By Victor Simdrix
Chapter 20 – The Poisoned Crown
The royal hall of Valebridge was suffocating with tension. The stained-glass windows that once bathed the chamber in warm colors now glowed blood-red under the rising sun, as though even the heavens knew a storm was gathering.
Prince Kaelith sat rigidly on the throne, the circlet of gold on his head catching the light. But the crown felt heavier than ever before. Each passing hour, it seemed less like a symbol of leadership and more like a shackle forged of doubt.
The council bickered below him.
"She cannot be trusted!" thundered Lord Varik, slamming his fist against the marble table. His eyes darted toward Nyra, who stood silently at the edge of the chamber, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders. "Every village she touches burns. Every road she walks leads Malakar's scouts closer. Tell me that is coincidence!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the nobles.
Aric Dawnshield stepped forward, voice calm but edged with steel. "If it weren't for her, three of those villages would have fallen. You speak of ash, but you forget the lives she saved from it."
"And how many more lives will be lost when her fire turns against us?" sneered Corvin Ashbane from the shadows of the hall. His lips curled in a smile too polished to be sincere. "The people whisper already. They say she is cursed… that she is Malakar's seed. Are you so blind you cannot see?"
Nyra's hands clenched at her sides. Sparks threatened to leap from her skin, but she forced them down. They wanted her to lash out. They wanted proof that she was a danger.
Prince Kaelith's eyes locked with hers. For a moment, she thought she saw sympathy flicker there — but it died as quickly as it came. His voice was low, heavy.
"The crown cannot bear poison," he said at last. "And yet I feel it seeping into my court. Into my people. If unity crumbles, Valebridge falls."
The words cut deeper than any blade. Nyra's throat tightened, but she refused to look away.
Corvin seized the moment, stepping into the candlelight. "Then act, Your Highness. If you cannot banish the poison, the poison will banish you."
The council erupted in shouts, voices clashing like steel on steel. Above it all, Kaelith remained silent, his face carved from stone. Nyra couldn't read him — whether he still believed in her, or whether he was letting the crown's weight crush what little trust he had left.
As she turned to leave, a shadow brushed against her mind — cold, familiar. Malakar's voice, carried on smoke, whispered like a serpent:
"Do you see, child? They will never love you. They will never trust you. You were born for me."
Nyra stopped in her tracks, trembling, fire simmering beneath her skin. For the first time, she wasn't sure if she could deny him much longer.