Chapter 8

The spires of Moonspire Castle glimmered like shards of silver against the twilight sky. From a distance, it seemed ethereal, untouched by the wars and betrayals simmering in every corner of the realm. But up close, the air was taut with tension, soldiers at every gate and banners of rival houses fluttering uneasily side by side.

Serenya pulled the hood tighter around her face as her horse carried her closer to the gates. Her pulse beat fast—not only from fear of discovery but from the heavy weight of what she was walking into. Moonspire was neutral ground, but neutrality was fragile; tonight, it was to host peace talks between the heirs and lords who sought control of the fractured kingdom. She wasn’t here as Serenya Vale, hidden heiress of a bloodline thought extinguished. She was here as a shadow, an observer, and perhaps, if her courage held, a quiet player in a dangerous game.

Kaelen rode beside her, silent as always, though she felt the tension in him too. His eyes scanned every rooftop, every darkened alley that pressed close to the castle’s outer walls. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword.

“You don’t have to follow me in,” she whispered, her voice low so the guards ahead wouldn’t overhear.

He turned his gaze on her, dark eyes reflecting the torchlight. “And leave you to walk into a lion’s den alone?” His voice was quiet but edged with iron. “You’re not just another guest here, Serenya. Whether they know it or not, you’re the reason this gathering could tip into chaos.”

His words twisted like a blade in her chest, but she forced her shoulders back. “Then let’s make sure it doesn’t.”

The gates of Moonspire groaned open. Inside, the great hall awaited—a place where alliances would be made, broken, and perhaps reforged in blood.

Moonspire’s hall was vast, columns of pale stone arching high, crowned with stained glass that painted fractured colors on the floor. Torches burned along the walls, but shadows still clung in the rafters above. Long tables stretched beneath banners of rival houses.

Eloria Thorne, resplendent in emerald and silver, sat at the head of one such table, her gaze sharp as a hawk’s as she swept her eyes across the arrivals. The rival princess had beauty that could silence a room, but it was the cunning behind her smile that made her dangerous. Serenya kept her hood low, but even from across the hall, she felt Eloria’s attention like a needle pricking through cloth.

Nearby stood Darian Crestfall, the knight whose loyalty to crown and duty had made him both beloved and feared. His armor gleamed, but his expression was taut, as if he too sensed that this was no ordinary council.

At the far end of the room, Serenya’s breath caught. Thalric Veynor, the ruthless duke who coveted the throne, stood like a shadowed predator, one hand resting idly on the pommel of his jeweled dagger. His smile was thin, unreadable. His gaze swept the room not like a man among peers, but like a ruler surveying prey.

Serenya and Kaelen slipped into the edges of the hall. She told herself she was here only to watch, to listen. Yet the air buzzed with something more. The pieces of the game were moving, and she was caught in its center whether she wished it or not.

The gathering began with words of truce. Lord after lord pledged hollow intentions of peace, though suspicion hung heavy in every pause.

Eloria rose gracefully, her voice carrying clear and proud. “We are gathered here not for vanity, nor to parade power, but to speak of unity. Too long has this kingdom splintered. Too long have we allowed shadows to dictate our fate. It is time we look beyond ancient bloodlines and rival claims.”

A murmur rippled through the hall. Serenya’s hands curled in her lap. Ancient bloodlines. Eloria’s words weren’t accidental; they were bait, and Serenya felt the hook digging in.

Darian stepped forward, his deep voice steady. “Unity cannot be forged by casting aside bloodlines, Princess. The kingdom must stand under one true heir.”

“And who would you name?” Eloria countered, her smile sharp. “The throne has no clear heir. Unless you claim to have hidden one in your pocket, Sir Darian?”

The crowd chuckled uneasily. Serenya froze. Her hood suddenly felt too thin, too flimsy to conceal her from the piercing eyes around her.

Kaelen leaned slightly toward her, his lips close to her ear. “Keep your head down. Do not rise to her bait.”

But Eloria’s words kept circling the hall like falcons hunting for prey.

As the debates wore on, tension mounted. Accusations flew—betrayals, broken treaties, whispered alliances in the dark. The air thickened with the stench of mistrust.

Then, as if planned, Thalric Veynor rose. He stood tall, his shadow stretching across the flickering torchlight. “Enough talk. Peace will not be written with words. The throne is weak because it sits empty. I say we settle this as our forebears did.” His hand rested on his dagger, and his smile curved like a blade. “Not with promises, but with strength.”

Gasps filled the room. Darian’s hand went to his sword. Eloria’s lips curled, delighted by the chaos she herself had stoked.

Serenya’s heart hammered. She had come to witness politics, not war, yet she could see how quickly this hall would turn into a battlefield.

Kaelen’s hand brushed hers under the table, grounding her. “If steel is drawn,” he murmured, “you leave. Do you hear me?”

But even as he spoke, the first clash rang out—a lord’s cup knocked over, a dagger unsheathed, voices rising into shouts.

Chaos erupted.

Tables overturned. Blades flashed. Moonspire’s great hall, meant to be the cradle of unity, dissolved into violence.

Kaelen surged to his feet, pulling Serenya back as a soldier stumbled too close, sword swinging wild. “Stay behind me!”

Darian’s voice rang out over the din, ordering knights to hold the peace, but few listened. Eloria stood untouched, watching with calculating eyes, her smile chillingly calm. And Thalric—he moved through the chaos like a wolf among sheep, his dagger flashing as he cut down those who dared to challenge him.

Serenya’s breath came sharp, her instincts screaming to run. But her gaze locked on Thalric, on the cold fire in his eyes, and for one terrifying heartbeat she thought his gaze found her too, as though he could see past her hood, past her disguise, down to the blood she carried in her veins.

Then the ground trembled.

A deep rumble shook the hall. The stained-glass windows above rattled. A crack split through the stone floor, glowing faintly with unnatural light.

Silence rippled in the wake of the quake. All eyes turned to the fissure glowing in the heart of the hall.

Kaelen swore under his breath. Serenya’s pulse roared in her ears. This was no natural tremor. Something else had awoken beneath Moonspire.

And whatever it was, it had been waiting.

The hall erupted again—not with fighting this time, but with fear. Lords and knights scrambled back as the crack widened, light spilling upward like liquid fire. A sound rose from the depths—low, guttural, and alive.

Eloria’s face went pale for the first time that night. Darian drew his sword in a defensive stance. Even Thalric faltered, his smile vanishing as the ground beneath his boots shifted.

Serenya clutched Kaelen’s arm. Her mind raced. The stories whispered in old books, the warnings Maelis had spoken of… Moonspire was built atop ancient ground, sacred to powers long forgotten. Powers that should never be disturbed.

The light flared, blinding white, then dimmed to reveal… movement. Something vast shifting beneath the stone.

Kaelen’s arm pressed her back protectively. “We need to get out—now.”

But Serenya couldn’t move. Her heart thudded with a terrible certainty: whatever was stirring, it was tied to her bloodline. Tied to the secret she had buried.

And as the crack widened once more, she knew—everyone in this hall would soon know it too.