The Blade will stand by the Queen when the moon is red and the crown is thorned, silent in devotion and piercing in rage, but even steel may shatter under the weight of fate." * —The Moonlit Prophecy, Part IV
"The Moonlit Prophecy," When Serenya found herself alone once more, the moon was still red. In a haze of ceremony and whispers, with eyes that held on too tightly and mouths that grinned too thinly, the coronation had come to an end. With their silks whispering through the grand hall and their voices bearing the weight of judgment she could feel but not hear, the nobles scattered like ravens at dawn. Hours after taking her place on the throne, she could still feel their eyes on her, tracking every word, every breath, and every step. She had quietly made her way back to her private quarters, her ladies following like shadows, until she waved them away. She was enveloped in the frigid silence of the queen's apartments as the heavy doors closed.
There was no silence. Not really. There was never any sleep in the palace. Beyond the balcony, the obsidian spires groaned in the midnight wind, and the faint sound of steel on steel could be heard far below: the training grounds, where the guards were drilling even in the crimson eye of the moon. Instinctively, her eyes went there. She also caught sight of him. Kaelen. The Blade.
With ruthless accuracy, he crossed the yard, his sword a silvery flame in the torchlight. Every blow echoed with a rhythm that was both ruthless and exquisite, a death dance perfected. He faced three men at once, and despite their lunging, circling, and flashing blades that resembled wolves' fangs in the dark, Kaelen remained unflinching. He turned, parried, and used the blunt edge of his blade to send another sprawling after disarming one with a wrist twist. With raw, unflinching strength, Kaelen shoved the last charged man back after they clashed swords in a shower of sparks.
Serenya couldn't take her eyes off it. He fought like a storm, controlled but wild, rather than like a man. Each motion described a life shaped by conflict, a body shaped for combat. She had him now. Her blade. Her defense against the knives that would undoubtedly target her in the shadows. Nevertheless, he remained unknown. Serenya turned away from the man who wielded death as if it were breath, away from the balcony, and away from the blood moon. Even here, by herself, the crown of thorns weighed heavily on her forehead as she sank into the high-backed chair by the fire. Careful not to touch the silver points that had already drawn blood at her coronation, she ran her fingers along its edge.
One will protect your body. One will protect your soul. One will protect your heart. Additionally, one will betray. She was still troubled by the words inscribed on the throne. From the grave, she could practically hear her mother's voice whispering to them. The silence was broken by a knock. Firm. Unmarried. managed. Serenya tensed. "Come in." He stood there as the door opened. Kaelen. Not in the shiny ceremonial armor, but in the dark leather of a warrior, his hair soaked with sweat from the yard, his sword draped across his back. He did not kneel but bowed low in a sharp and elegant motion.
"My Queen," he uttered in a steady, low rumble. Serenya's face showed nothing, but her pulse quickened. "It's late." "After a battle, I have trouble falling asleep," he answered. And the moon bleeds tonight. The guards become agitated. I decided it would be prudent to keep watch. Her mouth curled slightly. "You don't trust my walls? My hair? "My guards?" "I doubt everyone," Kaelen stated plainly. Between them, the fire splintered. She looked at him for a while. The pale scar across his jaw contrasts with his tanned skin. The gray, shadow-shadowed eyes were sharp, unreadable, but not cruel. Finally, she remarked, "You fought like a man possessed." "On the practice field. From here, I could hear it.
He bowed his head. Every day, steel needs to be sharpened. Too much rest causes a blade to dull. She whispered, "And a blade that never rests may break." His gaze wavered, as if her words had a deeper effect than she had intended. But his expression didn't change. "So I won't break until I'm no longer needed." She felt a tightness in her chest. Something perilous. She turned away and got up to pour herself some wine from the table's silver carafe. She told herself that the goblet's slight trembling in her hand was caused by the weight of the crown rather than his eyes on her.
"I don't know you yet, but you were selected," she said. Why did you pledge yourself to my dynasty, Kaelen? Tell me. He remained silent for far too long. Then: "Because the dynasty is still in place." Queens come and go. Peace fades, wars burn. However, the dynasty continues to exist. Serving it means serving something bigger than myself. Across the fire, her eyes locked with his once more. "How about me? To you, am I just a vessel of that dynasty? The faintest flicker passed across his face—uncertainty, perhaps even guilt—but it was gone in a heartbeat.
With a voice that slid back into its sheath like a blade, he declared, "You are my queen." "That's all that matters." That's all that matters. Not all that he felt, though. Silence stretched between them as Serenya sipped her wine. Beyond the balcony, the wind howled, the fire hissed, and the crown pressed against her flesh. She examined him, this man who fought like a storm, spoke like stone, and stood like a wall. Her blade. Her guardian. And maybe she's dangerous. Finally, she put down the goblet. Excellent. Stand watch outside my chamber if you won't sleep. My queen's first night won't be marred by curses and blood rumors.
Kaelen bowed once more. "As you direct." Even as he walked out of the room, his presence filled it with his steady steps. For the first time, Serenya realized that even though he was gone, she could still feel him there as the door closed. --- It was a bad night. Dreams of silver thorns and red moons, as well as voices whispering treachery in the dark, plagued Serenya's restless sleep. Shadows were moving across her room when she woke up. She believed it to be a dream for a moment. Until the glint caught her eye. Steel. From the shadow, a dagger. A black-clad figure moved like smoke across her chamber.
"Too late to scream, too late to grab the bell rope," she gasped. However, the intruder never made it to her. Kaelen was there already. His blade flashed silver in the moonlight as the door slammed open and he quickly drew it. Before the assassin had even turned, he struck him, a clean, vicious arc of steel biting flesh. The body fell silently to the ground. Serenya felt her heart pound. She pushed back against her pillows and gazed at the dead body lying on the floor of her chamber, the dagger still in his grasp. Over him, Kaelen stood with her eyes blazing like a storm and her chest heaving. After giving the blade a single wipe, he put it away and faced her. "Are you in pain?
"Her throat was too constricted to respond. She gave a headshake. Gently, slowly, he took a step closer. The man below undressed the warrior. At her bedside, he dropped to one knee and spoke in a softer, lower tone. He declared, "They'll come for you again." "It wasn't the first, and it won't be the last. But while I stand, you won't fall. She should have felt reassured by the words. Rather, they made her shiver. Because she could hear more than just loyalty in his tone. Something more pointed. Something hazardous. She had been saved by her Blade. But at what price?