The Shield’s Hidden Door — At first bell, the west gate would not open. Corin tugged the iron ring until frost bit through his glove, but the lock only clicked and sighed. Read the full story →
At first bell, the west gate would not open. Corin tugged the iron ring until frost bit through his glove, but the lock only clicked and sighed. The spare key had vanished, and the bakers’ carts waited below with warm rye and cinnamon steam. Corin wanted the gate open before the bread went cold, so he stepped off his familiar stone post and followed a thin, silvery scrape along the castle wall.
Past the herb yard, through a tunnel smelling of wet moss, he paid for his hurry with one torn cloak corner and a dented knee plate. The scrape ended at the old lion fountain, where no one searched because the water had been dry for years. A raven hopped on the basin and croaked, “Wrong door.” Corin frowned. Wrong door? He lifted his shield to rest—and heard something tiny slide inside its rim.
Behind the lion badge was a hidden slot, and in it lay the gate key, wrapped in blue thread from his own cape. Corin laughed so loudly the raven flapped away. Back at the west gate, the key turned smooth as butter. The carts rolled in, the bells rang, and Corin stood at his post feeling the stone path under his boots as if it had been waiting for him all along. If you spot the lion on his shield, keep its secret: some doors hide closest to home.
