THE BROKEN THRONE

Chapter 21

May 3rd, 1503 – Sorossa

Forceful hands shook him violently as the warm quill was dragged from his freezing body. "William, wake up!" someone whispered harshly into his ear.

The young boy opened his eyes, the green orbs searching in the darkness until they focused on the frightened face of Leonore. Pearls of sweat ran down her forehead as she forced him from the bed. "Come," she hissed, dragging him away from the warmth of his sheets.

"Mother?" the child asked in fear. He had no idea what was happening or why his mother was behaving in such a way. But the young woman ignored him as she threw a makeshift shirt his way. The dull fabric scraped across his soft skin as he dragged it over his head. William's heart sped up when he heard shouts of pain sound from the front of their cottage.

In the darkness of the room, he never saw as Claudine silently entered, closing the door behind her and draping a loose shawl across his shoulders.

"They have found us," the confidant whispered in Leonore's direction. "They must know, my lady."

In the faint silver light of the moon, the young boy saw hope leave his mother's features. Horror replaced fear as her gaze shifted from Claudine to him.

"They will kill him if they find him," the frightened woman whispered in French—a language her son had never grown to know. It was a language he had never heard her speak before.

The shouts died down as someone forcefully started hitting the frail door. Leonore knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere she could hide from them. Alas, she knew there was something to be done.

"I will hold them back as long as I can, my lady!" Claudine uttered in determination, brandishing a rusty sword she had found in the shed a few weeks earlier. Her long, dark hair was tousled, and the locks fell into the glinting eyes. Leonore shook her head.

"They will not stop until they have us both," she said in French.

"Mother, what is happening?" William had never been this scared before. He had never seen such fear present in the eyes of the two women.

Leonore kneeled by her son and pushed the long hair away from his face. "You need to leave with Claudine, my sweet," the young woman said, her lips trembling as William furrowed his brow and squared his jaw.

"Why?"

A lone tear ran down the cheek of the mother who quickly wiped it away. "Because some bad men are after us—after you and I— and I will not let them take you," she growled.

Claudine caught Leonore's gaze. "My lady, I cannot leave you—" Someone had started pushing against the door to their bedroom, the hinges wailing in protest as whoever was on the other side was eager to get past the wooden boards.

"I order you, Claudine, to take my son far away from here. If they find me in this room, they will think William is hiding somewhere here with me. But if they find you, they know we will have tried to escape. Go!" she urged them.

But William would not let go of her hand. "I will not leave you!"

Leonore reached down to kiss his head, breathing in the scent of her child one last time. "Listen to me, William, I love you. Everything I have done, I have done to protect you. I hope you can understand that one day," she smiled. Claudine dragged the young boy away against his will, forcing the window open. The frisky chill of an early summer night pressed against them as they jumped out of the cottage.

Leonore turned around, the particles in the night air danced in the light of the moon. She gathered the sheets of her bed as they kept hitting her door. Just as she held the big bundle of fabric against her, the door fell.

"There, she has him!" one of them said as they caught sight of the bundle, thinking it was William.

Leonore looked up at them and her wide eyes shut as a sword bore down on her.

A scream spread through the valley as William and Claudine fled into the woods. The confidant would not let go of the young boy as he heard the last shout of his mother.

"Mother!" the boy wailed as he heard the heartwrenching scream echo through the peaceful forest. The young leaves billowed in the night breeze as Claudine dragged him further away. "William, come, we need to go!" she urged him. "They will not harm your mother, I promise." Claudine wanted to believe in the lie herself. But she suspected the assassins had been sent by Rebecca Fell—that woman would have no compassion with either of them.

The quietness that followed unsettled her so that she had to squint when gazing at the lonely cottage. Her eyes widened in wear as she spotted two figures jumping out from the window, searching fervently to find them. "We move, now!" she hissed, dragging the crying boy by his arm, ignoring his protests as they ventured further into the woodland, leaving the peaceful valley ever forgotten behind them.

The assassins soon caught wind of them, they ran as fast as their legs would carry them. Claudine was beyond herself with worry. She would never let them take William. "Where are we going?" the young boy begged. "I am tired, and I want to go back for mother!"

