Chapter 96

The storm had not passed—it had only grown heavier. The skies wept as though mourning the unraveling of every promise made beneath them.

Serenya stood on the ruined battlements of Dawnspire, her cloak whipping wildly around her as lightning forked across the horizon. The fires of war still smoldered in the valleys below, villages blackened by the clash between crown and rebellion. But it was not the destruction that hollowed her chest—it was the silence of a vow broken.

Kaelen had not come back.

He had sworn before her, under starlight and shadow, that no matter what trials were placed in their path, his sword and his heart would never falter. Yet, in the final confrontation with Thalric Veynor, the ruthless duke who had hungered for the throne, Kaelen had made a choice that still cut deeper than any blade.

He had left her side.

Serenya’s hand tightened around the silver crest she wore, the token Kaelen had pressed into her palm the night he confessed his love. Its edges dug into her skin, sharp enough to draw blood. A fitting reminder of love’s cost.

Behind her, Eloria Thorne approached. Once her rival, now her reluctant ally, Eloria carried herself with the dignity of a princess who had seen too many kingdoms fall. Her steps were quiet, but her voice was unflinching.

“You can’t linger here forever,” Eloria said. “The council is waiting. Without Kaelen, the throne may still crumble.”

Serenya turned, shadows hollowing her eyes. “Do you think I don’t know? But how can I lead them when the one I trusted most abandoned me?”

Eloria’s expression flickered, some soft ache beneath her sharp features. “Sometimes, breaking an oath is the only way to keep a greater one.”

The words struck harder than she expected. A greater oath. Was that why Kaelen had gone—disappearing into the smoke and blood, chasing an enemy Serenya could not yet see?

Her doubts gnawed at her.

Down in the war chambers, Darian Crestfall paced like a caged wolf. His armor bore the cracks of countless battles, his eyes storm-dark with the weight of divided loyalty. When Serenya finally descended, every lord and knight turned their gaze toward her.

“Your Grace,” Darian began, bowing low. “Reports confirm it—Kaelen has not fallen. He rides with a company toward the eastern coasts. But his banner…” He hesitated, jaw tightening. “It bears not your sigil, but the mark of the Shadow Blades.”

The council erupted in murmurs, panic lacing every voice. The Shadow Blades—mercenaries whispered of in fireside tales, known for betrayal as much as bloodshed.

Serenya’s breath faltered. “No… He wouldn’t.”

But doubt was a poison, and it was already spreading.

Maelis Rowan, the seer whose visions had guided them, leaned forward, her silver-threaded hair glistening in the torchlight. Her voice cracked with age but carried the certainty of prophecy.

“He walks a path you cannot follow yet, child. His oath is not broken—it is transformed. Whether it saves us or damns us will depend on the choice you make tonight.”

The chamber fell into silence. Every eye pressed against Serenya, waiting for her to command, to crown herself, to prove she was more than a girl in disguise.

But all she could feel was the weight of Kaelen’s absence.

Hours later, Serenya found herself alone in the sanctuary of the Whispering Forest. The ancient trees swayed with secrets, their roots deep as forgotten kingdoms. She had come here as a child, hiding from her tutors, from her fate. Tonight, she came to hide from her heart.

Her hand brushed against the bark of the oldest oak. She remembered Kaelen’s voice beneath these branches: “No throne, no crown, no oath could ever tear me from you.”

But he was gone.

“Do you still believe him?” a voice asked.

Serenya spun, startled. Isolde Mirean emerged from the shadows, the healer’s hands glowing faintly with the magic of renewal. Her gaze was steady, filled with truths Serenya had long avoided.

“Broken oaths are still oaths,” Isolde said softly. “Sometimes the wound is not in the betrayal, but in how we choose to heal it.”

Serenya’s throat ached with unspoken grief. “If he stands with the Shadow Blades, then he stands against me.”

Isolde shook her head. “Or perhaps he stands against something darker—something that required breaking his promise to you so he could keep his promise to the realm.”

The words echoed like prophecy. Could Kaelen have sacrificed their bond not for selfishness, but for survival?

Yet no matter the reason, the pain remained.

At dawn, Serenya stood before her people. Lightning had passed, but the sky still bore the scars of storm. She raised her chin, a queen no longer hidden in shadows.

“My oath is not broken,” she declared, voice carrying across the square. “Even if others falter, I will not. This kingdom will rise from fire, from betrayal, from loss. And when the time comes, when the shadows clear, I will face Kaelen Draven myself—and learn whether he stands as ally… or enemy.”

The crowd roared, some in fear, others in hope.

But Serenya knew this was no end—only the sharpest edge of destiny.

For every broken oath leaves a wound, and wounds, once opened, demand reckoning.

And somewhere beyond the horizon, Kaelen rode with the Shadow Blades, his eyes heavy with secrets, his heart torn between love and loyalty.

The storm was far from over.

The real eclipse had only just begun.