A Prince Tried to Expel His Half-Brother from a Royal Arts Competition, Not Knowing the Medallion Proved His True Bloodline
The lingering scent of Seraphina’s perfume seemed to hang in the air, mixing uneasily with the familiar workshop smells. I spent the next few hours in a haze, my mind replaying her every word. My mother’s stark warning about the medallion, never to reveal it, clashed violently with Seraphina’s pointed questions and Sir Gideon’s earlier, subtle urgings to understand Alaric’s deeper fear.
I knew I needed guidance, someone who understood the intricate, dangerous dance of the Court. Sir Gideon was that person. He held a quiet authority, a reverence for the true laws of the realm that transcended the fleeting whims of current power. I could feel the weight of the medallion pressing against my skin, urging me to act.
Later that afternoon, I found Sir Gideon in a seldom-used corridor of the Royal Registry, meticulously examining a dusty scroll. He looked up as I approached, his usually calm expression showing a hint of weariness. His eyes, however, still held that knowing, observant gleam.
“Sir Gideon,” I began, keeping my voice low. “Lady Seraphina paid me a visit.”
He nodded slowly, as if he had expected it. “A tenacious Chronicler. She has a way of finding loose threads.”
“She mentioned my mother,” I continued, watching his reaction closely. “And a vanished royal inventory.”
A flicker of concern crossed his face. He simply pressed his lips together, a silent acknowledgment. This was the moment of decision. My mother’s protection, or the pursuit of truth? I chose the latter, for my mother’s honor, not just my own.
I reached beneath my tunic, my fingers wrapping around the cool metal. This time, I pulled it out. The ancient Vesper family medallion, with its distinctive, rarely seen crest, gleamed dully in the dim corridor light. It felt heavy in my palm, a tangible piece of the past.
Sir Gideon’s eyes widened. His entire demeanor shifted. The color drained from his face, leaving him a stark, ashen white. He reached out a trembling hand, not to touch the medallion, but to steady himself against the wall. It was a shock that went bone-deep, far beyond mere surprise.
“The… the Old King’s mark,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I knew… I suspected, but to see it.”
His reaction confirmed everything. This was no ordinary trinket. It was a direct, undeniable link to the deepest secrets of the Vesper line. It was a personal cruelty, in a way, that this symbol of my mother’s secret love had to be hidden for so long, stripped of its true meaning by circumstance and fear.
“My mother told me never to reveal it,” I explained, “but you said Alaric’s fear ran deeper. Seraphina is looking for suppressed records. I believe this is connected.”
Sir Gideon took a deep, shuddering breath, then straightened, his timidity replaced by a quiet resolve. “The Old King was… particular about certain affairs. Matters of the heart, matters of the realm, matters he wished to keep from… prying eyes.”
He glanced nervously down the empty corridor, then motioned for me to follow. We walked deeper into the labyrinthine Registry, past rows of meticulously cataloged scrolls and ledgers. The air grew colder, heavier with the scent of aged parchment and dust. This was a place where history was stored, and sometimes, where it was deliberately buried.
“He foresaw much,” Gideon continued, his voice hushed. “The Old King knew the thirst for power could corrupt even the purest lineage. He took… precautions.”
We stopped before a section of shelves that appeared indistinguishable from the others. They held official royal decrees, meticulously bound volumes that looked as ancient as the stones of the Court itself. But Gideon did not simply reach for a book. He paused, his gaze sweeping the seemingly ordinary shelves.
“The Queen Regent and Prince Alaric have purged much from the public record,” Gideon confided, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Documents concerning certain expenditures, certain appointments, even certain… individuals. They call it ‘streamlining the archives.’ I call it erasing inconvenient truths.”
This casual dismissal of legitimate history, treating it as mere clutter to be “streamlined,” was another subtle, profound cruelty. It spoke to a disregard for truth that went beyond mere secrecy; it was an act of historical violence.
Gideon’s fingers traced a specific pattern on the spine of a thick, nondescript volume titled “Royal Patronage, 3rd Quarter.” He pressed firmly on a small, almost invisible indentation. With a soft click, a section of the entire shelf, not just a single book, slid inward, revealing a dark, narrow cavity behind it. It was a secret compartment, concealed with cunning ingenuity, designed to escape all but the most informed scrutiny.
“The Old King had his own way of documenting sensitive matters,” Gideon explained, his voice still low. “He believed that some truths were too fragile for the public eye, yet too important to be lost entirely.”
Inside the compartment, nestled among a few other sealed scrolls and small, velvet-wrapped objects, was a single, larger scroll, bound with a thick, crimson ribbon and sealed with the distinct Vesper crest – but one far more ancient than the one Alaric now bore. It was an older, more personal crest, identical to the one on my medallion. The very ribbon, a faded red, felt like a deliberate choice by the Old King, a personal touch for something deeply significant.
“This is one of the hidden ledgers,” Gideon said, his voice hushed with reverence. “Entries the Old King himself penned, outside of the formal court records. Matters he deemed… of utmost private consequence.”
He did not immediately touch the scroll. Instead, he reached for one of the velvet-wrapped objects, unwrapping it to reveal a small, intricately carved wooden bird. Its wings were outstretched, as if in flight.
“This was your mother’s,” Gideon said, handing it to me. “A personal gift from the Old King. She carved it herself, a replica of one she saw in the royal gardens, and he treasured it.”
My fingers closed around the smooth wood. The small bird, a tangible piece of my mother’s handiwork, had been hidden away, almost forgotten, yet preserved in this secret place. It was a personal item, tucked away amongst formal decrees, underscoring the intimate nature of the secrets. This act of safeguarding, however, also meant it had been denied to me for years, another quiet pain of a hidden lineage.
“The Old King would often include small, sentimental items with his personal records,” Gideon explained. “A way to connect the dry facts with the living memories.”
He then gently reached for the crimson-bound scroll. The silence in the hidden archive was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of parchment. The air seemed to thrum with the weight of centuries-old secrets, waiting to be unearthed. My heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against the quiet dignity of this sacred space. I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that my mother’s true story, and my own, lay within its faded pages. The truth was within reach, but its cost remained to be seen.
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