The confidant stopped, deciding it was due time to use her wits instead of her failing strength. A cluster of thick bushes to the side gave her an idea. Claudine listened for the running footsteps and kneeled down by William. "Listen to me now," she started as she guided him in between the thick foliage. "I need you to be very still, William. Can you do that for me?"

His wide green eyes stared back at her. Something in her gaze made William realize the gravity of the situation. He started realizing there was no chance of once more seeing his mother. The boy nodded slowly, fighting against the tremble in his lip. "I can do that," he whispered back. Claudine swiftly pushed the foliage back so that he was unseen to the naked eye. After that, she ran as far away from him as her legs could carry her, making as much sound and ruckus as possible.

Her plan seemingly worked, for the men in dark clothing passed William's hiding spot and followed her closely.

His breath was too loud, William grew paranoid that they would find him. The young boy pressed against the center of the bush, closing his eyes as he tried to shut out the rest of the world. More running footsteps passed him—each time he would hold his breath.

He didn't know how much time had passed. But once the sun came out in the sky, someone had approached the bush. William held his breath until a faint whisper assured him it was only Claudine.

"They are gone, we must leave before they return." The young boy did not ask her how she had managed to get rid of their followers. He took her hand and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Claudine knew there was a stream up ahead that they could follow—making it harder for trackers to spot their footprints.

The young woman kept her senses alert as they broke off from the tree line. But, they had moved away from the woods too late. The stream had grown into an imposing river. It was too rough to wade into. Furthermore, there was no clear access point as high and pointy cliffs elevated them from reaching the water. Claudine was about to run back to the forest when some rangers and men from the cottage ran up to them.

"No!" the Frenchwoman exclaimed as she witnessed their harsh and unfeeling faces stare at them. One raised a crossbow, aiming at the overprotective woman. The man didn't even blink as he shot her. William saw in horror as Claudine stumbled back, falling into the hefty waters.

"Get the child," one of them said. "She wanted him alive." William backed away, tears running down his eyes as he stood defenseless on the edge of the cliff. Suddenly the assassins turned on the rangers, killing them off. In the chaos, the young boy glanced at the water. He knew he had a better chance jumping into them than waiting for the clear treason within the group to be finished. One of the assassins saw him aiming for the water. But before the prince could jump, he dragged him back by his long copper hair, trying to behead him with the flick of his dagger. All he managed to do was to slash him across the throat. The blood stained his shirt and William fell back into the water, everything turning black the moment the cool liquid touched him.

June 3rd, 1499 – Wessport

"Of course, uncle. You are right, as always. I honestly do not believe why the people cannot see all the good that you do for them." Victoria kept embroidering the frail linen as she listened to King Magnus' complaints. It had almost been three years since her husband's shameful death and, ever since, the princess had managed to evade another wedding.

Slowly but surely, Magnus had come to realize that Victoria would do his full bidding, as long as he did not marry her off. That meant that all the land she had access to, combined with its riches, was under his indirect rule. She was the first woman to sit on the General Assembly—soon leaving it, though, stating she had never found it as boring as then.

The princess would visit her sister twice a year, watching in awe as Rosalie grew up, resembling their mother more and more as the months progressed.

Jasper ran up to her, showing her the wooden sword that he had made earlier that day. Victoria took it from him and a smile touched her features. Rebecca Fell soon snatched the sword from the young princess. "Go on, Jasper dear, do not waste your time with your cousin," the mother cooed, glancing at the princess sideways.

As of late, the king had grown weary, the struggles of the kingdom weighing heavily on his shoulders. The only person that would truly listen to him, was his niece. "Sometimes I regret the passing of my brother too much," the king lamented as he stared into the dancing flames of the fireplace. A hollowness invaded his orbs as invasive memories resurfaced.

"I miss him too," Victoria murmured, staring at the sloppy motif she had embroidered. The princess sighed and went to look at her uncle, resting in the cushioned chair. "But he is gone now, uncle. There is nothing we can do to change that."

