Shadows Of The Flame

Chapter 3: The Truth in the Dark

Selena

The archives are locked, but locks have never been an obstacle for me.

I press my palm against the cold iron door, and feel the shadows stir beneath my skin. They coil and writhe, like dark silk slipping through my fingertips.

I close my eyes, calling them closer. They respond, leaking from me like ink bleeding through paper, finding the mechanism inside the lock. The iron is old, rusted at the edges, arrogantly simple in design.

The Aurelius family never thought anyone would make it this far.

That is the weakness of power. It forgets that the powerless have nothing to lose.

The lock clicks, the door groans open with a deep, unholy sound. I slip inside, pulling the darkness behind me like a veil.

The royal archives stretch before me like the ribs of a long-dead beast, shelves towering on a ceiling swallowed in shadow.

Scrolls and leather-bound ledgers crowd every inch of the space, like forgotten whispers from a time long past. Dust coats everything here, layers of history settling in the corners of the room.

In the three weeks since I scrubbed my first floor in the Silent Sanctorum, I’ve watched Prince Darius on his balcony, staring at the Thornwood like it was calling his name.

And in those same three weeks, I came to realize that the man I came to destroy was not the monster I needed him to be.

Tonight, that changes.

I move through the archives quietly, shadows flicking across the walls like errant memories.

I clutch a shadow-glass lamp in my palm—a shard of corpse glass, smuggled from the Outlands, enchanted to burn with cold silver light. Only I can see its glow, a small beacon in the overwhelming darkness.

I pass records of trade agreements, marriage alliances, tax ledgers—none of it matters. I am looking for one thing.

The trial transcripts of House Nightshade.

I find the restricted section behind a wrought-iron gate laced with shimmering red runes. They pulse faintly as I approach, tasting the air like serpents.

The shadows in my veins answer, slipping through cracks and seams. For a long, breathless moment, the runes resist, burning hot and foreign—magic of fire-tamers and throne-keepers.

But my shadows are patient. They find the cracks, cool and ancient. The runes sputter, flicker, and fail.

The gate swings open.

Inside, a ledger waits for me. The book is leather-bound and unmarked, shoved behind older text on the third shelf. The leather is cracked from age, and the ink on the pages is dark, still legible, but it screams.

It screams the lies that murdered my family.

I sit on the cold stone floor and open the book.

“The Crown versus House Nightshade. Charges: High Treason, Conspiracy to Usurp the Throne, Unlawful Practice of Shadow Magic.”

“Presiding Monarch: King Malvin Aurelius. Verdict: Guilty. Sentence: Execution by Flame. Date of Execution: 14th of Frost fall, Year 682 of the Aurelius Reign.”

My hands shake as I read the names.

My father, my mother, my older brother, who was seventeen and never held a sword—my aunt, a healer who knew nothing of politics or treason: they were all innocent—guilty, executed and burned to ashes.

I run my fingers over the page, the words blurring as my anger rises like an inferno inside me, a forged letter, a servant’s false testimony, a single witness whose name is blacked out, protected by the crown—all fabrications, lies, a murder dressed in justice.

I press my palm against my mouth to stifle the scream that threatens to break free. I breathe through my nose until the rage inside me quiets.

Then I see it—the notation at the bottom of the final page.

Royal Oversight: His Highness Prince Cassian Aurelius, First-Born and Crown Prince.

Cassian.

Not Darius.

For seven years, I have sharpened my hatred of the whetstone of Darius Aurelius’s name. I whispered his title like a curse as I traced the silver tattoos on my skin and promised my dead family I would make him pay.

But the truth sits in my lap now, like a stone sinking into my chest.

He did not kill them.

The book slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud. The dust swirls around it, and I can almost feel the weight of everything shifting.

The shadows coil around my hands, responding to my internal storm.

I close the book, feeling the truth settle inside me like a weight I never asked for.

I whisper into the darkness, "What do I do now?" They don't answer. They never do.

My hands scrub and haul in the pre-dawn dark kitchen, but every blink burns with the transcript’s words—Guilty. Execution by Flame. Cassian.

The kitchen boy speaks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sera. Sera!"

"What?" My voice comes out harsher than I intended.

He flinches. "You've been stirring that pot for five minutes. There's nothing in it."

I glance down. I’ve been scraping a wooden spoon against bare iron. I haven’t even noticed.

"Sorry. I did not sleep well."

"You never sleep well."

I did not answer him. I’m being careless, but I can’t stop thinking. The transcript is burned into me, and now the truth weighs heavy on my chest. Cassian, not Darius. The man I came to destroy was not the one who gave the order.

Night falls too quickly.

I wait until the other servants are asleep, then rise. The shadows rise with me—not like a cloak, but like a warning. I need space. I need air. I need to think before I burn this palace to the ground.

But when I step onto the eastern balcony, I am not alone.

Prince Darius stands there, facing away from me, hands braced on the stone railing. His auburn hair is wild in the night wind. The moonlight silvering his silhouette makes him look like something from a dream.

He doesn’t turn when I step closer.

I was wondering when you would find your way up here," he says, his voice low, measured.

I froze. "You knew I would come?"

"I hoped."

The word hangs in the air between us, soft but dangerous.

You should not be wandering alone at night, I say, echoing his own words from weeks ago. "Not everyone you meet will be as harmless as me."

He laughs, the sound low and surprised. "You are many things, Sera—with no family name. Harmless is not one of them."

The words sting. He still calls me by the lie I gave him in the storage room. But there’s something in his voice, a recognition I can’t explain.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

He meets my gaze, the dark depth of his eyes unreadable. "I could ask you the same question."

"I asked you first."

He turns toward me, the moonlight catching his face. His eyes, tired and filled with unspoken weight, lock onto mine.

I came here to escape the council, my father, and his endless, suffocating performance of being a prince.

I swallow, suddenly aware of how close we are. "Why did you come here?"

The words hang heavy between us. I open my mouth to lie, but the truth, the burden of everything, sits too heavily on my chest. The man standing before me is not the monster I spent years imagining.

I got to think about a choice I have to make.

It must be a difficult choice.

"Yes. It is."

Silence stretches, the Thornwood breathing on the horizon like an ancient creature waiting to awaken.

You are not what I expected," Darius says quietly. "A servant who bows and scrapes and a woman who is afraid of me. You are none of those things.

"Maybe I’m not a servant at all."

His eyes widen, the faintest flicker of surprise. He doesn’t flinch, but his expression changes. Almost hopeful.

"Then what are you?"

I meet his eyes, feeling the weight of the truth between us.

Someone who came to this palace to find the truth about her family and to destroy the people who took them from her.

The wind picks up, stirring the willow branches. Darius studies me, his face unreadable.

"Have you found what you were looking for?" he asks.

I take a deep breath, the weight of my decisions pressing against me. "I found more than I expected."

"Is that a good thing?"

"I do not know yet."

His hand moves—just slightly enough—and his fingers brush against mine on the stone railing. The touch is accidental. Maybe it’s not. But the heat spreads through me, sparking something that has nothing to do with magic.

"I should go," I whisper.

"Stay," he says. His voice trembles, a quiet request that stirs something deep within me.

"I cannot. Not tonight."

"Then when?"

I pulled my hand away, the space between us cold in an instant. "Soon."

And then, I disappear into the shadows, leaving him behind on the balcony, the taste of his presence still lingering on my skin.

As I move through the shadows, my thoughts are still with Darius. He is the prince I came to destroy. But tonight, for the first time, I wonder if that will ever be enough.