Chapter 3

The night had swallowed the city whole. From the narrow streets of Valehaven, lanterns flickered like timid fireflies, fighting against the ever-encroaching dark. Serenya pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, hood drawn low to shadow her features. She had grown adept at moving through crowded taverns and echoing alleys without notice. Tonight, though, every sound—the clatter of hooves, the scrape of a shutter in the wind—felt amplified. Danger seemed to stalk her with invisible steps.

She had agreed to meet the messenger beneath the Moonspire bridge. Risky, foolish even, but the parchment slipped into her market basket that afternoon had carried a single line that left her blood cold:

The heir of shadows seeks you. Come at midnight.

Her first instinct had been to burn it. But destiny, she had learned, did not burn so easily.

Beneath the bridge, the river whispered over stones, carrying secrets downstream. Serenya stood alone, breath clouding in the chill air, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She reminded herself of the role she played—just another orphan girl selling herbs at the market. No one important. Certainly not the last living daughter of House Vale.

“You came.”

The voice, deep and edged with steel, pulled her eyes to the shadows at the far side of the arch. A figure detached itself from the darkness, tall and broad-shouldered, his stride both predatory and measured. The hood fell back to reveal eyes like smoldering silver.

Kaelen Draven.

Serenya’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. She had seen him once before, briefly—a wandering sellsword with a reputation for winning impossible battles. Yet here, in the half-light, he seemed less man and more phantom, as though the shadows themselves had lent him form.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Serenya said, her voice steadier than she felt.

“Nor should you,” Kaelen replied. He stopped a pace away, close enough that she caught the faint scent of steel and smoke clinging to him. “But fate rarely consults us, does it?”

Her throat tightened. “Why did you send for me?”

Kaelen studied her for a long moment, as if peeling back her very skin to read what lay beneath. “Because I know what you are, Serenya Vale.”

Her knees nearly buckled. The name—her name—had not been spoken aloud by another in years. She stepped back instinctively, hand flying to the dagger hidden beneath her cloak.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do,” Kaelen said softly. “You can pretend for the world, but not for me. I’ve sworn an oath, and it concerns you.”

Serenya’s grip tightened on the hilt of her blade. “What oath?”

“To guard the rightful heir of the crown until the day she claims it.”

The river seemed to pause mid-rush. Serenya blinked, her breath caught between disbelief and fury.

“Who are you to bind me with oaths I never asked for?” she demanded. “I’m no heir. I’m no one.”

Kaelen’s expression didn’t waver. “You are everything they fear. The blood of Vale runs in your veins. If the dukes discover you live, they’ll unleash every assassin from here to Dawnspire. I’m the wall that stands between you and their blades.”

“Why?” Her voice cracked, raw with the weight of secrets she’d buried for so long. “Why risk your life for a stranger?”

His answer was quiet, but it trembled with something like conviction. “Because your father saved mine when the kingdom was falling. He died with the words Protect her on his lips. And I swore I would.”

Serenya felt the ground shift beneath her. Memories surged—her father’s hand lifting her onto a horse, the smoke of burning banners, the crash of gates breaking. She had forced herself to forget. Now Kaelen’s words ripped the wounds open again.

“I don’t want your protection,” she said, though the tremor in her tone betrayed her. “I want freedom.”

Kaelen stepped closer, shadows curling around him as if unwilling to let go. “And I want a world where the rightful crown isn’t bought with blood and deceit. But wanting changes nothing. You can deny me, Serenya Vale. You can deny yourself. Yet the day will come when denial will no longer save you.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. The river roared on, as if mocking her indecision.

Finally, Serenya sheathed her dagger. “If you mean to protect me, you’ll obey my rules. No orders. No chains.”

Kaelen inclined his head, though his lips curved with something like defiance. “Then speak your first rule, my lady.”

“Do not call me that,” she snapped. The words stung more than she expected.

“Very well,” he murmured. “But whether you like it or not, the blood you carry will name you one day. And when it does, I’ll be there.”

They walked side by side along the moonlit banks, an uneasy alliance forged in silence. Serenya’s thoughts tangled like briars. Every instinct screamed at her to vanish, to bury herself deeper in anonymity. Yet something in Kaelen’s presence—unyielding, protective, dangerous—kindled both fear and a spark she couldn’t name.

“Why shadows?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “Why call yourself heir of shadows?”

Kaelen’s gaze flicked to the river. “Because I was raised in them. My family fell in the first purge. I learned to live unseen, to wield the dark as my shield. Shadows are not weakness, Serenya. They’re what keep us alive.”

She studied him quietly. His face was carved from resolve, but his eyes… those silver eyes carried loneliness so profound it mirrored her own.

And for the first time in years, she felt less alone.

A sudden rustle in the reeds cut the fragile moment short. Serenya froze, hand darting to her dagger. Kaelen’s sword hissed free in the same breath.

Figures emerged from the darkness—three men in cloaks, their insignia glinting faintly in the moonlight. Not common thieves.

“Vale scum,” one spat, his dagger catching silver light. “The duke pays well for your pretty head.”

Serenya’s heart lurched. They knew. Gods, they knew.

Kaelen stepped in front of her, his voice a low growl. “Leave now, and perhaps you’ll keep your tongues.”

The men laughed, circling like wolves. “One sellsword against three? You’ll die before she screams.”

Serenya’s pulse hammered, but Kaelen’s calm was terrifying. He moved like a man carved of shadow and steel, blade flashing as the first attacker lunged. The clash of metal rang through the night.

Serenya watched, both horrified and awed. Kaelen fought not like a mercenary, but like a predator defending his den. Each strike was precise, lethal, controlled. Still, the odds pressed hard. One blade nicked his arm, another nearly grazed his throat.

Her instinct screamed to run—but her father’s blood boiled in her veins. She was no helpless orphan. She was Vale.

With a sharp cry, Serenya slashed her dagger at the nearest man, catching him off guard. The blade bit into his shoulder, sending him staggering. Rage flared in his eyes, but before he could retaliate, Kaelen’s sword cut him down.

The other two faltered, realizing too late they had underestimated their prey. In moments, silence reclaimed the riverbank. The men lay sprawled, shadows already claiming them.

Serenya’s breath came ragged. Blood stained her dagger. She stared at it, trembling, the reality of what she had done sinking deep.

Kaelen wiped his blade clean on a fallen cloak. His silver eyes met hers, unreadable. “You did well.”

Her stomach turned. “I killed him.”

“You lived,” Kaelen corrected firmly. “And you’ll need to keep living. They won’t stop sending more.”

Serenya sheathed the dagger with shaking hands. The night suddenly felt colder, heavier. “Then perhaps your oath wasn’t so foolish after all.”

For the first time, Kaelen’s lips curved in something close to a smile. “Shadows don’t make oaths lightly, Serenya Vale.”

As dawn bled across the horizon, the two slipped back into the city, leaving the riverbank behind. But Serenya knew nothing could return to what it had been.

The shadows had claimed her, and with them, the man who swore to guard her destiny.

And somewhere in the distance, the dukes would soon learn their assassin squad had failed.

A storm was coming.

And she, whether ready or not, stood at its heart.