The Crown's Deception

Chapter 7 - Shackles of the Crown

The cave mouth flared with torchlight. Before Kael could raise his blade, shadows surged forward, armored and unrelenting. Steel clanged against stone as the Throne's men poured in, their insignias glinting like fangs in the firelight.

"Run!" Kael barked, shoving me behind him. His sword flashed, catching one soldier across the helm.

Lysa darted toward me, dagger in hand, but there were too many-boots thundering, shields pressing, a net of iron closing.

A spear haft slammed into Kael's side, forcing the air from his lungs. He staggered, but didn't fall-he fought like a storm, every strike desperate, every motion meant to keep them from me.

I wanted to move. To fight. To be more than dead weight. But the soldiers swarmed, their discipline frightening, their numbers overwhelming.

A rough hand seized my arm. I twisted, nails raking flesh, and for one heartbeat I thought I'd break free. Then another man grabbed my shoulders, pinning me in place.

"Don't touch her!" Kael roared, but his cry was swallowed by the clash of steel.

They brought him down with sheer force-three men tackling him, another smashing the hilt of a sword against his back. He fell to one knee, still swinging until the weight of their numbers pressed him flat against the stone.

Lysa shrieked as a gauntleted fist caught her cheek. She bit her attacker's wrist until blood spattered, but in the next breath, two soldiers had her arms wrenched behind her.

I fought like a cornered animal, kicking, thrashing, but the grip on me tightened until iron bit into my wrists. Shackles. Cold, merciless shackles.

The leader stepped forward, torchlight casting his scarred face into sharp relief. His voice carried authority, sharp as a whip.

"By order of His Majesty King Edric Veyra, you are taken into custody. Any resistance will be met with death."

My blood ran cold. My father.

The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. Captured-by my own king's command.

Kael lifted his head despite the boot pressing against his back. His voice was hoarse but unbroken. "She is the Crown Princess. Lay another hand on her, and you'll answer for it."

The captain sneered. "She'll answer to her father soon enough."

Lysa was dragged to my side, her lip split but her chin raised in defiance. Kael was hauled upright by his chains, bruised but still burning with that same gray fire in his eyes.

As the soldiers forced us out of the cavern, the last flicker of torchlight caught on the empty shadows where Serenya had stood. She was gone.

Had she betrayed us? Or had she left us to this fate for reasons of her own?

The night air struck cold as we were shoved into the open, surrounded by steel and fire. The world felt smaller with every chain that bound us.

I had fled the palace seeking freedom.

Now I marched back toward it in shackles.

And somewhere in the darkness behind us, I could still hear Serenya's warning whisper:

Choose your allies before they choose for you.

The iron bit into my wrists with every step, raw skin burning beneath the weight of my chains. The soldiers' boots thudded in rhythm, their armor clinking like a dirge. I could smell the damp of the night earth, hear the rustle of trees shifting under the wind.

But it was the silence that suffocated me most-the silence of Kael, walking just a few paces ahead, his hands bound behind him. His hood had been torn back, and in the torchlight his scar caught a glint, his jaw set hard as stone. He didn't look at me. Not once.

Lysa stumbled against my side, her lip bloodied, but she kept her chin high. She leaned closer when the soldiers' attention drifted forward.

"Don't show them fear," she whispered, her voice barely a thread. "That's what they want. If they think they've broken you, they've already won."

I tried to nod, but my throat tightened. "Lysa... it was my father's order."

Her eyes darted to me, wide and burning. "Then he's not thinking for himself. Someone's twisting him-someone who wants you caged."

Lord Malrik's face flashed in my mind, smooth and serpentine. The king's chief advisor. Always at his side. Always whispering. Could it be him?

The thought turned my stomach.

"Why would he-" I began, but a soldier's barked command silenced me. I lowered my gaze, seething at the helplessness pressing in on me like a vice.

Ahead, Kael's stride faltered for just an instant. He glanced back, eyes catching mine-gray steel meeting storm. There was no apology in his gaze, no plea for forgiveness. Only a fierce, unspoken vow.

