Chapter 10

The ballroom still pulsed with echoes of music though the last notes of the forbidden dance had faded. Serenya’s breath came unsteady, her pulse racing not from the waltz but from the shadowed glances exchanged with Kaelen. Every step they’d taken on the marble floor felt like a rebellion, every turn of her hand in his grip like a secret vow.

Yet, as the nobles dispersed in waves of silks and jewels, the air thickened with whispers. She heard them—rumors traveling like smoke. Who was the masked girl daring enough to share a dance with the stranger knight? Why did the Duke of Veynor look as though he had swallowed poison when he saw them together?

Serenya dipped into a curtsy and stepped back, forcing herself to release Kaelen’s hand. She needed distance, needed to disappear before suspicion took root. But before she could retreat, a voice cut through the chatter like the blade of a dagger.

“Lady Vale.”

Duke Thalric Veynor stood at the base of the stairway, his cruel smile curling as though he had caught a bird mid-flight. His wolf-grey eyes bore into hers, sharp with recognition—or was it suspicion? Serenya felt the tremor in her chest. He should not know her name. Not here. Not like this.

“Your grace,” Serenya murmured, lowering her eyes in practiced deference.

“You dance well,” he said smoothly, though the compliment twisted into menace. “It’s almost as if you’ve been taught by the finest tutors in the capital.” His pause was deliberate, his gaze piercing. “Strange, isn’t it, how refinement seeps through even the most modest disguises?”

Her heart stumbled. Did he know? Could he see beyond her mask, beyond the false surname she’d claimed?

Kaelen shifted beside her, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. His voice was calm but edged like steel. “Careful, Duke. There’s a thin line between admiration and insult.”

Thalric chuckled. “And you—Sir Draven, is it?—seem overly invested in a woman whose name you barely know.” His smile sharpened. “Or perhaps you know more than you let on?”

The weight of his words coiled like chains around them. Serenya forced her lips into a polite smile, though her stomach churned. “Your grace overestimates me,” she said softly. “I am no one of importance.”

But the Duke’s eyes glittered with hunger, the kind that saw kingdoms not people. He bowed mockingly. “Oh, I think you are, Lady Vale. More important than you’d dare admit.”

He turned away, robes sweeping like shadows, leaving the scent of danger in his wake.

Serenya barely breathed until he was gone.

She slipped into the corridor beyond the hall, her slippers whispering against the stone. Kaelen followed, silent but watchful, his presence a shadow at her back. When they reached the safety of the moonlit garden, Serenya collapsed against the cold marble of a fountain, her composure cracking.

“He knows,” she whispered.

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “Perhaps. But suspicion is not proof.”

Serenya shook her head. “He will dig. He always digs. Thalric wants the throne, and if he suspects who I am—” Her voice broke. She pressed a trembling hand against her lips. “If he reveals me now, I am as good as dead.”

Kaelen stepped closer, his voice low, urgent. “Then you must trust me. Let me guard the truth, as I guarded you in that hall.”

Her eyes flicked to his, searching. She wanted to believe him, but belief was dangerous. Love was dangerous. And yet, when he reached for her hand, she did not pull away.

“I don’t even know who you really are,” she whispered.

“You will,” Kaelen promised, though shadows crossed his expression. “But not tonight.”

They were interrupted by the flutter of wings. A falcon landed on the fountain’s edge, its feathers streaked with ash, a scroll bound tightly to its leg. Serenya froze. Few dared use such messengers; they were reserved for secrets too perilous to entrust to couriers.

Kaelen caught the bird, untying the parchment with swift fingers. His eyes scanned the words, and his face hardened.

“What is it?” Serenya asked, dread curling in her stomach.

He hesitated, then handed it to her. The ink was smeared, written in haste:

Moonspire burns. The heir of Ashes rises. Bloodlines must not meet. Stop them, or the kingdoms fall.

Her pulse roared in her ears. Moonspire—her childhood refuge—under attack? The heir of Ashes… Could it be Cyrion Duskbane, the boy prince thought dead, the one whose kingdom had crumbled in fire?

Her gaze snapped to Kaelen. “This changes everything.”

“Yes,” he said grimly. “And it confirms what I feared. Your bloodline is no longer safe in shadows. It will be hunted until claimed—or destroyed.”

That night, Serenya lay awake in her chamber at the Crestfall manor, staring at the ceiling where moonlight cut silver across stone. She thought of Thalric’s cruel smile, of Kaelen’s hand steadying hers, of the falcon’s message.

But most of all, she thought of bloodlines—the cursed inheritance that chained her fate.

Her father’s throne had been stolen. Her true name hidden. And yet, power still pulsed in her veins, power others would kill to possess.

If the heir of Ashes was alive, their destinies were bound. Her bloodline and his—together they could unite kingdoms, or plunge them into ruin.

And somewhere in the darkness, Serenya swore she heard her father’s voice, whispering across memory.

Claim what is yours, daughter of stars… or be consumed by shadows.

Morning brought no peace.

Messengers raced through the city, their cries piercing the air. “Moonspire has fallen! Fire on the horizon! The Ashes return!”

Crowds gathered, fear swelling like a tide. Serenya moved among them with her hood drawn low, her heart pounding. She needed to see it for herself.

From the ridge above the valley, she saw smoke billowing, flames clawing at the sky. Moonspire’s spires—once proud silver towers—now glowed red against the horizon.

Beside her, Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “Cyrion Duskbane has revealed himself.”

Serenya turned sharply. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” Kaelen admitted. “The boy king of Ashfall would not die so easily. Not when prophecy tied him to—” He stopped.

“To me?” she finished bitterly.

Silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of distant fire.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of ash and ruin. Serenya’s hands curled into fists. She could not hide forever. Bloodlines demanded reckoning.

Kaelen touched her arm. “We need to move. If Thalric learns of this before we act, he will seize it. He’ll claim your bloodline is tainted, that you conspired with Ashfall. You’ll be branded a traitor.”

“And if we don’t move?” Serenya asked.

His gaze locked with hers, dark and unwavering. “Then the kingdoms burn. And everything you’ve bled to protect will die with them.”

Back at Crestfall manor, she found Darian waiting, his armor scuffed, his face pale from sleepless nights. The knight knelt when she entered, though she had never asked him to.

“My lady,” he said, voice low. “The council stirs. Whispers of rebellion grow louder. They speak of crowns—two crowns—and the blood that must join them.”

Serenya’s throat tightened. “They mean mine and Cyrion’s.”

Darian lifted his eyes, sorrow heavy in them. “If your lineage is revealed, they will force your hand. A marriage to unite the kingdoms. To bind bloodlines in fire and shadow.”

Her pulse thundered. Marriage? Her fate sealed not by choice but by chains of blood? And Kaelen—what then of Kaelen?

Her voice trembled. “And if I refuse?”

Darian’s silence was answer enough.

That night, as Serenya stood before her mirror, the mask she wore every day felt heavier than steel. Behind her, Kaelen’s reflection appeared, his expression carved in shadows.

“They will try to bind you,” he said softly. “But bloodlines are not destiny. You choose what you will be.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “And if choosing means losing everything I love?”

Kaelen stepped closer, his hand hovering near hers, not daring to touch. “Then perhaps we defy them. Together.”

Her heart stuttered, torn between fear and longing. But before she could answer, a horn sounded in the distance—urgent, shrill.

Darian’s voice bellowed from the courtyard below. “Riders approach! The heir of Ashes comes!”

Serenya froze. Kaelen’s hand found his sword.

The night split with the sound of hooves and fire, and with it, her world tilted.

Bloodlines had risen. And they would no longer let her hide.