The moon shall crown her, the blade shall shield her, the shadow shall guard her soul, the heart shall burn for her, and one of them shall smile while sharpening the knife."*—The Moonlit Prophecy, Fragment VII
The palace had learned to smile even when they were scared. Servants bowed lower, courtiers laughed louder, and the council swore loyalty with voices that shook under their silky tongues. Serenya saw it all, though: every fake smile, every quick look, and every whisper that flew between the pillars like moths. Three times someone tried to kill her, but her crown was still shining. The nobles thought it was a miracle or a mistake that needed to be fixed. Kaelen, a wall of steel; Eryndor, a shadow at the edges; and Lyrian, fire in human form, were always there to protect her. Everyone had made a promise. They had all already put something on the line for her.
But the prophecy still burned in her mind. *One will betray. Once, she thought the words were far away, like a riddle for another time. Now they were breathing down her neck like cold air in a tomb. --- The council meeting went on and on, with voices overlapping in a web of arguments about war taxes, grain shortages, and rumors of rebellion. Serenya listened. The crown hurt her skin, and the throne got colder with every hour that went by. Finally, she raised her hand. There was silence.
But the prophecy still burned in her mind. *One will betray. Once, she thought the words were far away, like a riddle for another time. Now they were breathing down her neck like cold air in a tomb. --- The council meeting went on and on, with voices overlapping in a web of arguments about war taxes, grain shortages, and rumors of rebellion. Serenya listened. The crown hurt her skin, and the throne got colder with every hour that went by. Finally, she raised her hand. There was silence.
With a voice as sharp as glass, she remarked, "You argue of grain while assassins slip into my chamber." As poison seeps toward my cup, you quarrel over a coin. Maybe the dynasty ought to make the case for loyalty instead. There were murmurs. A few people lowered their gaze. Others stared at her with a defiance that was too refined to be outright rebellion, but it was not far from it. Serenya sensed the presence of her guardians throughout it all. He rasped his breath softly through steel, and Kaelen stood close enough to hear it. Eryndor hovered in the darkness, his face unreadable. Lyrian's fingers clenched on the chair as if he were holding back words he dared not say, but his eyes once met hers, steady and warm.
As the session came to an end, Serenya got up and swept out of the hall, her Guardians settling around her. She was unable to stop thinking, even though they walked in silence. Which one would it be? --- The air in the palace was thick with storm that night. Lightning splintered the sky with silver fire, thunder roared beyond the mountains, and rain battered the spires. With her hair unbound, her heart restless, and the crown thrown on the table, Serenya sat by her window. The sound of the door opening nearly escaped her ears. "My Queen, I apologize for the interruption." Eryndor.
Shadows clung to him as though they were hesitant to let him go into the light of her fire as he entered. His eyes shone with secrets, his hair was darker from the rain, and his cloak was wet. She stiffened. "You pass through locked doors far too easily." With ease, he responded, "Locks are for those who fear being seen." "I'm not here to hurt you." She clenched her jaw. "So, why are you here?" His voice was low as he approached. "Because the hand that moves against you is visible to me." She gasped. "Are you aware?"
"I am sufficiently knowledgeable." His face flashed like lightning as his eyes darted to the window. However, until proven, names are dangerous. Speaking before I'm sure could condemn an innocent person or, worse, warn the guilty. "You want me to wait with daggers hanging at my throat?" She lost her temper. Unflinching, he looked her in the eyes. "I hope you live long enough for me to rip the betrayer's mask off of his face." She felt a heave in her chest. His voice always carried a strange, unwavering trust that clashed with anger and fear. But doubt gnawed beneath it all. Why didn't Eryndor tell her everything he knew? Even from her, what secrets did he conceal?
Lyrian visited her room later, after the storm had passed and the palace was once more peaceful. This time, he didn't have a box, satchel, or herbs. Just himself. His eyes scanned her with more than concern, but he said softly, "You should rest." "And if I can't?" she muttered. "Then allow me to remain until you are able to." The storm's chill was chased away by his warmth. He talked about nothing and everything, including the kids playing in the lower court, the garden he wanted to restore, and how the stars would appear after the storm passed. His words were like a balm to her.
And yet—her heart stumbled when he smiled. Not because it was a fake smile. It was too genuine, too warm. However, the words of the prophecy came back, piercing and harsh: "When sharpening the knife, one must smile." --- Kaelen took her through the training yard the following day. As she went by, soldiers knelt, their swords raised in salute, their armor slick with rain. Kaelen's presence at her side was unwavering and unbroken, like iron itself—a promise she could touch. Finally, with his eyes forward and his voice low, he said, "You distrust us." She tensed up. "Do I?"
"You do," he said plainly. "I can tell by the way you gaze at us. We are your heart, your shadow, and your shield. However, you examine us as though we were daggers poised to strike. Her throat constricted. "What if you are, too?" He looked at her for the first time. Unflinching, steel-gray. "It's better to know where the dagger is than to put your faith in a smile that conceals it." Her blood froze. With no further words, he turned away once more. --- Serenya had another dream that night. Her gown was ripped and covered in blood, and she stood on the throne of thorns with the crown weighing heavily on her head. Her three Guardians—the Blade, the Shadow, and the Heart—knelt before her.
They all pledged allegiance. They all put up their hands. They all concealed knives behind their backs. She cried when she woke up, her skin cold with perspiration. And she noticed it in her chamber's darkness—there was a person standing close to the window. In the moonlight, a smile sparkled.