery

Five days passed inside the palace, each one more tense than the last.

The attacks against me started out small, but they quickly grew more dangerous. On Tuesday, my morning tea was laced with a sleeping draft that would have kept me unconscious for days if I hadn't noticed the strange metallic smell. On Thursday, a heavy iron chandelier in the grand hallway suddenly snapped its chains, crashing to the floor just three feet in front of me.

Every time an 'accident' occurred, King Marcus ordered strict investigations, but no culprit was ever found. The noble court was a web of lies, and I was walking through it blindfolded.

However, I noticed something even stranger happening inside the high tower.

Every night, when I went to sleep in the chair beside James’s bed, small things shifted. Once, I woke up to find a heavy velvet blanket gently draped over my shoulders. Another time, the window latch that had been rattling in the cold wind was mysteriously locked tight. When I asked the tower guards if they had entered the room during the night, they swore on their lives that no one had passed through the heavy oak doors.

On the sixth night, my anxiety reached a breaking point.

Riley sent another message through the stable page, giving me an ultimatum: I had to steal the grand vault key from the King's private study tonight, or he would stop all potion deliveries to Noah immediately.

I couldn't betray the King, but I couldn't let my little brother die either. I needed to find another way out of this nightmare.

At midnight, when the palace was completely quiet and dark, I slipped out of my bedchambers wearing a dark wool cloak. My heart pounded furiously in my ears as I crept down the silent, carpeted hallways, avoiding the regular guard patrols.

Instead of heading toward the King's study, I went straight to the main photography studio in the east wing. James was not just a warrior prince; before his curse, he was a world-famous artist and photographer who documented the entire realm. His private studio was rumored to hold detailed blueprints and records of the entire palace structure. If I could find a secret map, maybe I could help Noah escape the territory without Riley's help.

The heavy studio door was unlocked. I slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind me.

The room smelled of dark wood, old paper, and chemical photography fluids. Large wooden cameras on brass tripods stood around the room like silent sentinels. Canvas paintings and black-and-white photographs hung on every wall, depicting breathtaking landscapes, fierce mountain wolves, and grand city streets.

I walked toward the back of the long room, looking through stacks of leather folders on his large oak desk.

As I brushed my hand against a heavy bookcase near the back wall, my fingers caught on a small brass lever hidden behind a row of leather books. I pulled it down softly.

A low click echoed through the quiet room. The entire heavy bookcase swung forward smoothly, revealing a dark, hidden hallway stretching deep into the stone wall.

My breath caught in my throat. Holding a small oil lantern high, I stepped into the hidden passage. The air grew cooler as I walked down a short flight of stone steps. The passage opened up into a massive, secret underground gallery.

I lifted my lantern, and the golden light illuminated the walls.

My jaw dropped. My hand trembled so violently the oil lantern nearly slipped from my fingers.

The entire secret gallery was filled with hundreds of high-definition photographs, detailed charcoal sketches, and written documents. Every single one of them was of me.

There were pictures of me laughing in the tavern kitchen in Silver Creek three years ago. Sketches of me walking through the snowy village square carrying groceries. Close-up photographs of my face as I slept on the wooden porch of our small house. There were even medical reports detailing Noah’s illness, stamped with payments made to top-tier city specialists from an anonymous donor over the last four years.

"What is this?" I whispered into the quiet room, my head spinning wildly.

James hadn't just come across my name on a recruiter's list. He had been watching me for years. He had been tracking my life, paying for my brother's doctors in secret, and monitoring my every move long before he ever fell into his coma.

"You were always terrible at hiding, little wolf," a deep, smooth velvet voice purred from the shadows behind me.

I spun around so fast I nearly fell.

Standing at the top of the stone stairs, illuminated by the moonlight streaming from the studio above, was Prince James.

He was not in a coma. He was dressed in a dark black velvet coat, his golden eyes wide awake and burning with a fierce, possessive intensity as he stared straight down at me.