The night air bit cold against Kaelen's skin as he followed Lyra through the narrow backstreets of Ardent Keep. Smoke rose behind them, black plumes choking the stars, the coronation turned massacre. Every clang of steel, every scream from the keep echoed like ghosts pressing at his heels.
"Slow down," he hissed. "I don't even know why I'm following you."
Lyra didn't look back. Her copper-red hair glinted under the blood moon like strands of fire. "Because the moment you stop, your king's hounds will be upon you."
Kaelen scowled but couldn't argue. Already he could hear the distant clang of armored boots. The court would want his head before dawn. Verrick's voice still rang in his ears—Traitor.
He clenched his jaw. He had bled for that throne, killed for it, lost brothers on battlefields for it. And now, with a single word, they had cast him into shadow.
Lyra slipped into a crumbling archway, and Kaelen followed warily. They emerged into a forgotten courtyard, ivy strangling the walls, a fountain long dry. Only the moonlight lit the place.
At last she turned, silver eyes narrowing. "You saw me in the hall."
"I saw you watching," Kaelen said flatly. "And then the crown vanished. That doesn't make you trustworthy."
Her lips curved in a faint smile. "Trustworthy? No. But necessary, yes."
"Why? Why should I believe a fae exile has anything to do with the crown?"
Lyra's smile vanished. "Because I was there the day it was forged. My bloodline is bound to it. And now it has been stolen."
Kaelen's hand twitched toward his sword. "Impossible. The crown is older than empires."
"You think humans forged fire into jewels?" Lyra snapped, stepping closer. Her voice burned with conviction. "The crown was fae work. My people's work. It was meant to keep balance between our worlds. Without it—" She gestured toward the crimson eclipse above. "—chaos will devour both realms."
Kaelen studied her, torn between disbelief and the cold certainty in her eyes. She wasn't lying. Or if she was, she believed her own story too much for it to be mere invention.
"Then why are you exiled?" he asked.
Something flickered in her gaze—pain quickly hidden. "Because I was born with fire. My magic burned too bright, too wild. The fae court feared me, and so they cast me out. But fate has a cruel sense of humor. The one they feared may be the only one who can stop what comes next."
Kaelen's grip tightened on his sword. "And what exactly is coming?"
Lyra's answer was a whisper. "The Shadowborn."
The name meant nothing to Kaelen, but the way she spoke it—like a prayer and a curse—made his skin crawl.
Before he could press further, the sound of boots thundered nearby. Torches flared as soldiers entered the adjoining streets.
"Search every alley!" Verrick's voice carried sharp as steel.
Kaelen's blood boiled. He wanted nothing more than to drag the spymaster into the dirt and choke the lies from his throat. But to do so now would be suicide.
Lyra seized his arm, her touch searing hot. "If you want to live, follow me."
Against every instinct, Kaelen did.
---
They slipped through the city's veins—twisting alleys, rooftops slick with dew, half-collapsed stairways leading down into the bones of Ardent Keep. At last they reached the outer wall where the city thinned into wild fields.
Lyra pressed a hand to the stone. Faint runes ignited beneath her touch, ancient sigils burning blue. The wall groaned, and a hidden passage yawned open.
Kaelen stared. "You could have opened that at any time?"
Her eyes glinted. "I wanted to see if you'd keep up."
He bit back a curse and followed her inside. The tunnel stank of damp earth and mold, but it led them clear beneath the wall. When they emerged, the night was quieter—only crickets and the distant baying of hounds.
Kaelen drew in a breath, tasting freedom that already felt sour. He turned on Lyra. "Enough running. If you want me to believe you, tell me everything. Who stole the crown?"
Lyra's shoulders stiffened. "If I knew, I wouldn't need you."
"Then why drag me into this at all?"
Her gaze met his, fierce and unyielding. "Because you are bound to it now. When the crown shattered, its sparks sought vessels—hearts strong enough to hold fragments of its fire. You were closest. Some of its power lingers in you."
Kaelen froze, his pulse quickening. "That's madness."
"Is it?" She lifted a hand. Flames danced along her fingertips, alive and dangerous. "Do you think humans could survive fae fire? You should be ash, Kaelen Drayke. Yet you stand before me, burning and unburned. The crown chose you."
For the first time since the coronation, Kaelen felt a strange heat pulsing in his chest. Not anger, not exhaustion—something deeper, something alien. He clenched his fists, fighting the sensation.
"You're wrong," he growled. "I'm no chosen anything. I'm a knight accused of treason, nothing more."
Lyra's smile was sad. "Perhaps. But treason makes fine company for exile. Together, we may be the only chance this world has."
Kaelen turned away, torn. Every word she spoke twisted tighter around him. If she was right, if something of the crown truly lived in him… then fate had shackled him to the very thing he wanted to be free of.
And yet, staring into her silver eyes, he knew there was no turning back.
"Where do we go now?" he asked finally.
Lyra looked toward the dark horizon, where forest shadows loomed like teeth. "To the ruins of Valereth. The prophecy lies there, in stone and ash. It will tell us what must be done."
Her voice lowered. "And perhaps, what price must be paid."
Kaelen exhaled, the weight of betrayal, exile, and prophecy pressing on his shoulders. He was walking willingly into a world of shadows and lies, guided by a fae whose fire burned as dangerously as his own rage.
But with every step away from Ardent Keep, the truth settled deeper in his bones:
Whether he believed her or not, Lyra Valeis had become his only path forward.
And that terrified him more than any blade.