"He is gone," Magnus sighed. He rested his face in his hand, his lip trembling. The king regretted everything that had transpired within the last few years. As he caught a glance at his niece, he lamented what had happened to her the most.

"I was too ambitious, Victoria. Too ambitious for my own good." Whenever they were alone, Magnus found it easy to open up to her, just as Victoria did with him. She had admitted to her uncle that she had taken her husband's life—if only by accident. At first, Magnus had been furious. But when he realized that she was complying with his every wish, he grew to appreciate her.

"You have told me so uncle."

"And it ails me to have seen you suffer so." Victoria did not comment on how she had suffered far longer than he had realized. Magnus had been blind for a long time—because he had chosen it.

"All that is past us now, uncle."

"You remind me so much of your father when he was young—so much of his spirit is still within you." Victoria enjoyed that remark. Whenever they compared her to her father, she felt a twinge of pride course through her.

"I hope I remind you of him in a good way."

"The best way, believe me." The king coughed, he cleared his voice and dabbed his forehead, hoping she had not seen the pearls of sweat emerge.

"It seems your condition is worsening," Victoria stated casually as she pricked the needle into the fabric once more.

"My wife keeps feeding me this medicine of hers. It helps me sleep better, but the side effects are horrible."

Victoria arched an eyebrow. "Maybe you should refrain from taking that medicine of hers for a while."

Magnus chuckled. "She would have my head on a spike if I did so."

"Perhaps so." The young princess threw her failed embroidery into the fire, watching as it was disintegrated by the flames. "But, if you let me talk with her, I could perhaps make her see reason," she said.

"And she would listen to you?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Oh, indeed she would. I am, like she, a woman. I know how to talk with her to make her understand."

"I would be in your debt!" Magnus said. "The taste of that concoction is horrible!"

"Well, dear uncle. It would be nice to have a representative of all my assets and land in the Assembly. I know I am not wanted there myself as I am a woman. But if one of the lords would put forth my opinions and interests, without the other lords knowing it, I could more directly assist you and support you. Anonymously, of course."

"And you would have this lord side with me in every question? That could be a very good idea indeed. The other pompous fools would not look down on us as much," Magnus said to himself. "I shall ponder this question, niece. For it is a very good suggestion."

June 17th, 1499 – Wessport

After what could only be described as indirect threats and bribery of several servants of the palace, Victoria had managed to switch out the brew that Rebecca had been making her husband drink each night. The princess had insisted that his wife still wanted him to take his medicine, but that she had agreed that he would take a lighter version. The king, of course, had no idea that all he was now currently drinking was a mixture of honey and rosewater. Victoria had also urged him not to discuss the matter further with his wife as she had been very hurt by his reluctance to stay healthy for him.

Magnus had agreed blindly, never realizing how the young princess had achieved her goal. Without any interaction with the queen, the princess had managed to persuade the king. He had been so pleased with her that the following day he had asked her to see him in his chambers—away from prying eyes.

Victoria now sat in front of him, waiting patiently for him to reveal if he would allow her a representative in the General Assembly.

"Everything has been taken care of," he uttered with a smile the moment Victoria had sat down. "I have your man!" Magnus exclaimed. "And I hope this will satisfy the debt I owed you. The man entrusted to represent your interests and mine in the Assembly is a very honest and honorable man. I know very few men like him."

Victoria's visage settled into a satisfied smirk. "And whom may this man be?" she asked cautiously.

Magnus cleared his voice. "Lord Oscar Braun who just arrived here a few months ago from a recent post in Constantinople. He is reclaiming his father's lands and titles and is very eager to please. I think you will find him an excellent subject."

"Indeed," Victoria smirked. "Indeed."

May 18th, 1520 Wessport

He was more determined than ever to make his escape. Edward Cullen kept drumming his fingers against his thigh as he stared at the wax candles.

He was not allowed to even leave the palace—not until Isabella married Alistair. It was something else he aimed to stop. There had come a time when he could no longer accept the injustices he faced. Edward knew not to leave things in good faith and accept their outcome. He would fight for Isabella.

