Days stretched into weeks, and Lady Marigold remained bedridden. Her condition neither worsened nor improved - she simply existed in a state of convenient infirmity. I visited her chambers daily, watching as she lay with closed eyes, occasionally rousing to murmur some instruction or concern about palace matters. With each passing day, my suspicion grew. This illness had appeared at the precise moment to prevent my departure, and now it persisted just enough to keep the tour postponed indefinitely.

  "Enough." I said one morning, marching from Marigold's sickroom to my study. I sat at my writing desk and penned notes to my various aides and council members. The provincial tour arrangements were to be resumed immediately. Lady Marigold's presence, while valuable, was not essential. Commander Tiberius could oversee security, and Lord Winters had already approved the itinerary.

  I summoned a page and handed him the stack of notes. "Deliver these personally." I told him. "Wait for responses if possible."

  The boy bowed and scurried off. I spent the rest of the morning reviewing trade agreements that required my signature, but my mind kept drifting to the tour. Would my directive be followed?

  By afternoon, I had my answer. Not a single response had arrived. When I sent another messenger to inquire, he returned with vague excuses from each recipient: Lord Percival was surveying flood damage in the north. The Master of Coin was deep in budget negotiations. Even Ariella had apparently been called to her home estate on urgent family business from her mother, though she'd said nothing to me about leaving.

  The next day, I scheduled a meeting with the travel coordinator, but he never appeared. A servant delivered his apology - another emergency, very sudden, terribly sorry. When I tried to reschedule, the same servant informed me that the coordinator had taken indefinite leave.

  "This is ridiculous." I hissed, pacing my chambers. Elara was still missing, and the replacement handmaiden assigned to me moved about with her eyes downcast. "Am I the Queen or not?!"

  The girl froze, uncertain if I expected an answer.

  "Never mind." I sighed. "You may go."

  For three more days, I sent increasingly direct demands for updates on the tour preparations. The responses grew more absurd. Security assessments were ongoing. Route planning required reconsideration because of flood damages. The delays brought us past the royal train's maintenance date, so we would have to wait until it was complete.

  The only one with the spine to meet me in person was Commander Tiberius, and even then he came in begrudgingly, as if he was the last link of the chain of excuse-givers.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Your Majesty, I must respectfully request that you cease pressuring your staff about the provincial tour."

  I set down my pen. "Must you, Commander?"

  "The timing is not favorable." His expression didn't change. "There are security concerns that make such a journey inadvisable at present."

  "What concerns, specifically?"

  "Intelligence reports indicate potential unrest in some provincial areas. Nothing serious, but sufficient to warrant caution."

  "I see. And might I review these intelligence reports?"

  "They contain sensitive information, Your Majesty. Lord Winters has examined them in his capacity as head of the council and concurs with my assessment."

  Of course he did. I stood, moving to the window to hide my frustration. "Commander, I am the Queen. My father may have been killed by anarchists, but that was twenty years ago. Am I to be locked away forever because of ancient fears?"

  "Not forever, Your Majesty. Only until we can guarantee your absolute safety. You must understand - there is no heir to the throne after you. Not even a distant cousin. Your safety is paramount to the stability of the kingdom."

  "... Thank you for your candor, Commander." I said finally. "You may go."

  As the door closed behind him, I sank back into my chair. The provincial tour had never been real. It was just another distraction, another way to placate my restlessness without actually granting me freedom.

  That night, I returned to my bedchamber late. The fire had burned low and been left to smolder. As I approached my bed, I noticed something on my pillow - a large manila envelope, unmarked.

  I glanced around, but the room was empty. How had it gotten there? I had seen the type before - some of the aides used them in deliveries. I picked it up cautiously. It felt substantial. Popping the pins, I upended it on my bed.

  A stack of documents spilled out - figures, graphs, and tables. Too many numbers for me to work out alone. Alongside them were several photographs that made me freeze.

  The first showed a line of gaunt people standing in the rain. Above them, a sign read 'District Food Relief.' Their clothes were tattered, faces hollow. Children with distended bellies clung to their mothers' skirts.

  The second photo showed armored soldiers with batons raised facing a crowd of protesters. One soldier was captured mid-swing, his baton about to connect with the head of a kneeling man. The crowd behind held signs I couldn't quite read in the grainy image.

  The third... bodies lay beside a rural road, some covered with blankets, others exposed to the elements. Behind them stretched burnt fields.

  "This can't be..." I whispered. I returned to the documents, suddenly understanding their significance. They were economic reports detailing tax collection and government expenditures across my kingdom. According to these figures, crushing taxes were being extracted from every province, but especially the southwest. And the funds weren't going to infrastructure or public welfare. They were being funneled into a military budget three times larger than what I'd approved.

  I flipped through more pages, finding reports of pacification operations and insurgent suppression in southwestern Magnolia.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, photos and documents spread around me, trying to breathe through the shock. Was this real? Who had left these materials? I thought of Elara's disappearance, of Raphael's promise to help me see beyond these walls. Had one of them risked everything to show me the truth? How could I figure out the truth?