Chapter 16

The sky churned with angry clouds as Crestfall Keep loomed against the horizon, its black spires slicing through the stormlight. The sea beyond thundered in restless fury, hurling waves that crashed against the cliff walls below. Soldiers lined the battlements, their armor slick with rain, their torches flickering weakly in the wind.

Inside the great hall, the atmosphere was no less tempestuous. Nobles whispered behind jeweled hands, their eyes darting to the high dais where Thalric Veynor presided like a vulture waiting for a feast. His smirk was sharp, knowing, as though the storm itself bent to his ambition.

Serenya kept to the shadows near the stone pillars, her hood pulled low to shield her face. Kaelen was at her side, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade, eyes flicking over every entrance and every threat.

“They know something,” Serenya whispered. The air carried a tension thicker than smoke, charged with fear and suspicion. “Look at them—they’re restless.”

“They’re restless because Thalric wants them to be,” Kaelen muttered. “He thrives on disorder. And tonight, I fear, he plans to use it.”

A sudden clap of thunder shook the hall, silencing the murmurs. All eyes turned to the Duke.

“My lords, my ladies,” Thalric began, his voice carrying easily above the storm’s roar. “Our kingdom teeters on the edge of ruin. The crown grows weak, our borders are threatened, and whispers of betrayal coil through our halls like serpents. We cannot survive divided. We need a strong hand—my hand.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Serenya stiffened. This was no mere speech—it was a declaration.

“He means to claim the regency,” Kaelen said under his breath.

“Or the throne,” Serenya whispered back.

From the dais, Thalric lifted a goblet of dark wine. “Even now, Crestfall rises as the last true bastion of strength. Those who oppose me will be swept away by the storm. But those who stand with me…” His smile widened. “Will share in the power of the new dawn.”

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances. Some bowed their heads slightly, signaling support. Others stayed silent, fear written across their faces.

Then a voice cut through the tension.

“You speak of strength, Duke Veynor,” Darian Crestfall said, striding into the hall, armor glinting with water from the storm. His eyes burned with fury, his jaw set. “But I see only treachery. My family’s keep is not yours to seize with lies.”

The hall erupted in murmurs. Serenya’s heart tightened. Darian was bold, but boldness in Thalric’s presence was a dangerous blade to wield.

Thalric did not falter. “Ah, the loyal knight. Ever bound by your father’s oaths. But loyalty to a crumbling crown is no loyalty at all—it is folly. Your king grows weak, and those who cling to him will fall with him.”

Darian’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. “Better to fall with honor than stand with a snake.”

The words struck like lightning. The nobles recoiled. Kaelen’s hand shot out, restraining Serenya before she could move.

“Not yet,” he hissed. “If you reveal yourself now, Thalric wins.”

She clenched her fists beneath her cloak, every instinct screaming to step forward. But Kaelen was right. One wrong move, and her hidden identity would unravel too soon.

Thalric’s smirk vanished, replaced with cold fury. “Then perhaps the storm must wash Crestfall clean of traitors tonight.”

He raised his hand. Instantly, armored guards surged into the hall, their swords gleaming in the torchlight.

Gasps, screams, the clatter of chairs. Nobles scrambled back as soldiers advanced toward Darian. But the knight drew his blade with a defiant cry, steel ringing as it met the storm.

Kaelen’s eyes met Serenya’s. “If Darian falls, Crestfall falls with him. And if Crestfall falls, Thalric takes everything.”

The hall became chaos.

Kaelen moved first, sliding into the fray with his blade flashing, his movements precise, shadows seeming to cling to him as if guiding his strikes. Serenya slipped deeper into the crowd, her hood still low, eyes scanning for escape—and opportunity.

She saw Eloria Thorne.

The rival princess stood near the far wall, her emerald gown glittering even in the dim light, her expression unreadable as she watched the chaos unfold. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment, and Serenya caught the flicker of a smirk. Eloria knew something. Perhaps too much.

Darian fought valiantly, his blade meeting three at once, but numbers pressed him back toward the dais.

“Yield,” Thalric commanded, his voice booming above the storm. “Swear fealty, and I may yet let Crestfall keep its name.”

“Never!” Darian roared, cutting down another guard.

Serenya’s blood burned. Every second wasted meant Darian’s doom. She darted forward, weaving between fleeing nobles, and reached Isolde Mirean, the healer, who clutched a bundle of satchels at her side.

“Give me one,” Serenya demanded.

Isolde’s eyes widened. “Do you know what you ask? These are forbidden—”

“Then they’re perfect.”

The healer hesitated, then pressed a vial into Serenya’s hand. Its contents shimmered faintly, like liquid moonlight. “Be swift. And beware—the storm favors no one.”

Serenya tucked the vial beneath her cloak and pressed forward. She climbed the side steps toward the dais, the storm outside howling louder, as though drawn to the gathering storm within.

Kaelen saw her, his eyes widening in alarm, but he was too far, locked in combat. Darian stumbled to one knee before Thalric’s guards.

Now.

Serenya flung the vial to the ground at Thalric’s feet. It exploded in a blinding flash of silver light, a crack of thunder echoing with it. The hall gasped, soldiers stumbling back, eyes blinded, weapons dropping.

In the confusion, Serenya grabbed Darian’s arm. “Get up!” she hissed.

Darian blinked, his vision still blurred, but recognized her voice. “Serenya?”

“No time. Move!”

Kaelen cut down the last guard between them and cleared a path. Together, they fled into the storm-swept night, the sound of Thalric’s furious roar echoing behind them.

Rain lashed against their faces as they stumbled through Crestfall’s outer courtyards. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the cliffs beyond.

“Where are we going?” Darian shouted over the storm.

“Somewhere Thalric won’t follow,” Kaelen said grimly. “And where we can plan.”

Serenya glanced back at the keep. Shadows writhed across its towers, as if the storm itself had become Thalric’s ally. Her heart pounded with dread. The duke’s reach was longer than she had feared.

But worse still was the image burned into her mind—Eloria’s smirk, calm and knowing, as if the rival princess had orchestrated this storm from the beginning.

Lightning struck again, and in that blinding flash, Serenya knew: Crestfall was no longer safe.

And the storm had only just begun.