But how would he accomplish such a feat? Escaping the queen's clutches would not be easy. He was now within her grasp—he was her trophy. Victoria feared he would seek out Athar and the rebel lords to strike back at her. Edward, however, had no such plans. He only wished to get Isabella and Renée to safety.

The chapel was empty as always. Edward found that few people these days ever visited the eerie space. He wasn't a religious man, but the solace and tranquility the empty stone halls offered reassured him. It was one place he might keep away from the prying eyes and ears of the monarch.

But, of course, there was always someone who would stumble in. The chapel was for the inhabitants of the palace only—for those who did not wish to trek the long way to the cathedral, on the far east side of the middle ring. Although the cathedral was an impressive gothic structure—newly built a few decades earlier, it had too many visitors. And the aristocrats did not like mingling with the lower classes. Edward scoffed at the thought—pompous fools was what they were, all of them.

"At least some of us still finds amusement," came a dull, suppressed voice behind him.

He quickly rose from the bench, turning to face none other than princess Rosalie.

The princess had a hood covering her fair hair—the dull eyes bore marks of a troubled soul and her stance was dismissive, guarded against all that would invade her privacy.

"Your Highness," he said while bowing.

"Spare me such titles, please," she murmured as she slinked past him, kneeling by the altar.

He rose an eyebrow and regarded her as she bent her head in prayer. Rosalie was known for being pious, just and gentle. But he had never heard of her dismissive tone. In fact, Edward had never really known or heard much else of the younger princess. While her sister attracted all the attention, she melted into the canopy, managed to be invisible while present at the same time.

He stopped to think about her situation. Rosalie had to be as confined as he. The woman who whispered her words of sorrow to God was part of the only true family he had left. Their older sister was slowly growing mad with power and their cousin was thrown to rot in the dungeons.

"You are still here," came the irritated voice.

"Have I not the right to be here as well? This place is not only yours," he retorted, making sure that his voice was softer than usual.

Rosalie struggled to rise, biting back the pain brought on by stiff limbs. "I want to be alone."

"Is that a command, Your Highness?"

"What? I… no. I only want to be left by myself." Something troubled her, something he probably could not help her with. Rosalie stared straight at him, as if waiting for him to protest. But all Edward did was to bow deeply, thus leaving her to her thoughts. "Thank you, Lord Cullen," she said after him, watching his outlined silhouette against the open doors.

"I am not a lord anymore," he said back to her.

Perhaps he could find an ally in Rosalie—perhaps not. He knew she was loyal to her sister, even if she might openly disagree with her harsh take on ruling the country.

"Do you know why I have summoned you here?" asked the queen as she leaned back against the tall, cushioned chair. The Assembly room was filled to the brim with lords loyal to her. Edward was there as well. He had no idea why the queen had decided to bring him to such an assembly, he was not a count anymore, he had no power to boast of.

Her eyes drifted to him as if the question was directed to him. Edward remained silent and let the black mask speak for him. He would not do her bidding. Even if he could not fight his way out, he could be reluctant in his resolve.

"Cullen?" she said as her piercing eyes trailed over his form. Alistair and the other lords turned to stare at Edward as well. None of them knew why he was there. While some cared little about his presence there, others abhorred it. Alistair could not stand seeing the arrogant masked man. He took solace in that he was about to steal from Edward the thing he valued most.

"No idea, Your Majesty," came the forced and reluctant words. "I am no longer a count, so my presence here is only invasive. I came at your request," he muttered. Edward's eyes drifted to Alistair and it took every ounce of him to control his impulses. He wished to grab that man's neck and snap it in one swift movement. He would die before seeing Isabella in Alistair's arms.

"Does anyone else know?" She turned to her lords. They all remained silent. "No, of course, you don't," she muttered. Victoria rose from her seat and started prowling round in the room. She smirked as several of their eyes trailed along her lithe form, hugged by the tight velvet fabric of her dress.

"I have held on to power for this long because I've been willing to do what it takes. I have vanquished all those who opposed me. But there are still people within these walls who would see me dethroned—people who would see my birthright taken from me," she stated with passion. It dawned on Edward that Victoria thought what she was doing was right.

"A spy," he confirmed. This was what he needed—this could be his ticket to freedom.

