Chapter 63

  The moment Adam stepped through the next archway, the air around him changed. The cold stone walls muffled sound like heavy velvet, and the faint scent of burning oil hung in the stillness. A single bronze lamp sat in the middle of the room upon a short pedestal, its flame a calm, unwavering gold.

  Surrounding it were five candles — each a different height and color, each resting neatly in its own little alcove carved into the circular wall. When Adam squinted, faint inscriptions shimmered on their waxen surfaces:

  Hope. Desire. Wisdom. Faith. Truth.

  The voice of the realm drifted down from somewhere unseen, soft yet commanding:

  “Only when all flames burn together shall the door to understanding open.”

  Adam glanced toward the far wall — where a heavy stone door awaited, sealed with shimmering runes.

  He sighed.

  “So… another puzzle about balance, is it?”

  He lifted the bronze lamp and moved toward the first candle — Truth. The golden flame brushed the wick, and the candle came alive with gentle light. The next candle was Hope the wick brushed the wick. But the instant it did, the lamp’s own flame flickered and—fwoosh— the other candles, Truth, went out. And Faith ignited.

  Adam frowned.

  “That’s new.”

  He tried again, this time lighting Desire. It burned for a heartbeat… then Faith guttered and died.

  For the next ten minutes, Adam worked through every possible combination he could think of. Light one, two, even three in sequence — the result was always the same. Every time one candle caught flame, another was snuffed out. The lamp’s fire seemed to pulse stronger each time, feeding off the loss.

  “You greedy little thing,” he muttered, eyeing the lamp. “You don’t share well, do you?”

  He sat down cross-legged in front of the pedestal, resting his chin on one hand. The soft crackle of the lamp filled the quiet. His eyes narrowed.

  [The voice said, ‘all flames burn together.’ Not ‘light all flames yourself.’]

  He stared at the lamp again. Its glow was… possessive. Almost alive. The light was drawing the energy from every other flame. It wasn’t part of the solution. It was the problem.

  Adam chuckled softly, shaking his head.

  “A puzzle about ego. How poetic.”

  He stood, walking up to the pedestal, and whispered to the lamp:

  “So long as one burns too bright, none can shine.”

  Then, with two fingers, he pinched the golden flame. It hissed — once — and vanished.

  For a brief, breathless second, the room was plunged into perfect darkness.

  Then — fwoomph — all five candles burst into flame at once.

  Hope, Desire, Wisdom, Faith, and Truth glowed with quiet harmony. The light pooled in the center of the chamber, merging into a single, gentle radiance that pressed against the door.

  The stone runes shimmered and dissolved, the door sliding open without a sound.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Adam stood there, bathed in the soft candlelight, smiling faintly.

  “Understanding, huh… Sometimes it really does mean knowing when to stop burning.”

  He took one last glance at the now-dim lamp before stepping through the doorway.

  Beyond, the faint echo of the abomination’s third hand flexing reached him — another finger straightening in acknowledgment.

  “Two down,” he murmured. “One to go.”

  While Adam stepped through his newly opened door, another chamber awaited Lyne.

  —

  It was silent — painfully so — the kind of silence that pressed against the eardrums and made her heartbeat sound louder than it should.

  The room was circular, its walls entirely made of polished glass — or something that looked like it. Each mirrored surface reflected her form a dozen times over, all wearing the same royal expression she had learned to wear since childhood. Calm. Controlled. Perfect.

  But the voice of the realm broke that illusion:

  “To see the truth of what is hidden, one must look beyond the reflection.”

  Lyne took a steadying breath.

  “Another riddle. Lovely.”

  She stepped forward, her reflection stepping with her. The floor beneath her boots was slick, glimmering faintly with light.

  In the center stood a silver pedestal — and on it, a hand mirror, ornate and old. Its handle was carved with strange runes that pulsed faintly with spiritual energy.

  When she picked it up, the world around her rippled.

  All her reflections moved… but not quite in sync.

  One smiled a second too late. Another blinked too often. One tilted her head at an unnatural angle.

  Lyne frowned.

  “That’s… unsettling.”

  She tried to look away, but every mirrored version of her began whispering — her own voice echoing from every direction, overlapping, layered.

  “You’re lying.”

  “You wear a crown of thorns.”

  “You envy him.”

  “You fear being forgotten.”

  Everyone of them spewed doubt and instilled upon her.

  Her hand trembled slightly.

  “Enough.”

  She slammed the mirror down on the pedestal — but it didn’t break. The reflections only grew louder, accusing, the whispers turning into low laughter.

  “You hide behind perfection.”

