All Chapters of The Silver Fox Crown: Chapter 11 - Chapter 15

Authority always arrives politely.That’s how you know it’s dangerous.They come with clean boots and measured voices and documents already signed, already filed, already justified. No raised weapons. No obvious threats. Just inevitability dressed up as concern.I watch them from the upper landing as they enter Ashcroft Mansion like they belong here.They don’t.Three units. Internal Stabilization. Not soldiers—administrators with teeth. Dark coats, neutral crests, no visible weapons. They move slowly, deliberately, eyes cataloguing exits, corners, people.They’re counting power.I step back into shadow as Vaelor intercepts them at the base of the stairs. Rhevan flanks him immediately, Ashcroft command rolling off him in waves. Caelric positions himself half a step behind—close enough to hear everything, far enough to remain unspoken.It’s a familiar formation.Dominance doesn’t need symmetry. It needs clarity.“Crown Lord Thryne,” the lead Regent liaison says, inclining his head just

We don’t use the roads that have names.Names mean records.Records mean patterns.Patterns are how Authority decides where to look next.So we move through the seams instead.The Interstice isn’t a place the way people mean it. It’s a decision. A refusal by the land to belong to anyone long enough to be claimed. Old war corridors. Half-forgotten supply cuts. Ground that never healed properly after blood soaked into it and no one bothered to pave over the memory.The vehicle moves low and quiet, suspension eating the uneven terrain like it was built for this kind of running. No lights. No plates. Wards woven deep into the frame—Elowen’s work. Careful. Boring. Effective.I sit in the back.Because she’s back here with me.Seralyth Ashcroft is half-curled into the seat, knees drawn just slightly inward like her body hasn’t decided yet whether it’s allowed to relax. Her breathing is steady now, but it’s the kind of steady you get after your nervous system has been wrung out and left to d

The door clicks shut behind Elowen.Soft. Final.The kind of sound that shouldn’t matter—but does, because it means Sera is alone on the other side of it. Safe, technically. Warm. Tucked in. Taken care of.And still, every part of me wants to turn back, reopen it, and sit on the floor by her bed like I did when she was eight and the world had teeth and she didn’t know how to bite back yet.I don’t.Because wanting is dangerous.Because wanting her has always been dangerous.Elowen’s pace doesn’t change as we move down the hall. Controlled. Smooth. Not rushed, not frantic. That’s his version of rage: the refusal to let the world see the crack.Mine is different.Mine rattles in my bones like a caged animal.We take the stairs down—two levels below the main living quarters—into the part of the house built for exactly this. Planning. Holding. Waiting. Surviving.The door to the study is reinforced wood with a steel spine. No crest, no ornament. Just a quiet, expensive kind of strength.E