"Well then, there is nothing more to speculate about. It is obvious who it is!" Alistair looked insulted as he turned to scowl at Edward.

"It cannot be Cullen since I keep him and Miss Swan under intensive watch—for their own good, of course," the queen added with a faint chuckle. "It is someone else. That is why we are here today. You are the ones I am sure cannot have betrayed me, for one reason or another. I, therefore, propose that you find this person and the sooner the better. He has already given away crucial information to Lord Athar and his band of traitors. I do not wish for this to escalate further." Blistering eyes trailed over the group. "The one who presents me with the traitor and proof will be richly rewarded," the queen stated. All men in the room except for Edward perked up at these words. Their eyes glowed with the promise of more power and riches. This was how Victoria controlled them—through fear, money, and promise of power.

"You all may leave me now," she then ordered. The lords dispersed quickly, eager to find the spy. Edward was about to head out into the hallway when her voice managed to pierce him like an arrow. He sighed inwardly as the sultry tone came after him. "Except you, Cullen."

He knew she would want more from him. She always wanted more. Edward closed the door as the last man left, turning to face her.

Victoria Fell sat down in the chair again. "I told you that I wanted to trust in you—this is your chance to prove yourself to me, once and for all, Edward. Do this and I will knight you as well as make you my General."

"You are wasting your breath, Your Majesty. There is only one thing I want—one thing that would make me dishonor myself in such a way, and you will not give her to me."

Victoria crooned her neck. "Isabella Swan will marry Mathew Alistair. There is nothing that can change that. But there is something else I can offer you. Something I think you will like very much."

"I doubt it," he said in steely resolve. Victoria eyed the threatening man before her. He was, as always, covered head to toe in black, only those piercing eyes and lips visible. The warmth of summer had warranted for him to change to a lighter doublet, not as bulky. It showed off his fit frame more and Victoria could not help but fantasize what might hide underneath all those layers of cloth and leather. A gentle blush dusted her cheeks when her imagination ran wild.

"I thought you might like the prospect of speaking with my cousin."

The blood in his veins froze. Her words bounced off the stone walls in an echo and went right through him, provoking an eerie chill. "It seems I have your attention now," Victoria purred. "And that is all that matters."

But before she could say or do anything else, Edward shook his head. "I doubt you would let me of all people ever speak with Jasper."

He glanced at her before turning on his heel and leaving her alone in that room, firmly shutting the door to echo his anger.

May 19th

Silk flowed in layers around her. The wine-colored fabrics squeezed her too much. Damask patterns in silver had been sown to outline her torso. Cuts had been made along the arms to bring the white chemise through, poofing it up. Seamstresses worked around her, taking little care of the woman herself.

A tall mirror in front of her showed a striking woman with glistening brunette locks. Her wedding dress was almost finished.

The room suffocated her. The tapestries on the walls loomed over her, the wax candles blinded her, and the carpets swallowed her.

There was a knock. Soft and subtle at first. But when none bothered to open it, it sounded again—stronger.

One of the maids let a man in a black mask enter. "Leave us," he growled once he caught sight of the beauty. It took little persuasion for the seamstresses and maids to leave.

Isabella saw Edward near her in the mirror. "The queen has allowed me to visit you," he murmured behind her.

"To torture us further," Isabella whispered back. She stepped away from the mirror, away from that ghastly sight of herself. Her voice shook as she grabbed the bureau standing to her right, lined against the wall.

Edward started reaching out, wanting to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. But he stopped himself short, not wanting to cause more agony in either of them.

He cleared his voice. "I have a plan for getting us out of here." Isabella did not answer him, thus he kept going. "Victoria has gathered the General Assembly. There is a spy in the castle and I have been tasked with finding him."

Her shoulders shook, but there was still no indication that she would speak.

"If I find this spy, maybe he can help us out of here—all of us." She remained silent. "You wouldn't have to marry Lord Alistair and I could get you and your mother to Toledo—"

The young woman turned and displayed her face to him. Edward found anger and disappointment in her eyes. "You still plan to leave me?" she spat while walking up to him. "All this time, and you still plan to leave me? What was that about together?"