  “What are you without your title, Princess Lyne?”

  Lyne clenched her jaw. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She forced herself to meet their gazes — her own gazes — and lifted the hand mirror again.

  This time, she looked into it, not at herself.

  What she saw made her breath hitch.

  Her reflection wasn’t royal. It wasn’t graceful. It was… real.

  Eyes tired. Shoulders heavy. The faintest tremor of fear and longing beneath the mask she’d worn for years.

  A voice came to her mind. Memories of Adam's voice.

  [Your desires, your quirks, your so-called flaws—they’re pieces of your identity. And I refuse to be ashamed of them!.

  Some of you like legs, some like hair, some like muscles, some like—yes, feet!”

  “Don’t hide it. Embrace it! Own it!]

  …

  she whispered to her reflection

  “You’re right.”

  The mirrored versions of herself froze mid-whisper.

  Lyne continued softly,

  “I am afraid. Of losing control, of being less than perfect. But that’s fine. Because I’m still me.”

  As soon as she said it, the mirrors began to shimmer — cracks forming across their surfaces like spiderwebs of light. The sound of breaking glass echoed through the chamber.

  Then, one by one, the reflections shattered — dissolving into motes of gentle blue light that drifted toward the ceiling and vanished.

  The room fell quiet again, but this time, it was a peaceful silence.

  The pedestal pulsed once, and the voice of the realm spoke:

  “Acceptance grants clarity. You may proceed.”

  Lyne exhaled, lowering the mirror with a small smile.

  “A mirror that reflects the truth of the heart… you’d think I’d seen enough of those in court politics.”

  Another memory of Adam resurfaced.

  [Remember my words, Your Highness — enlightenment doesn’t always look dignified.]

  “Your words seem wiser than I credited, husband, I will be sure to pamper you when we get back.”

  She turned and walked through the door that appeared behind her, her steps lighter than before.

  The corridor ahead split into two glowing arches, each leading to another puzzle chamber.

  —

  Adam and Lyne stood before them, the faint hum of the realm surrounding them like quiet wind.

  Adam stretched his neck and sighed.

  “One more to go.”

  Lyne nods “One more to go.”

  For a moment, silence — just their breathing and the echo of the abomination’s distant ticking.

  “Was your puzzle hard?”

  “Philosophical.”

  “Same for me.”

  A small pause. Then Lyne tilted her head slightly, her tone soft but playful.

  “So… how’s our date going? I prepared a lot for this.”

  Adam chuckled quietly, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Heh. It… was weirdly fun, actually.”

  He glanced aside, trying not to meet her eyes — which only made Lyne’s curious grin widen.

  “Oh! Are you being awkward right now?”

  “Of course I am.” He sighed, smiling faintly. “After spending some time with you, I’m… starting to see you a little differently. Got to know you more than I expected.”

  “Hmm? And how’s that?”

  Adam took a small step closer, his tone gentler.

  “You’re a Frost-Plum Preserve, Princess. Hard as ice and tart enough to make a man shiver… but once you thaw? Pure, sun-warmed honey. And I’m patient enough to wait for the thaw.”

  As he spoke, the distance between them seemed to shrink, and Lyne’s heart gave an unexpected thump.

  Her breath caught — and without realizing it, she started twirling a lock of her hair around her finger.

  “U-um… what else?”

  “You’re possessive, too. But not in a bad way.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “It just means when you care about something, you really care. You value it. You value me.”

  For a heartbeat, Lyne was utterly still. His words didn’t feel like flattery or strategy.

  They felt like… a translation. He had taken a part of her she’d always seen as a flaw—her clenched, demanding heart—and called it devotion.

  That last line hit harder than she expected. A faint flush rose to her cheeks…

  Adam caught it, of course, and grinned.

  “Are you feeling a little embarrassed?”

  “No, I am not! Stop trying to tease me!”

  She turned sharply, her hair swishing as she walked toward her puzzle chamber.

  “Let’s just start our respective third puzzles.”

  Adam laughing under his breath “As you say, princess.”

  She stopped mid-step and looked back over her shoulder — her eyes glimmering just a little.

  “…Also, call me by my name.”

  Adam smirked, voice low and warm.

  “Nah. I’ll call you wife — just like you call me husband.”

  Her entire face went red.

  She spun around before he could see her expression — though he was grinning anyway.

  [Adam… when I said you had potential, I wasn’t lying. If you were to go all in on it….. it's going to get dangerous for me.]

  And with that, they each disappeared through their respective doors — the air between them charged with something new, fragile, and quietly dangerous.