Chapter 58

The first hint of sunrise cast a pale glow over the battlements of Dawnspire, washing the stone towers in hues of pink and gold. To anyone watching from afar, it would seem a day of promise, of renewal. Yet within the fortress walls, unease rippled like a silent storm waiting to break.

Serenya Vale stood on the high balcony, cloak drawn tight against the cool air. Below, soldiers prepared for the morning march—sharpening blades, securing saddles, whispering prayers. She should have felt strength at the sight of their loyalty, but instead, dread clung to her like a shadow.

Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones.

Kaelen Draven joined her, his steps measured, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. “You’ve barely slept,” he murmured.

“Neither have you,” she replied, without looking at him.

He leaned against the stone railing, his voice quieter. “The Duke moves too swiftly. His men were spotted in the northern pass two nights ago. Yet, somehow, they’ve vanished from our scouts’ eyes. Armies do not disappear into mist.”

Serenya’s grip tightened. “Unless someone clears their path.”

The words hung between them, sharp as steel.

Inside the war hall, the council convened. Maps spread across the great oak table, ink marks scrawled with plans of defense and attack. Darian Crestfall, ever steadfast, stood at Serenya’s side, his armor polished though his eyes betrayed weariness. Across from him, Eloria Thorne leaned back with an unreadable smile, her silken gown a strange choice for a war council.

Maelis Rowan, the seer, traced her fingers over the map. “The river crossings are vulnerable,” she said softly. “If the Duke’s army takes them by dawn, our lines will collapse.”

“Then we’ll hold the crossings,” Darian replied firmly. “Steel and loyalty will outlast deception.”

But Serenya caught the flicker in Eloria’s eyes—a flicker too quick, too sharp. Something more than strategy played here.

“Loyalty,” Eloria said smoothly, “is the rarest coin these days. Can we truly be certain of it among our ranks?”

Her words coiled through the room like smoke. Kaelen’s jaw tensed, and Serenya forced her voice to remain steady. “Speak plainly, Princess.”

Eloria tilted her head. “There are whispers. Men seen riding under our banner one night, then under another by morning. Betrayal does not always come from an enemy.”

Later, in the quiet of her chambers, Serenya paced. The words gnawed at her. Betrayal within Dawnspire? Who would risk such treachery now, when everything balanced on the edge of survival?

A soft knock came at the door. Isolde Mirean entered, carrying a small bundle of herbs. “For your rest,” she said gently. But her eyes, too, were shadowed with concern.

“Isolde,” Serenya asked, “have you heard these whispers? Soldiers changing allegiance?”

The healer hesitated, then nodded. “Last night, I treated a guard with a blade wound. He spoke of comrades who vanished before the skirmish began. He would not name them, but… fear clouded his every word.”

Serenya’s chest tightened. Fear meant truth.

As midnight waned into the faint blush of dawn, Kaelen found Serenya in the courtyard. He carried a sealed letter, the wax already broken.

“It was slipped beneath my door,” he said grimly. “Read it.”

The parchment bore a hurried script:

At first light, the gates will fall. Dawnspire is already lost. Trust no oath, for shadows walk among you.

Her hands trembled as she lowered the letter. “Who?” she whispered.

Kaelen’s gaze was unreadable. “Someone close enough to know our walls. Someone who walks freely through them.”

They both turned their eyes toward the fortress towers. Betrayal was not coming. It was already here.

When the attack began, it was not with the thunder of siege engines or the clash of armies. It was quieter, more insidious. Guards at the eastern gate opened the doors themselves, letting riders slip inside under the veil of dawn.

By the time the alarm bells tolled, steel rang in the courtyards, and chaos spread through the fortress.

Serenya rushed into the fray, cloak whipping behind her, blade drawn. Darian fought at her side, striking down enemies who wore familiar colors. The worst horror was not the blood—it was the faces of men she had trusted now turned against her.

Kaelen’s voice cut through the clash. “Fall back to the inner keep! Protect the heiress!”

But Serenya would not retreat. Her heart burned with a fury she had never known. “If I hide now, I lose more than the keep. I lose the crown.”

In the chaos, Eloria appeared, her gown traded for armor, her eyes gleaming with fire. She moved like someone who had waited for this moment.

“You knew,” Serenya accused, steel pointed at her.

Eloria smiled coldly. “I warned you. I did not say on whose side I stood.”

Before Serenya could strike, Darian stepped between them. “Go, Serenya! She is mine to hold.”

But Eloria’s laughter echoed as she vanished into the battle, leaving only doubt in her wake.

Hours stretched like years. By midmorning, the tide turned—not because the enemy was stronger, but because confusion shattered unity. Allies mistrusted allies, and whispers of betrayal became louder than orders.

Maelis Rowan appeared, blood on her sleeves, eyes wild with visions. “You cannot stop it,” she cried to Serenya. “Betrayal at dawn was written long before you drew your first breath. But shadows are not the end—only the path to starlight.”

Then she collapsed, unconscious.

Serenya knelt, heart pounding. Even in her madness, Maelis’s words carried weight. Shadows… starlight. Was this prophecy, or warning?

By noon, the battle slowed, though the cost was heavy. The traitors had opened the gates, but they had not won the throne. Dawnspire still stood—scarred, shaken, but unbroken.

Yet victory tasted bitter. Too many loyal men lay dead, their lives lost not to enemy blades but to betrayal.

Kaelen stood beside Serenya at the ruined gates, his sword black with blood. “We survived,” he said, though his tone was hollow.

“Survived,” she echoed. But survival was not enough. Not when trust itself had been shattered.

She gazed at the smoke curling above the fortress and whispered to herself, “I will find them. Every last betrayer. And when I do, I will not let mercy weaken me again.”

That night, silence lay heavy over Dawnspire. Serenya sat alone in the council chamber, the maps still spread before her, though marked now with bloodstains.

She traced her finger over the inked lines of rivers and roads, her mind returning to Eloria’s mocking smile, the letter of warning, the soldiers who had vanished.

Someone close. Someone who walked freely.

The fire crackled, casting long shadows across the chamber. And Serenya knew, with chilling certainty, that the true betrayer had not yet revealed themselves.

The battle at dawn had been only the first move in a far greater game.

And she was no longer certain who stood at her side—or who waited in the dark to plunge a knife into her back.