Behind the Royal Mask

Burnt Letters and Hidden Pages

As Beatrice appeared in front of Caelon's chambers, she hoped that she would be able to find something useful about him during. She smoothened her dress before Caelon came out of his chamber with apologetic smile.

"Miss Anya," he greeted in a smooth tone, "I'm afraid a few nobles have just arrived for a private discussion. You're welcome to wait in my chambers. I won't keep you long."

He gestured into his room, and Beatrice nodded, keeping her expression polite, "Of course, Your Highness. I'll wait as long as needed."

Finally luck was on her side, she thought. She listened for Caelon's echoing steps fading away before she slipped inside. The chamber was the same as it was on her first day. But her gaze was drawn to a slightly ajar door which she suspected led to Caelon's private study.

She stepped inside, her footsteps silent, and took in the sight before her—a mahogany desk, like the one Alaric had in his office. But this room was more organized than the Crown Prince's. There lay a neat pile of papers on the table, and a bunch of ink pens aligned perfectly. 

She walked towards the table and looked at the topmost paper. There was nothing out of ordinary about it. She went behind the desk and her gaze fell on a drawer. She pulled it open, thanking her luck that it wasn't locked.

The insides were filled with papers and newspaper clippings. On one of the sheets was a stamp of Kingdom Aeloria. She lifted the page, scanning its contents, her brow furrowing. It was a tax reduction proposal which was signed by Alaric, and was dated a year back. As she looked closer, she noticed a sharp, precise handwriting scrawled in the margins:

"Lack of support by court advisors and nobles."

She picked up another paper with a list of the kingdom's wealthiest families, several names circled, with an added note: "Possibly willing to withdraw support."

Beneath the paper lay a stack of yellowing newspaper clippings. She sifted through them, noting the dates. The headlines were neutral, but the implications were clear: "There's little reason to disturb the kingdom's current prosperity," one noble stated, and another warned, "Such reforms would cause instability in a time of peace."

Beatrice felt her chest tighten. Why was Caelon having all these papers? He essentially had a list of all those would be willing to break Alaric's rule. 

As she returned the clippings, something in the corner of the room caught her attention—a small waste bin. Inside, she spotted charred edges of papers, haphazardly burned. She crouched down, retrieving a few pieces. The  burnt edges were flaking away but some words remained intact, the ink smudged.

"... support of nobles..."

"... allies..."

"... celebration..."

"... arrest..."

"...uprising..."

Beatrice's heart raced as she read the words, trying to figure what they could mean. The words combined with the papers in Caelon's drawer indicated only one thing: Alaric was right. Caelon wasn't here with good intentions.

A faint sound in the corridor sent her heartbeat into a panicked rhythm. She put back the the scraps, brushing her hands off and walking back towards the main room. She forced herself to exhale and settled into one of the plush chairs, carefully arranging her face into a mask of patience just as the door opened.

Caelon entered, followed by a maid who carried a small tray with a silver teapot and two cups.

He settled down and said, "Apologies for the delay. Conversations tend to stretch with the nobles, don't you think?"