Dead Certain

Alexander strode swiftly down the castle halls and corridors, worry pounding against his heart as he hoped to find Imelda. She hadn't been in the dungeon when he'd gone in search of her there and he could only hope she was still in the castle. Imelda, after all, had been more of a rebel than Zahra, especially with Adrian.

But where was she?

His hand tightened around the already crumpled ball of paper in his hand. Alexander refused to believe she'd written that. Zahra never would have agreed to come back to him unless...unless she'd been forced to. Right?

After all, she had been thoroughly disgusted with the idea of it before. Why would she have decided to agree with him now?

Imelda would know. But where in the world had she wandered off to?!

Cursing under his breath in impatience, he turned around the corner, opening the wide and massive doors to the library and only slightly glanced inside, expecting no one to be there but was wrong when he was met by the familiar sight of the younger sister.

"Where have you been?" He shouted, storming inside, only barely containing his annoyance.

Imelda looked up from her book, looking equally annoyed with the Prince as she arched an eyebrow. "Obviously, here."

Deciding it would only be a waste of time to retort back at her, he shoved the letter into her hands, ordering, "Read it."

Imelda calmly opened up the letter, folding out the crinkles before reading it. Her eyes widened as she scanned the words on it and before even reaching the end, she stood up abruptly, her chair toppling to the ground.

"She didn't write this," she stated loudly.

"Is this not her handwriting?" Alexander asked, peering at the letter.

"No, it is. But Zahra didn't write this. I'm dead sure of it."

The End

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