I wanted to believe it. But Serenya's voice echoed louder than his silence.

Every oath has a cost. Ask him what price he paid.

Lysa leaned in again, her breath hot against my ear. "Elara... don't trust too easily. Not Serenya. Not even him."

My chest constricted. "Kael?"

"He hides things," she murmured. "I see it. I've served in courts long enough to know when someone wears two faces. Don't let your heart blind you."

I stared at Kael's back, the rise and fall of his shoulders steady, unyielding. He had saved me, shielded me, risked himself again and again. But his silence... it was its own kind of betrayal.

The soldiers herded us into the treeline, their torches carving jagged shapes in the dark. The path curved downhill, toward the distant gleam of lanterns-an outpost, or perhaps the first step back to the palace.

My home. My prison.

Chains rattled as one soldier shoved Kael forward. He didn't stumble. He didn't fight. He only glanced toward me once more, and in his gaze I thought I saw something-remorse, perhaps, or warning.

The weight of Serenya's words settled deeper in my chest, heavy as the shackles around my wrists.

Not all enemies wear crowns.

And yet, every road seemed to lead me back to one.

The march felt endless, the night pressing colder with every step. My wrists ached from the chains, my ankles rubbed raw where the iron bit into them. The forest gave way to the road, and beyond it, rising from the mist, loomed the outline of Lysara’s palace—its towers like spears piercing the sky.

Home. Yet nothing in me felt the comfort of homecoming.

Kael walked ahead, flanked by two guards. His hands were bound, his hood gone, his scar bare to the torchlight. He didn’t fight. He didn’t speak. But every so often, his head turned slightly, as though to make sure I was still behind him.

The gesture twisted me inside out. Protection—or possession? I no longer knew.

Lysa stumbled again, and I caught her before a soldier could shove her forward. She gave me a quick nod of gratitude, her whisper fierce despite the bruise spreading across her jaw.

“You have to be strong, Elara. Don’t let them see you falter.”

I tried. Saints, I tried. But when the palace gates yawned open before us, my knees nearly gave way. The iron bars clanged shut behind us, and I knew with bone-deep certainty: I had fled this prison only to be dragged back into its jaws.

The throne room awaited.

The soldiers shoved us inside, the vast chamber gleaming with torchlight. Golden banners hung heavy on the walls, and at the far end, on the high seat carved of black stone and gold, sat my father.

King Edric Veyra.

His crown glimmered in the firelight, his face carved with years of rule—stern, unyielding, every line of his jaw screaming command. Yet in his eyes, I saw something else. Weariness. Worry. And perhaps… regret?

“My daughter,” he said, his voice low, carrying easily across the hall. “You leave me no choice.”

I stiffened, chains rattling as I raised my chin. “No choice but to cage me like an animal? To shackle your own blood?”

His expression hardened. “You endangered yourself. You endangered Lysara. Running from your duty weakens us before our enemies. I could not allow it.”

My throat burned. Duty. Always duty. Never freedom.

“Is it duty,” I asked, “or is it Malrik’s whispering in your ear?”

A flicker—barely there—crossed his features.

And then the advisor himself stepped from the shadows. Lord Malrik Thorne, smooth and composed, his robes trailing behind him like smoke. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction as they swept over me, then lingered on Kael.

“Your Majesty,” Malrik said, his tone like silk. “We must be cautious. The princess’s escape could be seen as treason. And harboring her, as this… disgraced guard has done, is a crime punishable by death.”

Kael tensed, his gaze locked on Malrik, hatred rolling off him like heat from a forge.

My pulse hammered. This was Malrik’s game all along—I felt it in my bones. And now Kael stood to lose his life because of it.

“No!” The word tore from me before I could stop it. “If you punish him, then punish me. He only sought to protect me.”

The throne room fell silent. My father’s face was stone, unreadable. Malrik’s lips curved in the faintest smile. And Kael… Kael’s eyes met mine, gray fire blazing, and for the first time I wondered if he was afraid—not for himself, but for me.