The carriage rocked gently beneath her as Asheryn sat in calculated silence, the veil hiding more than just her face. She hadn't returned to Avermont—what little remained of it. Instead, they were headed back to the east wing of the Valerian palace, toward the guest chambers Duke Kaizen now treated as his personal wing.
He sat across from her, unusually quiet. But she didn't miss the gleam in his eyes, the shift in his expression that gave him away. He had met someone before collecting her this morning. His mouth still tasted of someone else's perfume.
The Second Queen.
Asheryn watched him carefully from beneath the veil, wondering if Kaizen believed anyone else noticed how often his visits to Queen Myrienne's wing aligned with sudden changes in court favor. But it didn't matter. Not yet. His secrets would one day be useful.
When the carriage rolled into the palace court and came to a slow stop, he finally spoke.
"There's an announcement today. The royal court is selecting candidates for the Crown Princess Trials." He didn't meet her eyes. "You're of noble blood, Selena. It might be time to step forward."
Asheryn kept her head bowed, letting silence fill the space between them. Inside her chest, her heart pounded with questions. Crown Princess? The thought hadn't crossed her yet. But Kaizen—of course—was thinking ahead. Marriage to the Crown Prince meant proximity to the throne. And Kaizen never played small.
---
The throne room was cold despite the sea of silks, firelight, and power. Marble columns lined the vast chamber, stretching toward a high vaulted ceiling etched with golden runes. The high table where the King sat was flanked by his sons—Crown Prince Rhael on the right, in crimson and gold, and Kazimir, the Butcher Prince, on the left, in shadowed black.
Asheryn's steps were quiet against the stone, her black wig in place, her crimson Veyron eyes disguised beneath magic into dark, mortal black. Her veil fluttered as she moved, casting soft shadows over her face.
By the dais stood three girls—each more golden than the next.
Lady Alira Fenwyn, daughter of the high general, proud and cold-eyed.
Clarisse Daelmont, all honeyed charm and practiced smiles.
And Thalia Ravemoor, soft-spoken but with ambition like sharpened lace.
Their names had already been read. The scroll of noble lineage unraveled. The priests, robed in silver-white, chanted low prayers and incantations as the King prepared to give his blessing.
And then Kaizen stepped forward.
"I wish to put forth a fourth name," he announced, voice clear. "Selena Thorne, of House Thorne, daughter of my blood."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Asheryn stiffened slightly, breath caught behind her veil.
One of the priests stepped forward, brow furrowed. His voice was aged, cracked like parchment. "That girl... the one veiled since birth. We remember her."
Another priest joined him. "We deemed her touched at birth. A vessel of prophecy. She is not to marry—she is to serve as the messenger of the gods."
Asheryn's stomach twisted.
The real Selena.
That curse—no, that protection—woven into her fate had followed her even now. She hadn't expected this.
Whispers filled the chamber like cold water.
But before Kaizen could respond, the Crown Prince stood.
Rhael de Velerus.
With a slow, exaggerated grace, he descended from the dais, circling Asheryn with an amused glint in his molten eyes.
"Hello," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "Lost little rose... wandering your way into royal trials, are you?"
His breath ghosted the edge of her veil.
"I've always liked thorns," he added, smiling.
Then, he turned to the priests and the room with a flare of crimson velvet.
"Surely we aren't denying House Thorne the right to participate," he said smoothly. "They've served Valeria loyally for decades. Power like that shouldn't be denied its moment in the sun."
The priests hesitated.
Kaizen remained still, but Asheryn saw it—the barest curve of victory on his lips.
"She enrolls," Rhael said, voice silken. "And I, as Crown Prince, accept her as a candidate."
Applause was polite. Thin. Confused.But it was done.Asheryn's heart was racing. She didn't look up.
Not until the heavy doors creaked open again at the back of the hall.
A shiver moved through her.Kazimir.
He entered without ceremony, clad in muted armor and the color of twilight steel. His cloak brushed the floor like shadow. His silver-grey eyes were unreadable. And yet, when he moved toward the dais and took his place beside the King—his gaze shifted. Landed.On her.
