Chapter 11

Dawn’s light spilled across the courtyard of Moonspire, gilding the broken stones left by the night’s clash. Serenya stood at the ramparts, her cloak drawn tightly against the chill. Her body was still tense from the dance that had ended in betrayal, her mind turning over Kaelen’s cryptic words: Bloodlines of power are never free of chains.

Below, the soldiers were gathering, some still carrying bruises from the skirmish. Banners had been torn, alliances tested, and whispers spread faster than wildfire. Something was unraveling—and it wasn’t only the kingdom’s fragile peace.

A piercing cry split the air. Serenya lifted her gaze in time to see a falcon cutting across the rising sun. Its wings shimmered as if dusted with fire, and it circled before descending to the battlements where she stood.

The bird landed, talons clinking against the stone. Tied to its leg was a strip of crimson silk. She reached carefully, loosening the knot, her heart hammering. Only one person she knew sealed warnings with that mark.

Maelis Rowan.

The parchment was thin, hastily scrawled.

> Shadows move faster than kings. Trust no council. Trust no crown. What you lost last night is only the beginning. Beware the hand that smiles.

Her fingers trembled. The words pulsed with urgency, as if the seer had poured her fear into the ink. Serenya crumpled the note in her fist and turned sharply as footsteps approached.

Kaelen emerged from the stairwell, his hood pushed back. His eyes were shadowed, more guarded than usual.

“You saw it too,” she said before he could speak.

His gaze flicked to the falcon, then to her hand. “A warning?”

She nodded. “Maelis doesn’t write without reason. Something is coming, Kaelen.”

“Something always is,” he replied, though his tone carried more weight than jest.

But before Serenya could press him further, a horn blared from below. The gates creaked open, and a messenger galloped in, bearing the colors of Crestfall. Dust clung to his armor, and fear clung to his face.

He dismounted, breathless, shouting for audience with the high council.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “This will not be good.”

The council chamber was stifling, torches still burning though morning had long broken. Lords and ladies filled the hall, their jeweled robes brushing against the stone floor. Thalric Veynor sat at the head, his fingers adorned with rings, his smile sharp as a blade.

The Crestfall messenger knelt. “Black Hollow has fallen.”

A ripple of shock tore through the chamber. Serenya’s pulse quickened. Black Hollow guarded the northern passes—it wasn’t just a fortress, it was a warning line.

Thalric leaned forward, his voice a velvet snare. “Fallen? To whom?”

The messenger swallowed. “Rebels… or so they seemed. But they fought like no common rabble. They bore no banner, only the mark of a crescent eclipsing the sun.”

Gasps echoed. Serenya stiffened. That symbol—the same Maelis had spoken of in half-whispered prophecies—the Eclipsed Order.

Kaelen caught her glance. He knew too.

“Rebels,” Thalric mused, tapping his jeweled finger against the table. “Or puppets. Someone feeds them steel and strategy.” His gaze swept the room, lingering too long on Serenya. “Perhaps even from within these very walls.”

The weight of suspicion hung heavy. Serenya forced her expression still, though the note in her cloak seemed to burn against her side.

Later, in the shadowed halls outside the chamber, Kaelen drew her aside.

“Your seer knew this before it reached us,” he said, voice low. “What else does she see?”

“She warns me of betrayal,” Serenya whispered. “But I don’t know where it strikes first—within the council, or in the field.”

Kaelen’s eyes darkened. “Both.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice further. “Kaelen… the falcon bore a second mark. Not just her words. The silk was dyed with ash. She uses that only when—”

“When death is certain,” he finished grimly.

The silence between them crackled with unspoken fears.

That night, the corridors of Moonspire carried unease. Servants whispered, guards tightened their patrols, and Serenya lay awake, staring at the ceiling beams above her chamber. Sleep refused her.

A scrape at the window pulled her upright. Her hand flew to the dagger under her pillow, but when the shutters eased open, it was Darian Crestfall who entered, his armor dulled to silence.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I could not come openly. Too many ears.”

Serenya frowned. “Darian, what are you doing here?”

He held up a sealed scroll. “This was intercepted on its way to Veynor. If he reads it tomorrow, you will be accused before the court.”

Her breath caught. She took the scroll, breaking the wax with trembling fingers. Inside, accusations had been inked against her name: that she plotted with the rebels, that she bore the symbol of the eclipse, that she would sell the kingdom for her claim to the throne.

It was a noose in words.

She stared at Darian. “Why bring this to me?”

His face was grave, but his eyes softened. “Because I know you, Serenya. Whatever secrets you hold, treachery is not one of them.” He paused. “And because if Veynor succeeds, he will tighten his grip until none of us breathe free.”

Her heart swelled with gratitude, but it was tangled with fear. The net was closing faster than she had imagined.

By the next morning, the falcon returned once more. This time its parchment was smeared, the ink hurried.

> Blood has already been spilled. One you trust will fall today. Watch the council. Watch the smile.

Serenya’s knees nearly buckled as she read. She folded the note into her sleeve and strode into the hall where the council gathered once more.

The atmosphere was sharper than any blade. Thalric was already speaking, his words dripping poison:

“Loyalty must be proven. Too long have we harbored vipers in our midst. A hidden heiress walks these halls, waiting for her moment to strike.”

Every gaze shifted. The room tilted around Serenya.

Before she could speak, before Kaelen could move, Darian rose in her defense. “Enough, Veynor. We all know who feeds the rebels—your coffers bleed into their hands.”

Gasps. Fury. Thalric’s eyes blazed. In a heartbeat, steel rang. Darian’s sword clashed against guards rushing forward, his stance protective in front of Serenya.

But Maelis’s words screamed in Serenya’s mind: One you trust will fall today.

The fight was swift, brutal. Too many against one. Darian took down three before a blade pierced his side. His cry tore through the chamber, and Serenya surged forward, but Kaelen pulled her back, his grip iron.

Darian collapsed, blood spreading across the stone floor like ink across parchment.

With his last breath, his eyes found Serenya’s. “Don’t… let him win.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the slow, deliberate clap of Thalric Veynor.

“Such bravery,” he drawled. “And such foolishness.” His smile widened like a wound.

Serenya’s heart pounded with rage, grief, and fire she could no longer contain. Maelis’s warnings were no longer whispers in the dark—they were a prophecy unraveling before her eyes.

And she would not remain hidden forever.