"Look at where you are, Isabella," he retorted with a broken voice, as he pointed at the dress. "All because of me."

Her brows knitted together. "You said that going with you after leaving Angloa would not be a life I'd want. You said that wandering around from town to town, country to country was less than I deserved. But you have to stop choosing for me."

A sad smile touched her lips as the anger washed away from her eyes. "I want you by my side, that is all that matters to me. It doesn't matter if we live in a castle or in a hut—as long as we are together I will be happy."

His breath caught in his throat. "As I would be happy to have you by my side. But I could never guarantee your safety or your comfort," he lamented. And how he wanted her by his side. Edward feared to express the intense emotions and feelings she provoked in him.

"I will be safer by your side than anywhere else."

Edward's lips pulled into a smile. He had never had anyone in his life willing to cast everything aside for him. Claudine had taken care of him because it was her duty. Sofia had been by his side out of some motherly sense. But Isabella wanted to be with him, not because of his lineage or to protect him, she wanted to be with him: with Edward.

"Then we shall discover the world together, you and I. I will take you places you could never have imagined before. Angloa will only be a distant memory—" Isabella shook her head at those words

She grew sadder as her smile diminished. "I would love that—to run away and leave all our troubles behind. But that cannot be now for you must stop running from your past."

He looked away from her in a hefty motion—her words augmenting the anger and confusion he had been holding toward that part of his life for so long. "My past has nothing to offer me."

Isabella placed a hand on his cheek and caressed it with her thumb. "But your future does. Your future has everything to offer you."

"You really want me by your side," he stated.

"You know I do."

"I want to be with you, Isabella. But I cannot be anywhere in Europe where someone might recognize my face. I aim to leave this continent once and for all. I should never have returned in the first place."

"No, please listen to me. I know you are confused, I know you might even be frightened. But you must face your past. Angloa is on the brink of destruction. A civil war cannot be avoided whether you stay or go—so why not help those standing for a just cause?"

"You want me to join Lord Athar."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Angloa is my home too, because I love this land. And even if my dream would be to travel the world with you, I will not ignore this island that I hold so dear to my heart. Angloa has brought me much suffering, but it has brought me more joy than I can remember." Without knowing it, Isabella sounded very much like Zoráida had that morning Edward had been speaking with her, just before his departure from Málaga.

"I am tired of fighting their battles. I am tired of war and conflicts. I want a peaceful future with you by my side, Isabella. Because you are the only thing that matters to me." His words touched the strings of her heart.

"You came to help us once as Edward Cullen. Why can you not do so again? I am not asking you to reveal who you truly are. I am only asking that you help end this blood-feud once and for all—let it end, give Angloa the peace she deserves." She leaned in to whisper in his ear; "make this country as it once was, under your father's rule."

Edward looked down. "I am sorry Isabella. But I have seen what power does to people. Look at what it did to Victoria." He whispered in her ear as well; "I cannot fight my own sister."

Suddenly Isabella understood what this was all about. "I never thought you cared for her."

"I have little family left. Even if she has done these horrible things, she is still my blood. And I cannot go against her."

Her hands circled around his neck as she stepped into an embrace. "If we run away, Edward, you will be asking yourself "what if" for the rest of your if you had stayed to help, what if you had spoken with Victoria?"

Edward sighed. "If you truly wish to be by my side then I will do everything in my power for it to be that way." He ignored the subject, trying to get away from it. Edward reached down for a gentle kiss then, Isabella closed her eyes and wallowed in every feeling the kiss drew out.

He broke it off after a short while, realizing that they were only torturing themselves further. But now there was something in the depths of her eyes—the promise of hope, of a better tomorrow.

"Find that spy, Edward," she sighed in his arms.

May 24th, 1520 – Wessport

Edward had spent the last few days searching the hidden passageways of the castle. He figured that if a spy had to transmit messages, it was through those passages. But he had come up emptyhanded. Besides, Victoria might have thought the same thing.

The masked man walked along an empty corridor, not knowing where it would lead him. He had searched the palace meticulously, but nothing had come up. Whoever this spy was, he was good.