Asheryn.Her breath hitched.
She kept her eyes low, but she could feel it—that weight pressing against her bones. Watching. Measuring.
His eyes did not move.
They remained locked on her veil. On the black strands of the wig. And though her magic dulled the red in her gaze, her skin crawled.
What if he recognized it? The hair? The silence?
Then the King—Aldric de Velerus—looked at his son, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Is that interest I see, Kazimir?" he said aloud, his voice carrying over the gathered crowd like a knife's edge. "One of these girls might become your sister-in-law. Or, perhaps…"
He tilted his head."Do you favor this veiled one, Kazimir? The Thorne girl? She has secrets, that one. You like secrets."
The court chuckled.Kazimir said nothing.But he was still staring.Still watching her.
And Asheryn, behind the veil, could only pray that her lies held—just long enough for her revenge to begin.
----------------------------------------------------------
The Second Queen's chambers were lined in velvet and secrets.
Candlelight flickered against the mirror as Queen Myrienne unsealed the parchment with trembling hands. No royal crest. No sender. Only jagged handwriting and a single black thread woven into the fold.
--"You wear crowns and lace, but your sins bleed louder".
Three nights from now, at the fair beneath the mountain.
Come alone—or your King will finally learn why his most loyal Duke never strays far from your wing.
Her fingers clenched around the page, knuckles white.
Kaizen. Of course it was about him. The shadows that followed him had always been her risk to bear.
But this?This was no court gossip. This was blackmail.And it had teeth.For the next three days, she didn't sleep.
First came the mirror—an old letter she had sent to Kaizen years ago was left on her dressing table, unsigned, but unmistakably hers.
Then, footsteps outside her window—too heavy for the wind.
And finally… a dead nightbird placed on her pillow, mouth stuffed with another note: "Queens can fall too."
Her guards searched. Nothing. No one. But she felt it in her bones.She was being hunted.
---
The night of the fair arrived cloaked in mist.
The village below the eastern ridge burst alive in ribbons of color, lanterns swinging over cobbled stalls, laughter mixing with fiddle music, firelight, and the scent of roasted spices.
Queen Myrienne had shed her jewels and silks for a commoner's cloak. Her dark hair was braided under a woven hood. She moved through the crowd like smoke, eyes wary, four guards dressed as travelers flanking her in silence.
But she didn't stop for the music.Not for the fire breathers or the wine.She climbed.
Past the crowds, beyond the revelry, toward the narrow ridge behind the fairgrounds—toward the cliff shadowing the old ruins where she'd been told to go.
Two figures stood waiting.Hooded. Masked.They didn't bow.She signaled her guards.
"Now."
But the moment her knights moved-Smoke.Thick and black as pitch.
It poured from the earth, from the rocks, from the very air. A windless, suffocating storm of shadow.
And then—Screams.Not hers.Her knights' throats were slit before they even raised their blades. The figures had disappeared into smoke and blood.
And then Queen Myrienne saw them.Not men.Not spies.Witches.They emerged from the smoke like echoes of a curse—cloaked in black, faces veiled in shimmering thread, eyes glowing faintly beneath their hoods.
One stepped forward.Her voice smooth as death."Your sins stained the sheets of another woman's crown. We're here to collect what fate would not."
"No!" the Queen shouted, stumbling back, cloak caught on thorns. "You don't understand—!"
But her words drowned in magic.Her body crumpled before it hit the stones.A perfect, bloodless fall.Silence.And then—A slow clap.From the trees.
Asheryn stepped out of the shadows like vengeance wrapped in velvet. Veil off. Wig gone. Her moon-white hair glowed under the light of the witchfire.
Her eyes gleamed.Red.Alive.Old.She tilted her head at the witch now standing over the Queen's corpse.
"You kill precisely, Mavhra," she said softly, voice laced with dry amusement. "But this was no maid."Mavhra turned, her voice smooth and low. "No. It was the Second Queen of Valeria."
Asheryn smiled behind her eyes."Then I suppose we'll need someone else to take the blame."