Chapter 9: Embers Beneath The Crown
868 Words
The capital of Varyne had never looked so radiant. Silks fluttered from marble towers, golden banners bearing the intertwined sigils of Thorne and Varyne rippled across the palace square. Nobles from both kingdoms arrived in glittering carriages, the cobbled streets alive with music and the chatter of uneasy peace.
Selene stood near the grand balcony, her posture regal, face a mask of composure. Beneath it, her stomach twisted. She wore a deep crimson gown stitched with gold thread — a Thorne color — but the silver embroidery of Varyne flared across the train like creeping frost. A forced blend of two worlds.
Behind her, Queen Lysandra whispered, “Smile. Tonight, you are not a bride. You are a queen of peace.”
Selene forced a smile as Kael approached, cloaked in obsidian robes with a gleaming sword belted at his side — ceremonial, but the tension in his shoulders told her he’d rather use it than pose with it.
“You look… diplomatic,” he muttered under his breath, offering his arm.
She accepted it with a practiced grace. “And you look like you’d rather be storming a battlefield.”
His jaw twitched. “I’d prefer honesty to theatrics.”
“Then you’re in the wrong court, husband,” Selene replied, her smile never faltering.
They stepped into the open air of the palace balcony, greeted by thunderous applause. Below them, a sea of masked nobles and curious citizens awaited their words. The Festival of Unity was meant to seal their fragile alliance, to show that love — or at least mutual benefit — had won over war.
Kael stepped forward first. “Today, Varyne welcomes peace not with swords, but with song. May this union mark the end of bloodshed and the beginning of shared strength.”
The crowd roared with approval. Selene stepped forward next, voice clear as bell chimes. “And may the crown we share never weigh heavier than the hopes of those we serve.”
The performance continued — dances in the square, wines flowing, torches lit as dusk fell. A masked ball overtook the palace gardens. Selene mingled carefully, her hand always lightly linked to Kael’s — symbolic closeness for the watching world.
She felt a chill before she saw him — a guest in a fox mask, eyes too sharp, posture too still. He brushed past her, slipping a folded piece of parchment into her palm.
Kael noticed. “What was that?”
She gave him a strained smile. “A note. No doubt some noble’s complaint about the food.”
“Let me see it.”
“I’ll read it later.” She slipped it into her sleeve.
He didn’t push, but his gaze lingered.
The note burned against her skin until she found a quiet corner beneath the marble archways. Unfolding it, her heart stuttered.
*“The crown you wear hides a blade beneath. The curse is not peace, but silence. Trust no one. Especially not him.”*
She looked up sharply. The masked man was gone.
Before she could move, screams echoed from the northern garden. Fire. Smoke coiled upward like a serpent, red light flickering against startled faces.
Selene moved instantly, rushing toward the source — her guards calling after her. Kael found her first, cloak flaring behind him.
“Are you mad?” he barked, grabbing her arm.
“There are still people inside!” she snapped.
Together, they surged into the garden pavilion, where flames licked the silken tapestries and nobles scrambled. Kael bellowed commands to his men. Selene, heart hammering, helped drag a young girl from beneath a collapsing beam.
When they finally stumbled back out into the cool night, soot on their clothes, Kael’s chest heaved with exertion. Without thinking, he pulled Selene to him, shielding her from falling ash.
“You should’ve stayed inside,” he muttered into her hair.
“I don’t hide behind marble when people are burning.”
He pulled back, meeting her gaze — not angry, but something heavier.
“You don’t trust me,” he said.
She swallowed hard. “Should I?”
Before he could answer, horns sounded in the distance — not festive ones. The fire had not been an accident. Even Kael knew that now.
Back in her chambers, Selene unfolded the note again, tracing the words.
*“Trust no one. Especially not him.”*
But in that fire, Kael had risked his life beside hers. She remembered his arm shielding her, his voice raw as he ordered the guards to protect the civilians.
Who was she supposed to believe?
***
Kael sat in his war room hours later, the scent of smoke clinging to him. His father, King Roderick, had not spoken a word of concern — only asked if the western nobles had seen the damage. As if image mattered more than life.
A servant brought him another note — unsigned.
*“The fire was only the first flame. The roots are within your walls.”*
Kael burned the message in the hearth. His kingdom was bleeding from inside, and whoever was feeding these flames — they weren’t finished yet.
And neither was he.
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