Even though a crown sparkles in the moonlight, its weight is silently carried. The crown will also fall when trust is broken—not by steel, but by a failing heart. The Moonlit Prophecy, Part IX The --- The crown was heavier than steel.
Every time Serenya stood before the court, every time she saw her reflection in the mirrored glass, and every time the servants put it on her head, she felt it. Although it shone with power, underneath the gold and jewels was something brittle and delicate, something that was on the verge of breaking. It was what the crown stood for, not the crown itself. A secret-based dynasty. Daggers encircle a throne. And Guardians whose vows encircled her as tightly as shields.
Sleep had left her ever since she caught a glimpse of the figure by her window that night, the smile shining like a knife in the moonlight. She moved through the corridors with her heart divided between desire and doubt, her eyes keen, and her ears tuned to whispers. Every smile was questioned. Every touch had significance. All the oaths felt empty. The --- As restless as crows before a storm, the council convened once more. Grain tariffs, noble rivalries, and border skirmishes were among the topics of heated debate in the chamber. However, beneath their words, Serenya could hear the real note: fear.
Fear of her, fear of her guardians, and fear of the prophecy that everyone knew but no one dared to say out loud. With his hand close to his sword, Kaelen stood beside her, unflinching and silent. Eryndor floated at the edges, more shadow than man, his eyes soaking up every movement, every twitch of discomfort. Lyrian stayed closer than either of them, his warmth a counterpoint to the cold of the room, his eyes on her tender and both reassuring and unnerving. Serenya sensed the crown slipping from her heart, not her head, even in the midst of so many. The council's voices grew quieter. She stood up, her voice like a blade slicing through the noise.
This council discusses fields and money while assassins still prowl my corridors. While you quarrel over taxes, loyalty rots. You fight, and in your wake the dynasty itself falls apart. Enough. The vaulted ceiling reverberated with her voice. There was silence in the room. "Loyalty is not spoken," she continued. It has been proven. And in the coming days, every man and woman in this hall will be put to the test. She let her gaze wander over them. Some turned pale. Others stiffened. Some stared into her rebellious eyes. But the council didn't really frighten her. The prophecy hung like smoke in the recesses of her mind. There will be a betrayer.
It appeared that Serenya was by herself when she strolled through the gardens that evening. The moon was low and heavy with light, illuminating the hedges and fountains with silver. The scent of roses filled the damp air as they brushed against her gown. The earth was dark and rich after the storm had passed. She was not alone, though. Stepping steadily on the gravel, Kaelen trailed behind. She sensed Eryndor in the darkness, but he remained invisible. And before she could call for him, Lyrian—he showed up, as if he had anticipated her destination. Lyrian whispered, "You shouldn't walk without rest." Though her voice lacked bite, she replied, "And you should not follow so easily."
He drew nearer, his warmth stroking her like the fire he held inside. "I follow because I don't want to watch you crumble under this burden." Her chest grew constricted. "What if you are the burden?" Before she could stop them, the words escaped her lips. His eyes darkened, not out of guilt but out of hurt, and his face faltered. He whispered, "I am no weight." "I am the steadying hand." But she was plagued by doubt. When sharpening the knife, one must smile. And his smile—gods, his smile—was so fiercely devoted that it made her shudder. Kaelen's voice broke through the darkness before she could respond.
Enough meandering. The queen's safety comes before her wishes. Lyrian tensed up and faced him. "What if her heart requires more air than her lungs?" Kaelen's hand touched the hilt of his sword. "Her body must survive for her heart to survive." Like a drawn bow, the tension between them broke. With a sharp voice, Serenya moved in between. "Enough, you two. If you're supposed to keep me safe, keep me safe from the things that hunt outside, not from one another. Although neither of their eyes softened, they both bowed their heads. Serenya also believed she caught a slight curvature of Eryndor's lips in the shadows. It was a knowing smile, not a warm one. As if he had anticipated the crack's expansion. The next few days fell apart like a thread.
First, little things. One night, Lyrian was absent from his post. Kaelen discovered she was having a private conversation with a general who had previously disputed her claim. Eryndor disappeared for hours and then reappeared with nothing but the sparkle of secrets in his eyes. Not enough to condemn. Enough to cause wounds. Her once-complete trust has now broken like glass. Every Guardian became a suspect as well as a shield. Every promise sounded both real and untrue. Subtly, she started to test them. A command here, a question there. One whispered a lie, and another the truth. She watched to see which words came back to her in a twisted form before they vanished into quiet.
And dread spread slowly. Because Eryndor, Lyrian, and Kaelen all failed her test in some way. Kaelen mentioned things he shouldn't have been aware of. There was guilt in Lyrian's eyes that he would not express. Eryndor's quiet was too profound and prolonged. *Betrayal is inevitable. However, which? --- Serenya summoned them to her chamber on the seventh night.
Shadows flickered against the stone as the fire burned low. The crown rested on the table, its jewels splintered into sparks by the stray light. Three oath-bound men, whose presence filled the room with steel, heat, and shadow, stood in front of her. With a steady voice, she explained, "I called you because the dynasty is breaking." The council schemes, the court plots, and the prophecy whispers its poison in my ear. I must be aware of my current position. As hard as ever, Kaelen's voice came first. "You are protected. Until I fall, you have my sword. With fire glimmering in his eyes, Lyrian's hand touched his chest. "You are loved and respected. The sole reason my heart beats is to sustain yours.
Eryndor's words were darker and softer, and his lips curled slightly. "You are under observation. You won't be touched by any shadow unless I allow it. Three promises. Three facts—or falsehoods. Serenya's eyes landed on the crown. "But according to the prophecy, one of you will shatter me." The ensuing silence was oppressive. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. until the low rumble of Kaelen's voice. Then put us to the test. If you have to, break us. It's better that you break us than silently doubt us. She closed her throat. She desired to have faith. She wanted to believe in the gods' commitment, fire, and oaths. However, the prophecy continued to gnaw, the cracks grew wider, and the crown on the table appeared to be about to break.
"I will," she muttered. Something broke with those words, not in her crown, but in her heart. Because she thought she saw it again in the flicker of the firelight. A grin. One of them grinned, too briefly and too faintly, but it was still sharp enough to slit her from the inside out.