The palace felt less like a home and more like an elaborate, gilded cage. Sunlight, filtered through arched windows of leaded glass, fell in pale, dusty shafts across the marble floors. For days, Jackline had walked these halls, her every footstep echoing in the cavernous silence. She had spent hours in the royal library, the heavy leather-bound tomes of history and protocol feeling like chains, each page an anchor tying her to a past that was not her own. The faces of the guards were stony masks; the smiles of the maids were painted-on pleasantries that never reached their eyes. She was the Queen, but she felt like a very expensive, very lonely prisoner.
She sat at her vanity, the silver bristles of a new brush stroking rhythmically through her hair. "Does the King usually disappear like this?" she asked, her voice a low murmur to the woman behind her.
The lady-in-waiting, Elara, didn't falter. "The king is rarely at the palace, my queen," she said, the polite, forced smile tight on her face. "He has many...responsibilities." Jackline watched their reflection in the polished glass. Elara's fingers moved with trained perfection, but the stiffness in her shoulders and the flicker of her eyes betrayed the rehearsed lines.
The silence of the palace felt less like a king's freedom and more like a carefully constructed absence. What kind of man would leave his wife—and a new queen—for days immediately after their wedding? But then again, this was Christopher. The man she knew nothing about, the man she was supposed to be a partner to, all while carrying a secret. A knot of unease tightened in her stomach. It wasn't just boredom; it was a deepening dread that her fragile, secret plan was unraveling before it had even begun. How could she gain the trust of a man who was never there?
The anxiety gave her a sharp, piercing headache. She needed air, escape, and some flowers to smell. The palace garden was the only place that held any magic for her, a world of scent and color.
The sun was warm on Jackline's face, a rare, uncomplicated pleasure in this place. The palace gardens were a riot of color and scent, and she let her fingers brush against a deep violet flower she didn't recognize. The vibrant petals were a small protest against the dull grays and golds of her life, and she found herself smiling, a real smile for the first time in days.
"And what thought has our Queen so preoccupied?"The voice was low, and it carried a smirk she knew even without looking. Alex, the royal guard, walked up beside her, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He wasn't like the others, with their ironclad demeanor and stoic faces.
Alex moved with a lazy, easy grace that had made her question his competence from the start. Was he truly a guard? Or just a court jester in the wrong armor? His uniform was perfectly pressed, but his eyes held a constant, mischievous spark.
"Thinking that perhaps this palace has more flowers than it does kings," she replied, a hint of her own fire flickering back to life.
Alex let out a low chuckle. "A bold observation, my Queen. One that I'm sure will earn me a reprimand from the palace groundskeepers for distracting their prize jewel."
"And the King?" Jackline asked, her voice dropping. The easy banter had come to an end. "Is he often gone?"Alex's posture shifted almost imperceptibly, the easy slouch replaced by a coiled tension. He met her gaze, and for a fleeting second, the laughter was gone from his eyes, replaced by a steely-eyed knowledge. "The king seems to have forgotten he has a queen," she said, her voice laced with frustration.
"The King is a very busy man, my Queen," he said, his tone still light, but the underlying message was clear: a warning, not an answer. He wasn't like the other guards. He was a puzzle wrapped in a joke, a loyal protector who also seemed to enjoy his own subversive company.The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words.
Jackline watched him closely, a silent challenge in her eyes. "Alex," she began, her voice a low murmur, "do you believe in ghosts?"Alex's grin returned, wide and bright, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Depends on the ghost, my Queen. Is this a palace ghost? Or a ghost of a king?"Jackline smiled faintly, a conspiratorial glint in her own eyes. She couldn't tell him her plan, not yet. But she could lay the bait. "A ghost of a king," she replied. "He seems to haunt the halls, but is never here. Tell me, Alex. You, who are so observant, have you seen anything to suggest he's not what he seems?"
Alex pushed himself off the pillar, his gaze sweeping the garden with practiced ease. He seemed to see everything and nothing all at once. When his eyes met hers again, they were once more full of a lazy amusement.
"That's a very dangerous question, my Queen. But I'll tell you what I've seen. I've seen that the best way to catch a ghost is to follow the stories they leave behind." He gave her a small bow and began to walk away, a man with a secret, a jester in a suit of armor. But as he disappeared around a hedge, Jackline realized she had made a good choice. He was a guard, a joker, and a liar, all at once. And he was the only person in this palace who had spoken to her like a person, and not a queen. Her plan would need a ghost hunter, and Alex might just be the best one she had.