As Pan and I followed the hurried footsteps of the guard through the corridors of the palace, the atmosphere seemed charged with a palpable sense of unease. Pan moved with deliberate slowness, his hand resting tightly on my arm for support.
The guard led us through winding passages and up a flight of stone steps, his boots echoing in the hushed silence of the palace. Pan's expression remained composed, but I could sense the undercurrent of something that flickered in his eyes. It was clear that the death of one of his guards weighed heavily on his mind.
With each step, the tension in the air grew, and my own apprehension deepened. Wonderland had proven itself to be a realm of mysteries and enigmas, and Thorne's sudden demise only added to the growing list of unanswered questions.
As we reached the barracks, the guard paused before a heavy wooden door, his hand trembling slightly as he raised it to knock. Pan's grip on my arm tightened, and I could feel the weight of his presence beside me, a silent reassurance in the face of the unknown.
The door swung open, revealing the somber scene within.
We stepped into the barracks, my gaze immediately falling upon the lifeless form of Thorne. He lay on a simple cot, his once-vibrant Fae features now pallid and still. The room was cast in a cold, eerie light that seemed to accentuate the lifelessness that hung in the air.
Thorne's eyes, once bright with the glimmer of Fae magic, stared sightlessly at the ceiling. His expression held a frozen rictus of shock, as if he had been taken by surprise in his final moments. Strands of his silver hair framed his face, stark against the ghostly pallor of his skin.
My heart clenched at the sight.
The room was hushed, and the air carried the faint scent of something acrid, like a lingering trace of magic. The mystery of Thorne's death hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the barracks.
As I gazed upon his lifeless form, I couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease.
“Your Highness,” the guard from before said. “We found a note.”
With a sense of trepidation, the guard handed the note to Pan. Pan unfurled the note, and I stepped closer so I could read it as well.
“It’s his writing?” Pan asked the guard.
The guard nodded.
My Dearest Seraphina,
I pen these words with a heart heavy with sorrow and a soul tormented by jealousy. I cannot bear the thought of another's touch upon the one I desire above all else.
When I learned of your intentions to win the Prince's heart, a green-eyed envy consumed me. It gnawed at my very being, twisting my thoughts and darkening my heart. I knew not how to quell this anguish that threatened to consume me whole.
In the throes of this torment, I committed a grave and unforgivable act. I took your life, Seraphina, in a moment of madness and despair. The blade that claimed your gentle heart was wielded by my own hand, and the guilt of that deed weighs upon me like a millstone.
Yet, even in the depths of my twisted desire, I could not bear to live with the knowledge of what I had done. The agony of my actions became too much to bear, and so, I chose to end my own suffering. In this note, I offer no excuse, no justification. Only an admission of the darkness that consumed me.
May the Fae realm find forgiveness for my wretched soul, and may you, dear Seraphina, find peace in a realm beyond this one.
With a heart heavy with regret,
Thorne
The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of Thorne's confession settled upon us all. It was a tragic and twisted tale of love and obsession, one that had ended in two lives lost and a chilling revelation that sent ripples of unease through the hearts of those who had gathered to witness the grim discovery.
Wonderland, it seemed, held secrets darker and more complex than any of us could have imagined, and as I stood among the witnesses to this haunting revelation, I couldn't help but wonder if Pan had been wrong about someone trying to kill him in the first place.
“Out,” Pan said softly. Then, louder: “Out!”
As the gravity of Thorne's confession settled over the barracks, the room was soon emptied of the guards who had been present. They left quietly, their faces etched with a mixture of shock and uncertainty, leaving Pan and me alone in the room with the weight of the revelation.
Once the last guard had departed, Pan's grip on my arm remained firm, his thoughts seemingly adrift in a tumultuous sea of contemplation. His features, usually marked by an air of regal composure, now bore the weight of the unsettling truths that had been unveiled.
We stood there in the quiet barracks, an unspoken understanding between us, as the shadows deepened in the room.
As Pan held onto me, lost in the depths of his own thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead for us in this realm of magic and mystery. Thorne's confession had raised more questions than it had answered, and it seemed that the intricate web of Wonderland's secrets was far from unraveled.
Then, without warning, he started laughing. It was silky and ugly, a hollowed sound that echoed off the walls. His sharp, discerning eyes dropped to the note again, scrutinizing every word, and a furrow creased his brow as if he were dissecting the very essence of the confession.
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
“Don’t you see?” he said. “It’s a lie. All of it, a lie.”
"How do you know?”
He turned his gaze towards me, his expression marked by dark amusement, as though all of this was a game to him. "Seraphina's body," he began, his voice low and contemplative, "it was pristine. Not a hair out of place, not a mark on her. If Thorne truly acted out of jealousy and committed such a heinous act, her body would have shown it. There would have been signs of struggle, of passion, of anything other than the serene image we found."
I considered his words carefully, the implications sinking in. If Pan was correct, then Thorne's confession was indeed suspect. It raised the unsettling possibility that there was more to Seraphina's death than met the eye.
“I believe I was the intended target,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because who would want her dead?’he asked.
I nodded.
Of course.
“But how?” I asked.
“Poison.”
I blinked, a shiver coursing down my spine at the revelation. "Poisoned? But how?" I repeated.
“In the food,” he said. “Clothing. Anything that could have been intended for me and got to her by mistake.”
Pan's eyes bore into mine, filled with a grave intensity. "The poison that claimed her life is a concoction made from a flower found only in the deepest reaches of the Fae realm. The Lysanthra. It is a rare and deadly substance, its effects swift and merciless."
“Which means…” I said.
“Whoever is trying to kill me is still out there,” he finished.
“But…how can we make sure you won’t be poisoned?” I asked.
