Chapter 82

The council chamber was silent except for the creak of ancient wood as the great doors closed behind Serenya. The air smelled of incense and steel—a place where oaths were sworn, alliances sealed, and betrayals buried. Every face at the table turned to her, each cloaked in its own shadow of ambition.

She held her head high, though her heart beat against her ribs like a drum of war. Since claiming her place as heir, Serenya had grown used to watching eyes—some filled with awe, others with venom. Tonight, however, it was different. Tonight the silence itself felt staged, as though everyone was waiting for an invisible cue.

Kaelen stepped beside her, his presence as steady as an anchor. He leaned close, voice low enough that only she could hear.

“Someone has already moved against us. Stay sharp.”

She didn’t ask how he knew. Kaelen had always carried an instinct sharpened by shadows. He could sense danger in a smile, poison in a whisper.

At the head of the table, Duke Thalric Veynor’s thin lips curled upward. “Our future queen graces us with her presence. How fortunate we are to see the truth of her bloodline revealed.”

The words dripped like honey laced with venom. Serenya forced a smile. “Truth has a way of surfacing, even when buried in lies.”

Thalric’s gaze flickered to Kaelen before returning to her, his eyes glimmering with amusement. He had underestimated her before; he would not again. Yet beneath his sharp arrogance, Serenya noticed something else: calculation. As though he already held a card no one else could see.

The council spoke of treaties, supply routes, and the rebuilding of villages torn by rebellion. Serenya listened, contributed, but her mind stayed vigilant. She could feel it—the weight of an unseen hand manipulating the strings.

It revealed itself an hour into the debate.

A parchment was placed upon the table by one of the scribes. A decree sealed with crimson wax, the emblem pressed into it unfamiliar. Thalric gestured grandly.

“A letter of alliance, Your Grace. It seems the Kingdom of Ashmere has recognized your rule.”

The chamber erupted in murmurs. Ashmere—long neutral, a kingdom known for its wealth in silver mines—had refused to choose a side throughout the conflicts. For them to recognize Serenya now was extraordinary.

But Serenya’s stomach twisted. She recognized the wax, though few here would. It bore the mark not of Ashmere, but of a long-forgotten order—a secretive guild known as the Veiled Hand. Assassins. Spies. Manipulators who sold chaos to the highest bidder.

She kept her composure, though her fingers curled into her gown.

“This is…unexpected,” she said carefully. “Tell me, Duke Thalric, how came this letter into your possession?”

Thalric spread his hands. “It was delivered to me in secrecy, as one who has long held diplomatic ties. Should we not rejoice? With Ashmere at our side, your throne becomes unshakable.”

But Kaelen’s hand brushed hers under the table, a subtle warning. He too had seen through the lie.

The scribe stepped forward, offering the parchment to Serenya. She accepted it, holding it up to the candlelight. The script was immaculate, elegant, but too perfect—every stroke identical, as though forged. Her eyes caught on a faint shimmer along the edge of the seal, an alchemical residue only visible to those trained to look.

It wasn’t Ashmere’s work. It was a message, disguised as allegiance but promising something darker: the Veiled Hand was inside her court.

“Perhaps we should send a delegation to confirm,” Serenya said smoothly, tucking the parchment aside. “If Ashmere has pledged loyalty, let them show it in person.”

Thalric’s smile faltered for the briefest moment. Just enough to confirm her suspicion. He was not merely aware of the deception—he was part of it.

Later, after the council dispersed, Serenya found herself in the moonlit gardens. The roses there had bloomed late, silver petals shimmering like frost. Kaelen stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.

“You saw it too,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “The Veiled Hand. They’ve been moving through the kingdoms for years, but this is bold—even for them. If Thalric’s working with them—”

“He is,” Serenya interrupted. Her voice held no doubt. “That seal was no accident. He wanted me to see it. He wanted me to know I am already surrounded.”

Kaelen turned, eyes burning in the dim light. “Then we strike first. Cut out the root before it spreads.”

But Serenya shook her head. “No. If we attack blindly, we reveal fear. Worse, we risk tearing the court apart before the crown is even secure. We need proof—something undeniable.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. “Then we hunt the unseen hand. Quietly.”

The hunt began that night.

Serenya moved through the hidden passages of the palace, guided by Kaelen. The stone walls carried whispers of history, the torches casting flickering shadows that seemed almost alive. Each step was treacherous; each turn revealed how fragile her throne truly was.

At last, they reached the scriptorium—where scribes and messengers worked late into the night. Kaelen’s hand silenced her before they entered. He gestured toward the door: slightly ajar, light spilling from within.

Inside, a man sat hunched over a desk, quill scratching furiously. Not one of her appointed scribes. His cloak bore no crest, his face partially masked. Beside him lay a stack of identical parchments, each sealed with the crimson mark.

Serenya’s breath caught. He was producing dozens of forged decrees, enough to sway kingdoms, to rewrite truths.

Kaelen moved like a shadow, his blade flashing to the man’s throat before he could cry out. Serenya stepped forward, her voice steady despite her racing pulse.

“You work for the Veiled Hand.”

The man sneered, unflinching despite the steel at his skin. “I work for whoever holds the true power. And it is not you, little queen.”

Her temper flared, but she forced it down. “Who gave you the order? Was it Thalric?”

The man’s lips twisted into a cruel smile. “The hand you see is never the one that strikes. Kill me, and another takes my place.”

Before Kaelen could react, the man bit down—hard. Poison, hidden beneath his tongue. Within moments, he convulsed, foam gathering at his lips, and then collapsed lifeless onto the floor.

Serenya stared at the body, her fists trembling. They had come so close, only to have the answers snatched away by loyalty twisted into death.

Kaelen wiped his blade clean, his eyes narrowing. “This is only the beginning. They’re embedding themselves deeper than we thought.”

Serenya lifted one of the forged parchments, holding it to the candlelight. “Then we turn their trick against them. If the Veiled Hand deals in false truths, we’ll feed them one of our own.”

Kaelen’s gaze met hers, wary but intrigued. “You’d risk playing their game?”

“I’d risk everything,” Serenya said softly, “if it means taking the crown back from unseen hands.”

Her reflection shimmered in the wax seal, fractured and doubled. A queen in disguise still, though no longer hiding. Tonight, she would write her own deception, one that would expose the shadows lurking in her kingdom.

The true battle wasn’t for armies or thrones. It was for the truth itself.

And Serenya Vale was ready to fight.