Chapter 1

The kingdom of Elarindor had always been known as the Realm of Dawns, a land where the first rays of sunrise gilded the mountains and painted the rivers gold. But tonight, twilight lingered too long, as though the heavens themselves resisted granting light to a kingdom whose foundations had begun to crumble.

Along the battlements of the western wall, Serenya Vale pulled the hood of her cloak tighter. From a distance, she looked no more than a market girl pausing to rest, her slender frame blending into the shadows of dusk. In truth, every stone beneath her feet was part of a fortress that should have been hers by birthright. She was the daughter of a murdered queen, the last living heiress to the Vale bloodline.

No one could know.

Below, the city stretched wide and restless. Torches burned where lamps once glowed freely. Soldiers paced where musicians had once played in the streets. Fear hung in the air thicker than smoke, and even the merchants, once bold in bargaining, whispered their trades like secrets. Serenya tightened her jaw. To the people, she was only Valeen, a wandering healer’s apprentice. To reveal otherwise would mean death—hers, and perhaps theirs too.

“Twilight again,” murmured a voice behind her.

Serenya turned sharply, her hand darting beneath her cloak to the dagger strapped to her thigh.

Kaelen Draven stepped from the shadows of the tower stairwell, a half-smile hidden under the hood of his dark cowl. He was tall, lean, his presence carrying the ease of one too familiar with the danger of blades. His eyes—steel-gray in the fading light—studied her with a mixture of curiosity and something sharper, something that never allowed her to rest when he was near.

“You move like a thief,” Serenya hissed, though her heart was steady.

“Only because thieves live longer than knights in this kingdom,” Kaelen replied dryly, leaning against the stone wall. “Besides, no thief watches over you as I do.”

She hated when he said things like that—truths masked as jests. She should have dismissed him as another sellsword, but he had saved her life more than once, and more importantly, he seemed to know her secret yet never spoke it aloud.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “The watch will—”

“—never see me,” he interrupted smoothly. “But you should worry less about me and more about who’s gathering in the duke’s hall tonight.”

Serenya’s blood chilled. Thalric Veynor, the self-proclaimed regent, had summoned his council after weeks of silence. The man was ruthless, ambitious, and utterly relentless in his claim to the throne. Every night he sat in her mother’s chair was another insult to her bloodline.

“What is he planning?” she asked.

Kaelen’s smile thinned. “A coronation.”

Her chest tightened. “Impossible. The people will not—”

“They will,” Kaelen cut in. “Fear is a sharp blade, and he’s honed it well. The dukes who once opposed him are vanishing. Those who remain bow low enough to kiss his boots. Tomorrow, he declares himself king.”

Serenya gripped the stone railing, knuckles white. Her heart thundered, yet she could not falter. For years she had lived in silence, hidden beneath false names, while the man who had orchestrated her mother’s fall clawed his way to the crown.

And yet—she could not reveal herself. Not yet.

“Why tell me this?” she asked carefully.

Kaelen’s gaze softened, though the hardness in his jaw betrayed the weight of his words. “Because when the eclipse comes tomorrow, the court will gather. All eyes will be on him. That will be your moment.”

“My moment?” Her voice was sharp, almost a laugh. “To do what? Walk into his hall and announce myself like some heroine from a tale?”

Kaelen’s silence was answer enough.

Serenya turned away, anger knotting in her chest. She wanted to scream at him, at the stars, at the gods who had abandoned Elarindor. But her mother’s voice whispered in her mind, the last words she remembered before blood stained the throne room: Live hidden, until the time is right.

She inhaled, steadying herself. “No. Not yet. If I reveal myself now, I’ll be crushed before I draw breath. The duke will use me as proof of his mercy—or his executioner’s triumph.”

Kaelen studied her for a long moment, then stepped closer. His presence was both a comfort and a danger, like standing too near a blade that could cut or protect depending on how it was wielded.

“You cannot run forever,” he murmured.

“And I cannot fight blind,” she shot back. “I’ll not walk into his trap.”

A gust of wind tore through the battlements, carrying the sound of bells from the heart of the city. Serenya’s eyes followed the sound, down to the square where torches blazed brighter than the stars. Crowds had gathered—citizens, guards, nobles—all whispering, all waiting. At the center stood a great black banner stitched with the silver crest of Veynor: a coiled serpent devouring its tail.

The usurper was already moving.

Serenya swallowed hard, the taste of ash on her tongue. Tomorrow, her kingdom would awaken to twilight once more.

And yet, beneath her fear, a spark of defiance stirred.

For too long, she had been Valeen the wanderer, the healer’s shadow. But in her veins flowed the blood of queens. And though the sun seemed reluctant to rise over Elarindor, the night could not last forever.

Kaelen’s hand brushed hers, a fleeting touch as he turned to leave. “Choose wisely, Serenya Vale,” he said softly, her true name like fire on his tongue. “For the kingdom in twilight cannot wait much longer.”

She watched him vanish into the shadows, heart racing. For the first time in years, she whispered her name aloud into the cold night air, as though daring the stars to carry it across the kingdom.

“Serenya Vale.”

The name did not tremble.

That night, she dreamt of crowns burning, of lovers torn apart, of blood upon moonlight. And in every vision, the eclipse loomed larger, swallowing the sun until only darkness remained.

When she woke, dawn never came.