Chapter 15

Rain drummed against the tall glass windows of Veynor Keep, its rhythm echoing through the dimly lit council chamber. Candles sputtered in the draft as the nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats, waiting for Duke Thalric Veynor to speak. He had summoned them in haste, using words like emergency and crisis, yet his expression was curiously calm, almost smug.

Serenya, hidden behind the veil of her false identity as a simple handmaiden, kept her head bowed as she poured wine into goblets. It gave her reason to stand close and listen. Kaelen had warned her days earlier that Thalric played a dangerous game, one that stretched beyond simple ambition. Tonight, she would hear what cards he intended to lay on the table.

“Esteemed lords,” Thalric began, his voice silk wrapped around steel, “our beloved king grows frail. His advisors hide it, but I know what you all whisper when the torches burn low—this kingdom teeters on the edge of ruin.”

A murmur ran through the hall. One man shifted uneasily, another looked sharply at his neighbor. None dared speak. Thalric’s gaze swept across them like a hawk sizing prey.

He paused deliberately, lifting his goblet. “But where there is weakness, there is opportunity. The crown’s bloodline is compromised. Enemies circle us like wolves. Unless decisive action is taken, we are doomed to fall under foreign banners.”

Serenya clenched her hands tighter around the wine pitcher. His words struck dangerously close to truths only she and a few others knew. If he suspected the hidden heir—her—then all the careful disguises and secret oaths would unravel.

Darian Crestfall, the knight sworn to the crown, finally broke the tense silence. “You speak of opportunity, Your Grace. Yet what you imply borders on treason. The king still breathes. His command still stands.”

Thalric smiled faintly, as though Darian were a child interrupting grown men. “Ah, loyalty. Admirable, but also dangerous when misplaced. Tell me, Sir Darian, do you truly believe the king’s line can protect us? That the whispers of illegitimacy carry no weight?”

Gasps erupted around the table. Even Serenya nearly dropped the pitcher. Illegitimacy? Did Thalric know?

Eloria Thorne, the rival princess, leaned forward, her eyes sharp and gleaming. “You speak boldly, Duke. Are you suggesting someone else holds stronger claim to the throne?”

Thalric inclined his head. “Not merely suggesting, Your Highness. I have proof.”

The room went still. Only the storm outside dared to make noise.

Serenya’s pulse thundered. If he meant her, everything was lost.

A servant entered then, carrying a sealed chest. Thalric took his time unlocking it, as though drawing out suspense for his audience. When the lid finally creaked open, he lifted a stack of parchments tied with a black ribbon.

“These,” he declared, “are records from the royal archives. Documents long buried, concealed by those desperate to keep their grip on power. They reveal that the king’s firstborn child… was not his true heir.”

Every noble leaned closer. Serenya’s breath caught in her throat.

“The true bloodline,” Thalric continued, his voice velvet with triumph, “was lost. But I, in my duty to protect this realm, have uncovered the truth. The crown no longer belongs to a frail old man, nor his so-called chosen successor. It should pass into stronger hands.”

A lord spoke up, voice trembling. “Yours, I suppose?”

Thalric’s smile widened. “I am merely a servant of the kingdom. But if destiny places that burden upon me, I will not shirk it.”

Serenya could hardly hear over the pounding in her ears. His lies were artful, weaving threads of truth with poison. The king’s line was in danger, and her existence did complicate succession. But Thalric twisted it, setting himself up as savior while sowing suspicion against any rival claimants.

Kaelen appeared at her side as silently as shadow. He pressed the faintest touch to her arm—a signal. Not now. Watch. Wait.

Darian rose from his seat, hand resting on his sword hilt. “You would tear the kingdom apart with your schemes, Thalric. Documents can be forged, secrets twisted. This is nothing but a power grab.”

“You wound me,” Thalric replied smoothly. “But if you doubt me, then allow me to prove my case. There is someone—someone hidden among us—whose blood carries more weight than any parchment. All we must do is unmask them.”

His eyes, sharp as knives, swept across the chamber. For one terrifying heartbeat, they lingered on Serenya.

Kaelen stepped forward, interposing himself with casual ease, pretending to ask for Thalric’s empty goblet. It drew the duke’s gaze away. Serenya exhaled silently, but the warning was clear: Thalric hunted for her.

The chamber dissolved into argument—nobles shouting, Eloria smirking as though savoring the chaos, Darian shouting to restore order. Thalric stood at the center of the storm, smiling faintly, letting them tear at one another.

Finally, he raised his hand. The voices fell silent.

“Enough. Debate will not crown a king nor save a kingdom. I propose a solution: within the fortnight, let us gather at Moonspire. Let the nobles, knights, and priests bear witness as we determine the rightful heir. Until then, I expect your loyalty.”

It was not a suggestion. It was a command.

As the council dispersed in tense silence, Serenya felt Kaelen’s hand on her shoulder, guiding her into a shadowed alcove. His eyes burned with intensity.

“He’s closing the noose,” Kaelen whispered. “Moonspire will be his stage, his trap. If he unmasks you there, before the entire realm, you’ll have no allies left.”

Serenya’s throat tightened. “Then what do we do?”

Kaelen’s expression softened, though his eyes remained stormy. “We prepare. And we make sure his deception is the one that burns.”

By the time Serenya returned to her modest chambers, her thoughts churned like the storm outside. Every word Thalric spoke clung to her, dragging her deeper into fear. Yet beneath the fear burned something stronger: anger. He would not steal her destiny.

A knock sounded at her door. She hesitated before opening it to find Maelis Rowan, the seer. The old woman’s cloak was soaked, her eyes gleaming with strange light.

“You heard him,” Maelis said, voice grave. “The duke spins lies to cloak the truth. But shadows cannot hide forever. When Moonspire rises against the dawn, you must stand ready to claim what is yours.”

Serenya’s heart clenched. “But if I reveal myself, I endanger everyone. Kaelen, Darian, even you.”

Maelis placed a wrinkled hand on her cheek. “Destiny is cruel, child. But it also offers choice. You may remain hidden, and the kingdom will fall to Veynor’s iron grasp. Or you may step into the light, and though the path is perilous, hope will follow.”

Tears stung Serenya’s eyes. She whispered, “I don’t know if I am strong enough.”

Maelis’s gaze sharpened. “Strength is not given. It is taken, forged in fire and sorrow. You are heir not because of blood alone, but because the kingdom needs you. Remember that when the shadows close in.”

The old woman turned to leave, her voice fading into the storm’s howl. “Beware, Serenya. Duke’s deception is not his only weapon. There are others who would see you silenced before the truth can rise.”

Sleep never came. Serenya paced her chamber, torn between dread and determination. Outside, lightning split the sky, casting the keep in ghostly light.

She thought of her father—the king who never claimed her. She thought of Kaelen, his steady presence at her side. She thought of the kingdom, fragile and fracturing.

And she vowed that no matter how clever Thalric’s lies, she would find a way to shatter them.

For in the end, the truth was hers. And when it came to light, it would burn brighter than any deception.