Chapter 75

The war drums had fallen silent for the night, but Serenya Vale could not sleep.

She stood at the edge of the encampment, cloak drawn tightly against the cool air. Beyond the flickering campfires, the horizon bled silver under the moon, a fractured light that seemed to mock her fractured heart. Kaelen’s words from earlier still haunted her—“There is rot in your crown, Serenya. Before you wear it, you must know what festers beneath.”

He had not explained further, only pressed a folded parchment into her hand before walking into the shadows.

Now, alone, Serenya pulled it out, her trembling fingers brushing the wax seal. It was not Kaelen’s crest, but her father’s—the sigil of Vale, half-forgotten and half-feared.

She hesitated before breaking it. The crown her father had worn—its legacy, its curse—was the thread binding her life and her kingdom. Could she bear to unravel it?

The parchment crackled softly in the night air. The inked words were bold, written in her father’s sharp hand:

To my true heir, if ever you read this, the truth has found you too late. The crown you inherit is not forged of gold but of blood, and its secret will hunt you as it hunted me. Trust no council, no knight, no kin—your throne rests on a lie, and those who know it will kill to preserve it.

Her breath caught, and the page nearly slipped from her fingers.

A voice startled her. “You should not read that here.”

Serenya spun around. Darian Crestfall emerged from the shadows, helm tucked beneath his arm, his expression grave. His eyes flicked to the parchment. “So Kaelen gave it to you.”

“You knew of this?” Serenya demanded, her voice rising in a whisper. “You—my sworn knight—kept this from me?”

Darian’s jaw tightened. “I swore to protect you, not to feed you truths that would tear you apart.”

“Protect me?” She stepped closer, fire in her eyes. “Or protect the lie that binds this crown?”

The knight’s silence was an answer in itself.

She turned away, clutching the letter. “What does it mean? What is this lie?”

Before Darian could speak, the sound of hooves shattered the night. Riders burst into the camp, their banners blackened, carrying the sigil of Duke Thalric Veynor.

Cries of alarm spread through the soldiers. Steel clashed, torches flared. Serenya instinctively reached for her sword, but Darian grabbed her wrist.

“Not here,” he hissed. “If they capture you, everything is lost.”

“Then tell me why they want me!” she shouted.

He hesitated, torn between duty and honesty. Finally, his voice broke through the chaos: “Because the crown does not belong to your house alone—it was stolen, Serenya. And you are not the only heir.”

Her heart stopped. “What are you saying?”

A scream echoed from the center of camp. Kaelen appeared, blades flashing, cutting through Veynor’s men with lethal precision. His hood fell, revealing his face—a face that some of the soldiers gasped to recognize.

Serenya saw it then, not for the first time, but with new eyes: the sharp cheekbones, the proud line of his jaw, the storm-grey eyes.

Darian’s words rang in her mind. Not the only heir.

Kaelen met her gaze across the battlefield, and in that moment the world stilled. His expression was not one of surprise but of inevitability, as though he had always known this night would come.

“Serenya!” he called, cutting down another soldier. “The choice is upon you. Trust me—or lose the kingdom.”

Confusion and betrayal warred inside her. Was he her protector, her ally… or her rival?

The clash of steel grew nearer, forcing her to act. She grabbed Darian’s arm. “We must escape.”

He nodded, though his eyes lingered on Kaelen, filled with suspicion.

They fled through the chaos, slipping past the burning tents and wounded soldiers until they reached the outskirts of the forest. Only when the sounds of battle dulled did Serenya collapse against a tree, breath ragged, heart heavy.

She still clutched the parchment. The words blurred with her tears.

Darian knelt before her. “Now you see. Kaelen carries blood as royal as yours. The shadows you trusted may claim the same crown you fight for.”

Her lips trembled. “And you—did you know this truth all along?”

His silence was worse than an admission.

Serenya closed her eyes. For so long, she had thought the struggle was simple—claim her throne, unite her people, resist the dukes. But now the truth unfurled like poison. She was not the sole heir. The crown itself was stained with theft and lies.

And the one man she had let her heart lean upon—Kaelen—was entangled in it all.

Yet even in her despair, part of her refused to break. She pressed the parchment to her chest and whispered, “If the crown is cursed with secrets, then I will uncover every one. And when I wear it, it will be by choice, not deception.”

Darian bowed his head, but in his eyes she saw doubt.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint echo of Kaelen’s voice through the trees: “Trust me—or lose the kingdom.”

Serenya shivered. The choice loomed larger than ever—her heart or her throne. And the cost of choosing wrong might be the destruction of both.