Chapter 3: The Library and the Labyrinth

The royal archives were a place of quiet solitude, a stark contrast to the bustling halls of the palace. Towering shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and yellowed scrolls. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and ink, and the only sound was the soft rustle of pages being turned.

Cedric sat at a wooden desk in the corner, a stack of books piled high in front of him. He had been here for hours, poring over records and maps, trying to piece together the puzzle of his mother's legacy. Master Wyntor's words had sparked something in him—a need to understand who Lady Eleanora had been and why her memory was so shrouded in mystery.

He reached for another book, his fingers brushing against the spine. It was an old ledger, its cover worn and faded. As he opened it, a small piece of parchment fluttered out and landed on the floor.

Curious, Cedric picked it up. The handwriting was delicate, almost ethereal, and the words sent a shiver down his spine.

*"The Duskthorn legacy lives in Ashenfell."*

Cedric's heart raced. Ashenfell—a name he had heard in passing but knew little about. It was a remote barony on the kingdom's northern border, a place of little importance to the court. But if his mother had left a clue there, it couldn't be a coincidence.

He was about to delve deeper when a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Your Highness."

Cedric looked up to see a young servant girl standing nervously at the edge of the desk. She couldn't have been more than twelve, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Yes?" Cedric said gently, trying to put her at ease.

"Master Wyntor sent me," the girl said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He said to tell you that… that someone is coming."

Cedric frowned. "Who?"

Before the girl could answer, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the archives. Cedric turned to see **Roland** striding toward him, his expression dark and menacing.

"Leave us," Roland barked at the servant girl, who scurried away without a second glance.

Cedric stood, his pulse quickening. "What do you want, Roland?"

Roland stopped a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest. "I want to know what you're doing here, little brother. You've been spending an awful lot of time in the archives lately. Planning something?"

Cedric forced himself to remain calm. "I'm just studying. Is that a crime?"

Roland's eyes narrowed. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you're up to something. And I won't let you embarrass this family any further."

Cedric's jaw tightened. "I'm not the one embarrassing this family."

Roland's face flushed with anger, and for a moment, Cedric thought he might strike him. But then Roland's expression shifted, a cruel smile spreading across his face.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" Roland said, his voice dripping with disdain. "But you're nothing, Cedric. A bastard with no claim to the throne. And if you keep poking your nose where it doesn't belong, you'll regret it."

Cedric met Roland's gaze, his own eyes blazing with defiance. "Is that a threat?"

Roland leaned in close, his voice low and venomous. "It's a promise."

With that, Roland turned and strode away, leaving Cedric alone in the archives.

For a long time, Cedric stood there, his mind racing. Roland's words were a stark reminder of the dangers he faced, but they also fueled his determination. He couldn't afford to back down now.

He glanced down at the piece of parchment still clutched in his hand. *"The Duskthorn legacy lives in Ashenfell."*

Whatever secrets his mother had left behind, he would find them. And he would use them to change his fate.

---

Later that night, Cedric returned to his chambers, his thoughts still consumed by the day's events. He lit a candle and sat at his desk, spreading out the maps and notes he had gathered.

Ashenfell was a barren, desolate region, its people struggling to survive in the harsh northern climate. But if his mother had left something there, it had to be important.

Cedric was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the figure standing in the shadows until they spoke.

"You're up late."

Cedric started, his hand instinctively reaching for the dagger he kept hidden in his desk. But when he saw who it was, he relaxed.

"Master Wyntor," he said, his voice tinged with relief. "You startled me."

Wyntor stepped into the light, his expression unreadable. "My apologies, Your Highness. I didn't mean to intrude."

Cedric shook his head. "It's fine. I was just… thinking."

Wyntor's gaze fell on the maps spread across the desk. "Ashenfell," he said quietly. "What interest do you have in that place?"

Cedric hesitated, then decided to trust the old man. "I found something in the archives. A note from my mother. She mentioned Ashenfell."

Wyntor's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked almost… afraid. "What did the note say?"

Cedric handed him the parchment. Wyntor studied it carefully, his expression growing more somber with each passing second.

"This is dangerous," Wyntor said at last, his voice grave. "If the wrong people find out what you're looking for…"

"I know," Cedric interrupted. "But I have to try. My mother left this for a reason. I can't ignore it."

Wyntor sighed, his shoulders sagging. "You're more like her than you know."

Cedric's heart ached at the mention of his mother. "Will you help me?"

Wyntor was silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on the flickering candlelight. Finally, he nodded.

"Very well," he said. "But you must be careful, Your Highness. The path you're walking is fraught with peril. And not all dangers are as obvious as Roland."

Cedric nodded, his resolve hardening. "I understand."

As Wyntor left, Cedric turned back to his desk, the weight of his mission settling over him. He didn't know what awaited him in Ashenfell, but he was ready to face it.

For his mother. For himself. And for the future he was determined to build