Chapter 70

The tide had hardly calmed when Serenya Vale realized that silence was never safety. The Drowned Star pulsed in her grip, a living weight, its glow staining her skin in shimmering blue. But as dawn crept over the horizon, staining the sea red, the first cries of alarm rose from the shoreline.

“Ships!” a soldier shouted, his voice ragged. “Crimson sails on the horizon!”

Serenya lifted her gaze. Beyond the mist, a fleet advanced—rows upon rows of black hulls crowned with crimson flags. The banners of Thalric Veynor, the Duke who had sworn to claim her throne.

Darian Crestfall swore under his breath, sword already drawn. “We’ve barely returned from the sea, and he’s here to bleed us dry.”

Kaelen Draven stood at her other side, calm, unreadable. “He knew where to find us. He’s been watching.”

Serenya’s stomach tightened. Only a handful of souls knew of their hidden harbor. The knowledge could not have slipped by accident. Someone had betrayed them.

By midday, the camp was aflame with urgency. Warriors strapped on armor, archers sharpened arrows, ships were readied to launch. But even as she moved among her people, Serenya felt a shadow stalking her steps—a gnawing suspicion.

“Someone gave him our location,” she said quietly to Kaelen, when they found a moment by the cliffside. The sea breeze tugged at her braid, whipping strands of black hair into her face.

Kaelen’s storm-gray eyes narrowed. “Yes. And if Thalric’s fleet is already here, then the betrayal runs deep.”

“Do you think it’s one of ours?” she pressed.

He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his tone was grave. “I think betrayal always comes from those we least want to suspect.”

Serenya thought of her companions: Isolde, the healer who whispered truths no one else dared; Orren Kaelith, the steadfast guardian; Lyra Esthaven, cursed warrior yet loyal as steel. And Darian, her knight, who had sworn to protect her with his life.

The thought of accusing any of them cut her like glass.

The first clash came at dusk. Thalric’s ships closed in, archers loosing flaming arrows that streaked across the darkening sky. The harbor became a battlefield of fire and screams. Serenya fought alongside her soldiers, the Drowned Star slicing through air and flesh alike, its blade leaving trails of shimmering light.

For a moment, victory seemed possible.

Until the crimson banners pushed deeper inland—through a gate that should have been sealed.

“Impossible,” Darian hissed, spurring his horse forward. “That path was hidden. Only we knew of it!”

Serenya’s heart plunged. She followed, Kaelen at her side, as they raced toward the breached gate. There, lit by torchlight and chaos, she saw the truth.

One of her own stood with Thalric’s men.

“Cyrion?” Serenya’s voice cracked against the din.

Cyrion Duskbane, heir of a fallen kingdom, the man who had sworn vengeance against Thalric, stood in gleaming crimson armor. His sword—once raised in her defense—now dripped with the blood of her soldiers.

His dark hair clung to his face, his expression carved of stone. “I told you once,” he said, voice carrying even above the screams. “Kingdoms built on lies deserve to fall.”

“Why?” Serenya demanded, chest tight. “You fought with us. You bled with us!”

Cyrion’s gaze flicked to the Drowned Star in her hand. “And you, Serenya Vale, carry the one thing Thalric needs to unite every throne beneath his heel. Did you truly think I would not take my chance to end centuries of betrayal?”

Darian roared, charging forward, but Kaelen caught his arm. “Not now,” Kaelen warned. His tone was deadly calm, but his eyes burned. “He’s baiting us into his trap.”

Cyrion’s laugh was bitter, hollow. “Trap or truth—it makes no difference. By nightfall, this harbor belongs to Thalric. And you, Serenya, will finally know what it means to lose everything.”

The battle turned. Cyrion’s betrayal was a blade to their backs, cutting morale, scattering their ranks. Soldiers who had trusted him faltered; some even surrendered.

Serenya fought harder, the Drowned Star blazing like a fragment of heaven, but for every enemy she struck down, another surged forward. She heard Kaelen’s commands in the chaos, Darian’s rallying cries, Lyra’s war-shouts—but her eyes kept returning to Cyrion, the ghost of what he had been.

When the fighting broke at last, the shore was a graveyard. Fires licked at shattered ships. Bodies lay strewn across the sand, blood staining the waves crimson.

Cyrion and Thalric’s forces withdrew before midnight, their victory incomplete—but the wound they had left was mortal. Serenya’s army had been gutted.

Later, in the healer’s tent, silence hung heavy. Isolde tended to the wounded, her hands shaking though her face was calm. Darian paced like a caged wolf, armor streaked with blood.

“He was one of us,” Darian spat, his voice hoarse. “I would have died for him. And he—he sold us to the Duke like we were nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Kaelen said quietly. He stood by the entrance, shadows draping him like a cloak. “Cyrion always sought a crown. If Thalric promised him one, then betrayal was inevitable.”

Serenya sat motionless, the Drowned Star across her lap, its glow now dim, as though grieving. She whispered, barely audible: “He was my friend.”

The words trembled in the air, fragile as glass.

Kaelen stepped closer, kneeling before her. “And now he is your enemy. You cannot afford to mourn him—not yet. If you falter, Thalric wins. Do you understand?”

Her eyes lifted to his. For once, she wished Kaelen would be anything other than strong—because his strength made her weakness unbearable.

“I understand,” she said, though her heart cracked with the lie.

That night, Serenya wandered beyond the camp, down to the shoreline where the tide still carried the smell of ash. The sea whispered secrets again, cruel in its constancy.

She remembered Cyrion’s words: Kingdoms built on lies deserve to fall.

What lies had she built hers upon? Her hidden identity, her refusal to claim her crown, her love for Kaelen despite knowing it was forbidden—all truths woven into shadows. Could she really lead her people when her own foundations trembled?

A hand touched her shoulder. She turned to find Darian, his expression softer than battle usually allowed.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” he murmured. “Cyrion chose his path. Nothing you said or did would have changed it.”

Serenya shook her head. “And yet… I trusted him. If I cannot see betrayal in those closest to me, what kind of queen could I ever be?”

Darian’s jaw tightened. “A queen who learns. And one who does not walk alone.”

For a moment, silence lingered between them, heavy but not empty. Then Darian whispered: “I will never betray you, Serenya. Even if it kills me.”

At dawn, Kaelen stood by her side once more, his cloak damp with seawind.

“Thalric will return,” he said. “And next time, he will bring Cyrion to finish what he started.”

Serenya’s grip tightened on the Drowned Star. Its glow flickered, as if stirred by her resolve.

“Then let him come,” she whispered. “I will face his crimson betrayal—and I will end it.”

The sea roared its answer, and Serenya knew the tides of destiny were already turning.