The Broken Crown

Chapter 1 – The Prison in Silk

The chandeliers sent golden light across the marble hall, where cameras hissed and flashed in unending spurts. Serena D'Amelio kept her grin steady, with her lips just right and her chin at the right angle, as her stepmother wanted. The crimson silk dress, which was cut close to her shape, sparkled like wine on her skin.

"Serena, over here!" "Look this way!" a photographer yelled, his voice half-desperate.

She turned her head so that the light could hit the diamond earrings. She counted her breaths on the inside. Four. Five. Six. Each one got tighter, like the bodice of her garment was a cage.

One man in the crowd said to another, "Perfect." A goddess.

Another one leaned forward and smiled. "Or a doll that is too tight."

Serena's smile faded.

A reporter pushed ahead, holding up a microphone. "Miss D'Amelio, what makes you look so elegant tonight?"

"Discipline," she said, her voice pleasant even though her throat hurt.

"Discipline?" He laughed, but not in a nice way. "Chains or discipline?"

Her heel caught on the hem as she took a step back. She just tripped a little, but the gasp from the crowd made her heart stop.

"Is she going to break?" Someone whispered, but not so loudly that she couldn't hear.

She looked over at the voice, but the throng was a jumble of pearls, tuxedos, and flashing lights. She took a deep breath, fixed her grin, and hoped that no one had really seen the fracture in her armour.

The music and laughter from the banquet faded to a quiet hum behind the velvet curtain. Vivienne's fingers were already around Serena's wrist before she could even take a breath.

"Smile wider," Vivienne hissed, her eyes like cut glass. She was tall and wore midnight silk. Her beauty was keen and timeless, and her perfume smelt like poison flowers. "They should never see weakness." Not from you.

"You're hurting me." Serena winced.

Vivienne's hold got stronger. "Okay. Pain teaches you how to act.

"You treat me like an object," Serena said softly.

Vivienne got closer, and her lips brushed Serena's ear. "You are property." "Mine, until I say otherwise."

Serena's heart raced. She wrenched her hand away, but Vivienne's claws pierced into her skin. "Stop acting like you're my saviour." You're just my jailer.

Vivienne chuckled gently. "Say anything you want, sweetheart. You will still do what I say tomorrow.

The elder woman let her go, and a small bruise began to show on her pale skin. Serena pushed her face back into calmness, lifted her chin, and got ready to head outside again.

But the pain in her wrist felt like a secret rebellion, a wound that no diamond could disguise.

There was a lot of perfume, champagne, and talk in the ballroom. As Serena walked by tables of nobility and tycoons, everyone looked at her. They thought she was ideal because of her height, her grace, and the way her black hair fell over her naked shoulders.

"Darling Serena," a woman in sapphire silk crooned, blocking her path. "You take my breath away." Your smile might bring down empires.

"You are too nice." Serena laughed just like she had practiced.

"But really," the woman said, her painted lips curving, "it's too bad you never get to pick anything for yourself." All this beauty, but none of it is yours.

The words hurt more than glass. Serena's laughter stopped. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't be angry. "It's jealousy talking," the socialite mocked, but her eyes sparkled with bitter pleasure. "We all know Vivienne is in charge."

Serena's mask was about to break. Her throat got tight and the heat spread to her cheeks. She was about to respond, but her stepmother's look from across the room pierced her and told her to stay calm.

Serena raised her champagne glass to hide her shaking lips. “Sorry,” she said softly as she slipped away.

Her steps echoed hollowly as she backed away, the compliment hanging like venom, threatening to taint the flawless mask she wore for the world.

The powder room was very quiet compared to the ballroom. There were gilded mirrors on the walls that showed Serena's face back to her over and over again. Her red dress clung to her body like hot glass, yet the lady looking back was not an emperor. Her eyes gave away the cage beneath her grin.

She leaned against the marble counter and held on to it tightly till her knuckles turned white. "I will find a way out," she said in a shaky but strong voice.

"Now you talk to yourself?" she said with a forced laugh. The sound bounced about the tiled room, which was too weak and empty.

She rubbed her cheeks with her hands, as if she could scrape off the beautiful paint job that Vivienne wanted. She put her forehead against the chilly mirror. "One day," she said, "this mask will break."

A noise. Soft. Not too loud. Like fabric rubbing on stone.

Serena became tense. "Who's there?"

No sound.

She turned quickly and looked over the vacant row of stalls. Shadows gathered under the doors and stretched long and deep in the light of the chandelier.

“Show yourself,” she said, but her voice broke.

There was no answer. There was only the steady drip of water from a tap that wasn't all the way off.

Her heart raced. The delicate hairs on her neck stood up. She had sensed it, something there but not quite there. She stroked her wrist, where Vivienne's hold had left light marks, to ground herself.

"Coward," she said, faking confidence. "Go ahead and watch if you want to." But you'll see me free, no matter what.

A shadow moved in the door.

She stopped breathing.

She walked into the hallway, and the sound of her heels clicking on marble was loud. The air was cooler here, and from the ballroom beyond, it carried the faint smell of flowers. Nothing. Her footsteps echoed down the long hall after her.

"Hey?" She tried hard, but her voice shook. "Is anyone there?"

No answer.

The silence was thick, like velvet. She went forward, looking into alcoves where statues stood guard with grave looks. They had nothing but stone faces, and their eyes were cold and blind.

She shook her head and let out a breath. "Imagination." That's it.

But then she noticed it. The broken pieces of a wine glass were near the bottom of the stairs. The clear liquid that was still flowing along the marble caught the golden light of the chandeliers.

Her blood ran cold. There had been someone there. Someone was close enough to hear her vow.

Serena knelt down and touched the broken pieces with her fingers. The glass cut her flesh, leaving a faint line of scarlet. She pulled her hand back and held it against her dress.

"Who was it?" She mumbled, her gaze leaping to the empty darkness above.

There was no answer in the hush. But she knew, with every chill in her bones, that someone had seen her.

And whoever had been listening was not a friend.