Chapter 56

The hall of Crestfall’s ruined keep smelled of iron and ash. Broken banners dangled from charred rafters, and the once-proud throne lay toppled on its side. Serenya stood in the silence, her cloak heavy with dust, her fingers curled tightly around the hilt of her sword. She had returned to the place she swore she would never set foot in again—the kingdom her mother had lost, the kingdom her blood secretly tied her to.

Kaelen walked at her side, his gaze scanning the shadows, protective as always. His presence was a shield and a weight all at once. He had learned too much about her truth in the last days, and with every moment his silence pressed heavier on her chest.

“This place is cursed,” he murmured, his voice echoing faintly in the ruined chamber. “Why come back here, Serenya? The memories will only break you.”

She turned sharply, her hood slipping from her head, revealing the face of the hidden heiress—the one the world had not yet named. “Because the past has never let me go, Kaelen. These chains are mine whether I face them or not.”

A gust of cold wind cut through the broken walls, carrying with it a sound—a faint clink, like iron striking iron. Kaelen drew his blade, stepping in front of her.

From the darkness of the fallen throne room, a figure emerged, shackles bound to his wrists, dragging across the stone floor. His hair was pale as frost, his frame lean but rigid with defiance. Cyrion Duskbane.

Serenya’s breath caught. Once, Cyrion had been the shining heir of a neighboring kingdom, a boy who had stood beside her in lessons, whispered rebellions into her ear, and sworn to protect her when all others looked away. But that was years ago, before betrayal, before his line was shattered.

Now his eyes glowed with a dangerous fire. “Serenya Vale,” he said, his voice a jagged whisper. “Or should I call you what you truly are? The Crown’s forsaken heir.”

Kaelen stiffened, but Serenya lifted a hand to hold him back. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “You know?”

Cyrion laughed bitterly, the sound harsh against the ruined stones. “I always knew. You were never meant to vanish into shadows. You carry the blood that should sit upon the throne, and yet you ran from it while I was left in chains.”

He rattled the shackles on his wrists, and Serenya flinched.

“I didn’t abandon you,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “I was a child, Cyrion. Powerless. I thought you were dead.”

His gaze pierced her, unreadable. “And now? You return to play savior, to drape yourself in crowns and oaths while those of us who bore the weight of your absence drowned in blood?”

The accusation cut deep. Serenya felt Kaelen step closer, his presence steadying her. “She came here to face the truth, not to be broken by it,” he said coldly.

Cyrion’s lip curled. “And you—her shadow, her blade in the dark. Do you even know what she is capable of? Do you know the blood she carries will not only crown her but destroy all who follow her?”

Silence hung heavy, the chains clinking softly as he shifted. Serenya’s hands trembled, not from fear but from the crushing weight of memory.

“I didn’t ask for this blood,” she whispered. “I didn’t ask for a destiny written before I could even breathe. But if I turn away, I betray more than myself—I betray everyone who still suffers under the false crown.”

Cyrion’s gaze softened for only a breath, then hardened again. “And yet, you stand with him.” He nodded toward Kaelen. “A man whose loyalty is as shadowed as his name. Do you know what he hides from you?”

Serenya turned sharply to Kaelen, but his face was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes dark with secrets. She felt her chest constrict.

“Enough,” Kaelen growled. “We are not enemies, Cyrion.”

“Not yet,” Cyrion answered. His shackles clanged as he stepped closer, the sound echoing through the hollow keep. “But chains bind more than my wrists. They bind us all. Until you, Serenya, choose what truly matters—your crown, or your heart.”

The words struck her like a blade. For an instant, she saw her life split into two paths: one crowned with fire, the other shadowed by love.

But before she could speak, a rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. Dust rained from the ceiling. Kaelen instinctively drew Serenya close, shielding her. From the far archway, torches flared to life, and soldiers in Thalric Veynor’s colors poured into the chamber.

“Run,” Cyrion hissed, his eyes burning. “Your past has caught up with you, Serenya. If you linger, you’ll never escape it.”

The soldiers charged, their blades glinting in the torchlight. Serenya’s sword sang as she drew it free, Kaelen already moving like a shadow beside her. She fought with fury, each strike fueled by years of silence, of exile, of chains both seen and unseen.

Cyrion watched from the center of the chamber, bound and yet unyielding, his presence a reminder of everything she could not outrun.

One soldier fell, then another, but more surged forward. Serenya’s arms ached, her breath ragged. Kaelen’s blade cut through steel and flesh with precision, but even he began to falter under the sheer number.

“Serenya!” Cyrion shouted. His shackles glowed suddenly, runes burning into the iron. His voice rose like thunder. “The chains that bind me are the chains of this kingdom. Break them, and perhaps you will break yourself as well.”

Before she could react, he slammed his bound wrists against the stone floor. A shockwave of light exploded outward, shattering the first line of soldiers and sending Serenya staggering backward into Kaelen’s arms.

The keep trembled, stones splitting, banners igniting into flame. Cyrion knelt in the center of it all, his shackles glowing red-hot, his expression twisted with both agony and defiance.

“Choose!” he roared. “Crown or heart—freedom or chains. You cannot have both!”

Serenya’s vision blurred with smoke and dust. Her sword felt heavy, her chest heavier still. In that moment, she understood: this battle was not just against soldiers or dukes—it was against the past that refused to let her go.

Kaelen gripped her shoulders, forcing her eyes to meet his. For once, the mask in his gaze cracked, revealing something raw, desperate. “Serenya. Whatever you decide, I will follow. But you must decide now.”

Tears burned her eyes, her heart torn between the boy who had once shared her dreams in secret lessons and the man who had stood as her shield in the shadows.

The roar of collapsing stone filled the air. Cyrion’s shackles shattered, the force hurling him to his knees, smoke curling around his hands. He looked up at her, eyes blazing with both fury and longing.

Serenya lifted her sword, her voice breaking but resolute. “I will not be bound by the past. But neither will I abandon it.”

The chamber erupted in fire and light as she made her choice.