It was afternoon when he decided to go to the chapel for some solitude. Whenever he rounded a corner in the palace, he would always stumble on some courtiers or guards—the courtiers would not leave him alone, while the guards would start trailing after him.

The chapel was empty, as always when he walked in.

Arches, vaulted roofs, buttresses, large windows, and spires was the defining architecture there. Although it was not too large in size, its construction made it feel massive. The arches closed around those who entered like a spider's embrace. The chapel was narrow, but high in roof. The long walk led up to the altar was defined by lines settling in the stone of the walls. It gave the impression of a cage made of stone and glass. Further ahead in the nave there was a transept; an area set crosswise to it in a cruciform—just before the altar.

The windows were the most impressive, the most intricate for they were stained glass and depicted scenes from the Bible. Light filtered through in various colors and in great force. But even though those colorful beams painted the inside of the chapel, they could, for some reason, not manage to bring the full force of their light with them.

There was something unnerving about the place—as if it held some sort of sorrow; as if it was cursed.

Some chairs had been placed in rows by the altar. That was where Edward usually went. He had passed the transept, the bells of the cathedral tolled in the distance: telling the hour. The bells of the palace chapel were only in use during three occasions: a wedding, a funeral, and a crowning.

Edward let his mind be swept up by the grandeur of the rich and imposing architecture. He had barely noticed the two shadows moving around the confessionals. Perhaps he might never have done so, were it not for some object that they carried had managed to catch the light of one of the many beams filtering through the windows. It was as if the light tried to guide his attention to them. The light bounced off the object and glinted in his eyes. Edward's head snapped in their direction and his instincts made him hide from sight, easily gliding into the shadows.

He could not discern much as they huddled together, the one taller than the other. All he saw was that both wore robes of some sort. Edward was certain that one of them was a priest. But the other one he could not put his finger on, the person was too far back to be noticed.

Something was traded between them. Straining his hearing, Edward caught a word that swiftly got them his full attention: "Athar," one of them had mumbled.

As quickly as they had gathered, they dispersed: one walked to the back of the altar, while the other disappeared into the left side of the transept.

It was a moment where Edward had to decide who to follow. He went on a hunch and followed the taller person, sneaking behind them expertly, never making a sound.

There was a small door leading out of the chapel through the left side of the transept. Edward pressed against the walls as he listened to the footsteps echo while the person opened the door and softly closed it behind them. He doubled back and ran out through the main entrance, rounding the chapel until he reached that door. He wondered if this might not be the spy he had been tasked with finding.

Someone had crossed the small courtyard between the chapel and the palace and he rushed after them, surprised as he was led into the palace. Edward's senses were alert while he listened to the footsteps. The chase went on for what seemed like ages to him. They led him into the heart of the palace, and then up some stairs.

It was only then that he heard a door shut at the end of the corridor that he knew the spy to be trapped—finally. Edward moved with a slow and steady gait, his hand nearing the dagger tied securely to his belt. His heart rushed as he came to a stop in front of the door, wondering who would be behind it. He had never been in that part of the palace before.

A gloved hand brushed up against the darkened wood and he took a deep breath before knocking on it. There was movement behind it, someone rustling about, scurrying to do something before opening the door for him.

He heard the iron knob being turned, slowly, meticulously.

The door opened, a gust of air dragging with it—carrying the scent and warmth of summer. Light filtered out into the hallway.

He heard the person speak before he saw them.

"Cullen, what are you doing here?" they asked in wonder and confusion.

But for the first time in a long time, Edward found himself lacking in words. His grip around the dagger lessened as he took a step back, the eyes growing wide. "You?" he uttered in sheer surprise.

Edward Cullen stood confused and growingly coming to terms with who she was. Rosalie Fell realized then that he had figured out her secret. She grew afraid at first, wondering if he would run away then and there to report her to her sister. But after standing there a few seconds, staring at her with mouth agape, he soon entered her chamber and locked the door behind him.

A/N: Yet another chapter! I will try to upload chapter 22 this weekend. My goal is to have the entire fic finished by Christmas! I hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review if you did, I always appreciate it.

Cheers,

Isabelle