All Chapters of The Crown Of Ash and Silver: Chapter 11 - Chapter 15

When Seraphina woke, the first thing she noticed was the silence.No footsteps in the hall. No chatter of servants. Even the morning bells had not yet rung. The faint grey of dawn touched the edges of her curtains, soft and cold.She pushed herself upright, wincing as the motion sent a dull ache through her body. The air in her chamber still felt strange, thinner than usual, touched by frost that had not entirely faded. Her breath left faint clouds in the light.The coin lay on the bedside table where she had left it, gleaming faintly in the half-light.For a moment, she simply looked at it.The night before lingered in her mind like a fever dream: Lucien’s voice, the mark burning, the frost spreading like veins of glass. And then that light, blinding and infinite, filling the room until there was nothing else.She had almost convinced herself it wasn’t real, until she touched the coin.Warmth pulsed against her skin, faint but alive. The same pulse that now beat beneath her palm.A k

The night came early, heavy and cold.The palace torches burned low, their flames flickering against the marble walls. The corridors were nearly empty when the summons arrived, a young acolyte at her door, trembling as he bowed.“His Grace requests your presence in the chapel, my lady.”Seraphina set aside the book she had been pretending to read. “At this hour?”“Yes, my lady. He said it could not wait.”Cale stepped forward immediately. “She will not go alone.”The boy hesitated. “He said she must.”Cale looked at her, concern darkening his features. “You do not have to obey him.”Seraphina rose. “If I refuse, he will only come here. I would rather choose the ground myself.”She touched his arm lightly. “Wait outside the chapel. If I do not return, do not come for me. Take Elias and leave.”“Seraphina.”“Promise me.”His jaw tightened. He nodded once.The acolyte led her through the sleeping palace, down the long corridor lined with cold statues of saints. Their stone faces seemed t

By afternoon the palace had learned how to be quiet. Footsteps softened. Doors closed without sound. Servants moved in pairs and kept their eyes on the floor. Wherever Seraphina walked, conversations thinned and drifted aside like smoke. Two clerics stood at the end of her corridor, their white gloves folded over prayer books, lips moving in steady measure. They did not look at her, but she felt the prickle of their attention all the same. A scribe sat on a stool by the stairwell with a slate across his knees, recording who came and went. Guards who once nodded now straightened and pretended not to know her name. Observation, they called it. It felt like a net. Seraphina returned to her chambers and closed the door. The latch clicked. The sound carried too far in the stillness. She laid her palms on the window frame and breathed until the mark under her glove cooled. The glass held a faint bloom of frost where her fingers had rested. She wiped it away with the edge of her sleeve.