Chapter 28

The storm had broken over Dawnspire, rain lashing against the palace windows in sheets of silver. In the candlelit chamber, Serenya Vale leaned over a map stretched across a war table. Black pins marked Thalric Veynor’s encroaching forces, and white pins—far too few—marked their own defenses. Her jaw tightened as she traced the lines of territory slipping away like sand through fingers.

Eloria Thorne entered without knocking, her crimson cloak damp with rain. The rival princess’s dark hair clung to her cheeks, and her eyes gleamed like polished steel. “You’ve summoned me, Serenya. I trust this isn’t another lecture about loyalty. I’ve already risked enough to stand here without a blade in my back.”

Serenya didn’t look up. “It’s not a lecture. It’s a proposition.”

That earned a raised brow. Eloria removed her gloves one finger at a time, deliberate as a predator uncoiling. “A proposition from the hidden heiress who’s too cautious to declare her throne openly?”

Kaelen Draven shifted in the shadows of the room, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He rarely spoke when Eloria was present, but his presence was reminder enough of where Serenya’s trust lay. His shadow seemed to stretch longer in the candlelight, as though listening too.

Serenya finally met Eloria’s gaze. “We cannot win against Thalric by strength alone. His armies grow by the week. His spies have burrowed into our ranks. And the council—” She spat the word like venom. “The council splinters by the hour. They debate while our people bleed. We need something more.”

Eloria circled the table slowly, her fingers trailing along its edge. “And you think I have that something?”

“I know you do.” Serenya pushed a parchment across the table. Eloria paused to read. It was a sealed decree bearing the crest of Thorne—the rival kingdom that had once been Eloria’s, before Thalric reduced it to ashes.

Eloria’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “You’ve been busy.”

“The remnants of your people are scattered, waiting for someone to unite them,” Serenya said. “If you take command of them in my name, we could double our strength. But I suspect that isn’t enough incentive for you.”

Eloria’s laugh was soft, bitter. “You suspect correctly. What is it you’re really offering?”

Silence stretched. Kaelen’s hand shifted on his sword. Darian Crestfall, who had entered quietly behind Eloria, stiffened at Serenya’s next words.

“I’m offering you half the crown.”

The storm outside cracked with thunder, rattling the chamber.

Eloria stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “You would share a throne with me?”

Kaelen’s voice finally broke through, edged with disbelief. “Serenya—”

She silenced him with a raised hand but didn’t look away from Eloria. “You’ve fought me at every turn, Eloria. But you’ve also saved me when you didn’t have to. You want power, not chains. This gambit ensures both our survival—and perhaps more. Thalric won’t expect us united.”

Eloria tilted her head, studying Serenya with the sharpness of a hawk. “And what of Kaelen? What of your knight who watches you as if every breath you take is his to guard? Will he kneel to two crowns?”

Kaelen stepped forward at that, his voice firm. “If Serenya wills it, I will protect what she builds—even if it means guarding a throne shared with you, Princess.”

The room grew taut with silence. Eloria’s eyes flicked to Darian, who avoided her gaze, jaw clenched. His loyalty to Serenya was unwavering, but his gaze betrayed pain, as though the offer of shared power with their rival cut deeper than any blade.

Eloria broke the silence with a sharp laugh. “You risk much by trusting me, Serenya Vale. How do you know I won’t turn this gambit against you?”

Serenya leaned closer, her voice low, fierce. “Because you hate Thalric more than you hate me. And because deep down, Eloria Thorne, you know your destiny was never to be someone else’s pawn.”

Eloria inhaled sharply, caught off guard by the truth woven into Serenya’s words. She turned her back, staring into the fire where logs hissed and cracked. The flames painted her face in flickering gold, revealing a rare moment of hesitation.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re clever, Serenya. I’ll give you that. Clever enough that I almost believe you.” She faced her again, lips curling in a dangerous smile. “Very well. I’ll accept your gambit. But know this: if you falter—if your crown slips even once—I will not hesitate to claim it all.”

Serenya’s heart hammered, but she inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Then we are bound—for now.”

Eloria extended her hand. The gesture was not of friendship, but of alliance forged in fire. Serenya clasped it, their fingers tight, their eyes locked in silent challenge.

Darian shifted, clearly troubled. His voice was quiet but weighted. “Serenya, this path… it binds you to someone who could betray us at any moment. You trust too much in her hatred for Thalric.”

Serenya released Eloria’s hand and turned to him, her expression softening. “Sometimes the sharpest blade is the one you dare to hold at your side, Darian. I need her. We need her.”

Kaelen’s gaze lingered on Serenya, unreadable. His silence was approval enough, though his jaw was tight as though swallowing unspoken warnings.

Eloria smirked at the tension in the room. “Oh, how sweet. Your loyal knight questions you, and your shadowed guardian broods. Do they ever stop circling you like moths around a flame?”

Serenya ignored the jab and gestured back to the map. “We move at dawn. With your banner alongside mine, the council will have no choice but to follow.”

Eloria leaned over the table, tracing her finger along the river’s edge where the enemy’s lines pressed dangerously close. “Then let’s give them no choice but to fear us. But understand this, Serenya Vale—I am not your ally out of loyalty or friendship. I am here because I hunger for victory. Feed that hunger, and I remain. Starve it, and I turn elsewhere.”

The words hung in the air, sharp as daggers.

As the storm outside raged, the chamber felt tighter, bound by fragile alliances and silent rivalries. For the first time, Serenya realized the crown she fought for would not only cost blood and sacrifice—it would cost trust, love, perhaps even her soul.

Eloria straightened, her smile like a blade’s edge. “So, let us see if your gambit pays off, hidden heiress. Dawn awaits.”

And without another word, she swept from the room, her cloak snapping behind her like a banner of war.

Serenya stood frozen, her hand still tingling from the clasp. She looked down at the map, but all she saw were blurred lines between friend and foe.

Darian stepped forward, his voice low, almost pleading. “You’ve tied yourself to her, Serenya. You may have gained an ally, but at what cost?”

Serenya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “At the cost of survival, Darian. And survival is the only victory left to us.”

Kaelen’s shadow fell across the table, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Survival, yes. But shadows have a way of devouring even the brightest stars.”

The candles flickered, their flames bending toward the draft that swept in through the open door where Eloria had departed. Outside, thunder rolled once more, as if the heavens themselves weighed the risk of Serenya’s choice.

The gambit had begun.