Chapter 19

Moonlight spilled through the fractured stained-glass windows of Valebridge Cathedral, scattering the floor in broken shards of crimson, gold, and violet. Serenya stood at the edge of the ruined altar, her cloak heavy with rain and secrets. Behind her, the hollow silence of the cathedral made every step echo like an accusation.

She wasn’t alone.

Kaelen lingered in the shadows, half his face hidden beneath his hood. His presence was both a comfort and a danger, a tether she could neither release nor fully grasp. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he murmured. His voice was low, graveled by the weight of what they had uncovered in Crestfall only nights before.

“And yet, here we are,” Serenya replied, her fingers brushing the carved stone of the altar. The worn sigils of twin crowns—one of light, one of shadow—had nearly been erased by time. Nearly. “This place holds the answer, Kaelen. The prophecy speaks of it. Two crowns, one kingdom. One truth that cannot remain hidden.”

He stepped closer, his boots whispering against the marble. “You believe the crowns are real?”

“I don’t just believe.” Her voice was softer now, tinged with fear and awe. “I feel them. As though they were meant for me... and for another.”

The air thickened at her words. Kaelen’s jaw tightened, his shadowed eyes unreadable.

Before he could respond, the cathedral doors groaned open with a thunderous weight. Two figures entered, torches casting jagged light across their faces. Serenya’s heart lurched—Eloria Thorne, proud and unflinching in her scarlet cloak, and Darian Crestfall, armored and grim, his blade drawn though his expression was far more torn than threatening.

“Of course,” Eloria said, her smile sharp as a dagger. “I knew the whispers would lead me to you, Serenya Vale. Or should I call you what you truly are—the hidden heiress?”

Serenya’s breath caught. Her disguise had unraveled sooner than she’d feared.

Darian lowered his sword slightly, his eyes flickering between the two women. “Eloria, enough. We don’t know if she—”

“She does,” Eloria cut in coldly. She stepped forward, the torchlight setting her crown-braid aflame in molten gold. “You think you’re clever, Serenya, but I’ve followed the pieces of this puzzle longer than you’ve been running. Two crowns. Two heirs. Two destinies bound by betrayal.”

Kaelen’s hand drifted toward his blade, instinct over patience. Serenya touched his wrist, stopping him, though her own pulse thundered like war drums.

“Speak plainly,” Serenya demanded, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

Eloria’s gaze burned. “Your bloodline isn’t the only one tied to this throne. The prophecy speaks of twins—not born of the same womb, but of the same fate. Two rulers destined to share the crown or shatter the kingdom apart.”

Darian’s voice, low and conflicted, filled the silence. “The Twin Crowns.”

The words reverberated in the hollow cathedral like a knell.

Serenya tried to steady her breath, but the truth coiled around her throat like a serpent. If what Eloria said was true, then she wasn’t the sole heir—someone else bore the same claim, and the fragile hope she’d held of uniting the realm under her name now splintered.

“Who?” Serenya whispered. “Who wears the other crown?”

Eloria’s smirk was cruel, triumphant. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She tossed something onto the altar. It clattered—a fragment of a silver circlet, jagged, ancient, gleaming with faint runes that pulsed like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast.

Serenya reached for it, but Eloria’s blade flashed in warning. “Careful, dear cousin. That belongs to me.”

Cousin.

The word struck like thunder.

Serenya’s knees nearly buckled. Memories unraveled—whispers in the palace halls, her mother’s frantic warnings before the night of blood and fire, the veiled suggestion that not all heirs had perished in the massacre.

Kaelen stiffened beside her. “This isn’t possible.”

“Oh, it’s more than possible,” Eloria said, her laughter ringing hollow in the ruins. “It’s destiny. We are the twin crowns, Serenya. You and I. One to rule in shadow, one in light. Unless, of course, we destroy each other first.”

Her blade gleamed as she raised it, the firelight making her eyes glint with madness or brilliance—Serenya could not tell which.

Darian moved then, stepping between them, his sword clashing against Eloria’s with a burst of sparks. “Enough!” he barked. “This is not the place.”

Eloria snarled. “You would protect her? After all she hides?”

Darian’s grip tightened on his weapon. His eyes—haunted, resolute—met Serenya’s. “Perhaps because I know she hides less than you.”

The cathedral seemed to breathe with tension. Torches flickered. Shadows writhed. And somewhere deep beneath the altar, a low rumble answered their clash. The stone trembled. Dust sifted down from the vaulted ceiling.

Serenya clutched the silver fragment, ignoring Eloria’s cry of outrage as its runes flared against her palm. Power surged—ancient, undeniable. The prophecy was no longer just words in fading ink. It was alive.

The ground split with a jagged crack, and from the depths rose a hidden chamber, its sealed doors bearing the mark of two crowns entwined.

Kaelen’s voice was tight with urgency. “We need to leave. Now.”

“No.” Serenya’s eyes locked on the glowing sigils, her heart pounding with revelation and terror. “We need to open it.”

Eloria’s laughter echoed through the cathedral like a song of ruin. “Yes, cousin. Let’s see which of us the crown chooses.”

Darian’s blade trembled against Eloria’s, his loyalty fracturing in the same moment the floor beneath them threatened to collapse.

In the heart of Valebridge, the secret of the Twin Crowns had awakened, and none of them could turn back.