“I’ve already spoken to Arybella,” he said. “When I examined the body myself. She’s going to ensure all traces of Lysanthra are found and destroyed, discreetly. I can’t have anyone know I’m onto them or else I lose a chance of revealing who my killer is. My magic will be coating me in protection, another reason why I can’t simply heal myself. But my magic isn’t as strong.”
“Do you think Thorne was poisoned as well?” I asked.
Pan nodded.
“So,” I said. “Whoever killed Seraphina killed Thorne to keep him quiet.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I don’t like this,” I said. “You can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe. If they were able to try and poison you in your castle, how can you make sure they don’t do anything else?”
“Worried, are you?” he asked.
“For myself, obviously.” But my voice wasn’t in it. Not the way I wanted it to be.
Pan stared at me for a long moment. “Come,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
He led me out of the bedroom, flicking his wrist at a guard who waited outside. The guard rushed in, probably on his way to take care of the body. His injury still hindered his movements, but his determination to uncover the truth remained unyielding. The corridors, adorned with intricate tapestries and ethereal light, seemed to close in around us as we reached the grand doors leading to his private study.
Pan pushed the heavy doors open with a heavy grunt, revealing a room steeped in both mystery and elegance. His study was a testament to the grandeur of Wonderland, with shelves upon shelves of ancient tomes, curious artifacts, and delicate trinkets from far-off lands. A grand desk dominated the center of the room, covered in parchments and inkwells, where countless decisions affecting Wonderland's fate had been made.
As we entered, the scent of aged parchment and the faintest hint of magic hung in the air. The room seemed to breathe history, each book and relic whispering secrets long kept. Pan gestured for me to take a seat in one of the plush, high-backed chairs that adorned the room, while he settled into his own, his expression grave yet determined.
I kept a curious eye on him as he moved with deliberate purpose behind his grand desk. He reached into a drawer, retrieving a folder that appeared well-worn, its edges slightly frayed. He placed it before me, and the sound of it landing on the polished surface resonated in the quiet room.
"This," Pan began, his voice low and measured, "is something I believe you’d like to see." His eyes held a depth of emotion I had not witnessed before.
Curiosity piqued, I opened the folder and was greeted by a photograph that stole my breath away. It depicted two familiar faces, the radiant smiles of my brothers, John and Michael, beaming at the camera. They were flanked by a young woman of such ethereal beauty that she seemed to belong to another world. Her hair was a cascade of golden waves, and her eyes held a warmth that drew you in.
My heart raced, and I felt a lump forming in my throat. It was a bittersweet sight, a reminder of the family I had lost, and the weight of three years without them bore down on me.
"Where... Where did you find this?" I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Pan leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the photograph. "I have my ways," he said. “It’s the last known photograph of your brothers, John and Michael, before they disappeared from Wonderland."
I studied the image, tears blurring the edges of my vision. "Who is the woman with them?” I asked. “Do you know her?"
Pan nodded. "Her name is Tinker Bell,” he said.
“A Fae?” I asked.
He nodded.
The room seemed to close in on me as I tried to process this information. Tinker Bell’s presence in the photograph only deepened the mystery surrounding my brothers' disappearance.
"But how...?" I began, my voice trembling. "How do you have this?”
Pan's gaze remained fixed on the photograph, his expression conflicted. "As I’ve said,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I have my ways.”
“You’ve had it for a time.”
“I have.”
“You’ve known about their disappearance,” I said.
“I’ve known about the Lost Boys,” he agreed.
His words hung in the air.
I continued to study the photograph, my fingers tracing the edges of the faces frozen in time. John, Michael, and Tinker Bell – a name I had never associated with the elegant young woman beside my brothers. Her presence in the photograph was both fascinating and unsettling.
"Where was this taken?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.
Pan hesitated, his eyes locked on the photograph. "It's a nightclub," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A nightclub?”
Pan nodded slowly. "Marooner’s Bay."
I looked at him, astonished. "You own Marooner’s Bay."
It wasn’t a question.
Pan's lips quirked into a half-smile, but it held a melancholic edge. "It's not quite what you might think,” he said. “It’s much more than that.”
“I just know I wasn’t allowed to attend because of how dangerous it is,” I said.
“It is,” he agreed.
“As are you.”
He looked at me piercingly.
I turned my attention back to the photograph, my mind racing with questions. "Why would my brothers go to a nightclub?” I asked.
Pan's gaze remained fixed on the photograph. "That’s the question, isn’t it.” A beat. “Perhaps you don’t know them the way you thought you did.”
“John was in eighth grade,” I said, leaning forward. “Michael was eight. Second grade. There’s no way they would go there.”
"I understand that this revelation may be overwhelming, mortal,” he said.
"Will you take me?" I asked. “Can I go? Maybe there’s footage. Maybe there’s someone who saw them –”
Pan's gaze narrowed, irritation simmering in his eyes. He let out a sigh, his annoyance palpable. "Mortal, you're testing my patience,” he said. “We do nothing until we've dealt with the threat to my life."
His words were harsh, devoid of any warmth. He was merely fulfilling a promise he'd reluctantly made, driven by a sense of obligation rather than genuine concern for my quest. Yet, the burning determination to uncover the truth still smoldered within me.
“I can go alone.”
“That will not happen,” he said.
“I have to –”
“You will do no such thing,” he said. “Not until I’ve freed you. Which means, if you want more clues, more information, you’ll do exactly what I say, mortal. You belong to me. Or have you forgotten?”
No.
Of course I hadn’t forgotten.
But that didn’t mean I had to follow his rules.
I snuck out once, I could do it again.
He needed me too.
I knew I was stepping onto a treacherous path, one that would test the limits of our reluctant alliance, but I would do whatever I needed in order to find my brothers.
No matter what the cost.