Chapter 17

Rain traced crooked paths down the panes of Crestfall Keep, each drop shivering as the wind howled across the battlements. Inside, the war council chamber was quiet save for the soft crackle of a dying fire. Serenya Vale sat at the long oak table, her fingers tight around a quill, the parchment before her blurred by the tears she refused to let fall.

The words she had written were simple, but each stroke of ink burned as though her soul had been poured onto the page.

> Kaelen, there are truths I cannot keep buried. If I do not return from what lies ahead, know this: I am not who I claimed to be. The blood of Vale runs in my veins. I am heir, though hidden, though hunted. And I…

Her hand had frozen there, the ink blotting like a wound. She hadn’t found the courage to finish the line.

Now, she stared at it again. She could not bring herself to write I love you. Not when that truth, if spoken aloud, might unravel both their lives. Forbidden did not even begin to describe what bound her heart to his.

The door creaked. Darian Crestfall entered, rain dripping from his cloak, his sword still belted at his side. His eyes, steady and somber, fell on the parchment.

“You mean to tell him?” he asked, his voice low.

Serenya’s throat tightened. “I mean to… but the words refuse me.”

Darian crossed the chamber, setting his gloves upon the table. “A letter can damn you more than silence, Serenya. Once ink dries, there’s no taking it back.”

Her jaw trembled, not from fear of Darian, but because he was right. Kaelen could never un-know her truth. If her letter fell into the wrong hands, her life—and the fragile balance between kingdoms—could ignite in fire and blood.

“Then what would you have me do?” she whispered.

“Burn it.” His answer was quick, decisive, as his loyalty always was.

But she folded the parchment instead, pressing the wax seal into place with trembling fingers. “If I cannot speak it aloud, then I must leave a trace behind. Even if he never sees it, I will have written it. I will have admitted, at least to myself, that the lie cannot last forever.”

Darian’s gaze softened. For once, the knight who had sworn his life to the Crestfall name looked less like a soldier and more like a man burdened by secrets of his own.

Before he could speak, another voice cut the chamber—sharp, mocking.

“Such poetry for someone destined to be unmasked.”

Eloria Thorne leaned against the doorway, her crimson gown a sharp contrast to the storm-dark stone. Her smile was cruel, though her eyes glittered with something far more dangerous than malice—knowledge.

Serenya’s blood ran cold.

“Eloria,” Darian growled, stepping protectively between her and Serenya. “You’ve no right to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, but I do,” she purred, gliding into the chamber like a shadow wrapped in silk. “When secrets are written, they have a way of reaching eyes never meant to see them. Perhaps you should have listened to your knight and burned that little confession, Serenya.”

The name—her true name—hung in the air like a blade.

Darian’s hand went to his sword, but Serenya caught his wrist. If steel was drawn now, it would confirm everything Eloria suspected.

“What do you want?” Serenya asked, forcing her voice not to shake.

Eloria smiled sweetly. “Why, only to remind you both that in this game of crowns, no secret is safe. Not love, not blood, not birthright. I could whisper your truth to Thalric Veynor tonight and watch the kingdom drown in chaos by morning.”

Her threat was no bluff. Thalric, ambitious and ruthless, needed only a spark to set his plans aflame.

“Then why haven’t you?” Serenya pressed.

Eloria’s lips curved. “Because a truth untold is worth more than one revealed. A weapon held in the shadows is always sharper than one swung in haste. Besides…” Her eyes flicked briefly to Darian, lingering with an unsettling awareness. “…some secrets are sweeter when savored.”

With that, she swept from the chamber, leaving the faint scent of roses and venom in her wake.

Silence followed. The only sound was the storm battering the keep’s walls, as though the heavens themselves raged at the unfolding web of lies.

Darian cursed under his breath. “She knows too much.”

“She always does,” Serenya whispered. “And now she has a blade pressed to my throat.”

Her hand strayed to the folded letter. For the first time, she wondered if sending it would doom Kaelen rather than free her.

That night, unable to rest, Serenya wandered the moonlit corridors of the keep. She clutched the sealed parchment to her chest, her mind torn between the fire of her heart and the chains of her duty.

She found herself drawn to the rookery, where ravens waited restlessly in their cages. Messengers of war, of peace, of secrets. Her trembling hands tied the letter to one bird’s leg.

But before she could open the hatch, Kaelen’s voice echoed behind her.

“Serenya?”

She froze. Slowly, she turned to find him standing there, shadows curling around his cloak as though they belonged to him alone. His eyes, silver in the moonlight, cut through every wall she’d built.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

Her lips parted, but no words came. The letter burned in her grasp, heavier than any crown.

Kaelen stepped closer, his gaze falling to her clenched fist. “A message?”

She swallowed hard. The moment stretched, fragile as glass. If she gave him the letter now, there would be no turning back.

But before she could decide, thunder cracked, and the rookery door slammed open. Cyrion Duskbane stumbled inside, his cloak soaked and torn. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.

“They’re coming,” he gasped. “Thalric’s riders. Crestfall will burn by dawn if we don’t act.”

The letter slipped from Serenya’s hand, fluttering to the floor, forgotten as Kaelen’s arm steadied her. The storm outside had come to their gates, and with it, the choices she had feared could no longer be delayed.