Chapter 45

The storm broke just as Serenya and Kaelen emerged from the Oracle’s cavern. Rain poured in unrelenting sheets, drumming against the cliffs and drowning the silence that should have followed the Oracle’s final words. The torch in Serenya’s hand sputtered and died, leaving them with only the gray glow of stormlight.

Her heart still rang with the prophecy: crown or heart, fire or ashes. The words clawed at her chest with every step.

Kaelen walked ahead, his shoulders tense, his blade still stained with the blood of Veynor’s assassins. He said nothing. And that silence—worse than any wound—gnawed at her.

Finally, she stopped. “Kaelen, you’ve barely spoken a word since the Oracle’s warning.”

He halted but didn’t turn, the rain carving rivulets down his jaw. “What is there to say? We both heard it.”

“I don’t believe her words are fixed,” Serenya insisted, her voice tight. “Prophecies can be twisted. They can mislead.”

Slowly, Kaelen faced her, and the storm’s fury seemed small compared to the turmoil in his eyes. “Or perhaps they simply reveal truths we are too afraid to face.”

Serenya’s breath caught. “What truth do you see, then?”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched, his silence heavier than the rain. He sheathed his blade, then stepped closer, his voice low, raw. “The truth is that your destiny was written in shadow and fire long before I crossed your path. You are heir to a kingdom, Serenya. You were never meant for a life bound to someone like me.”

Her chest ached at the words. “Someone like you?”

“A wanderer,” he said bitterly. “A man whose blood runs with secrets he cannot escape. You cling to me because you believe I can protect you, but in truth, I am the greatest danger you will ever know.”

The confession burned in his throat, and she could see how hard he fought to release it.

“Kaelen, don’t—”

But he pressed on, his eyes locking to hers. “I was not only a protector wandering the borderlands, Serenya. I was once sworn to Thalric Veynor himself.”

The world seemed to shudder beneath her feet. “What?”

“I served him in the shadows,” Kaelen admitted, rain sliding down his face like tears. “Before I knew what he truly was. Before I saw the blood he spilled and the crowns he would destroy. I was his blade in the dark, his unseen hand. When I discovered his treachery, I broke from him. But in doing so, I bound myself to his vengeance. He will never rest until I am ash, and now you are caught in that snare with me.”

Serenya’s mind reeled. The ruthless duke’s assassins… the way Kaelen knew his tactics, his strategies. It all fit too well.

“You mean…” her voice cracked, “you were once his assassin.”

He did not deny it.

For a heartbeat, the rain was the only sound between them. Then Serenya stepped forward, her eyes fierce. “And yet you saved me more times than I can count. You turned against him when you saw what he was. That is the man I know, Kaelen Draven—not the shadow you once were.”

But his gaze fell, haunted. “The Oracle said an heir must burn. If fate demands a sacrifice, it may well be mine. Perhaps that is the fire that clears the path for your crown.”

“No!” Her cry cut through the storm. She seized his hand, refusing to let him slip into the shadows of his own guilt. “I will not accept losing you. Do you hear me? If fate demands your death, then fate itself is my enemy.”

Kaelen looked at her, torn between despair and longing. His hand tightened around hers, a trembling tether holding him to the moment. “You speak as though love can shatter destiny.”

“It can,” she said, voice steady though her tears mingled with the rain. “If it cannot, then what is the point of fighting at all?”

For a moment, the storm seemed to still, silence pressing between them. Then Kaelen leaned closer, his forehead touching hers, his breath uneven. “Serenya… you will undo me.”

Her heart pounded, her soul screaming to bridge the space between them. And yet the weight of prophecy hung heavy, threatening to tear them apart before they could claim what had been denied for too long.

But before the words of love could escape her lips, the storm’s silence broke—shouts rising from the cliffs above. Soldiers, armored and bearing the crest of Eloria Thorne, descended the slope with blades drawn.

Kaelen pulled Serenya back, his instincts sharpening. “We’ve been tracked.”

“Not assassins this time,” Serenya whispered, recognizing the banners. “Eloria’s forces.”

The rival princess—ambitious, cunning, and never far from power’s shadow.

The soldiers fanned out, encircling them. One stepped forward, rain streaming down his helm. “By order of Princess Eloria, Serenya Vale is commanded to return to Moonspire. Alive, if she surrenders. Dead, if she resists.”

Kaelen shifted in front of Serenya, his blade half-drawn. “Over my body.”

Serenya’s pulse thundered. The Oracle’s prophecy rang again in her ears—crown or heart. Was this the moment it began to unfold?

She gripped Kaelen’s arm, whispering so only he could hear: “No more secrets, no more shadows. If we fight, we fight together.”

He met her eyes, something unspoken passing between them—a vow, unbreakable.

The soldiers advanced. Steel gleamed. Rain roared.

And with the storm as their witness, Serenya and Kaelen raised their blades side by side, ready to carve their defiance against prophecy, fate, and the enemies who sought to bind them.

But in the chaos of steel and storm, Serenya did not see the cloaked figure watching from the ridge above—Eloria herself, eyes glinting with a secret that could destroy everything Serenya and Kaelen clung to.