Chapter Fifteen · Exiled by the Crown

The King sat back on his throne. His gaze swept over the officials, most of whom kept their heads lowered.

Behind him, the two Royal Mages raised their staffs in unison. Light gathered between them, forming the thin veil of protection first established in Aethrador’s time.

For the briefest instant, too subtle for most eyes to catch, the veil of light closed half a beat too slow.

The two mages exchanged a glance, as if asking whether the other had sensed it as well. A heartbeat later, the veil settled flawlessly around the throne.

High Commander Derron, Luca’s father, stepped into the center of the hall.

“Your Majesty, the Princess has acted outside the bounds of propriety during an alliance ceremony, damaging both the honor of the royal house and the dignity of the realm. This cannot be overlooked.”

Several military officials stepped forward behind him. No noise. No agitation. Only a shift in formation.

Across from them, at the head of the opposing line, Syveris also stepped into the center.

“Your Majesty, this is no longer a family matter. This concerns the foundation of Tharion.”

Eryndar looked down. Still, he said nothing.

Derron stepped closer to the throne.

“A wedding is a ritual of alliance among the fae clans. It exists through mutual respect. If that respect is called into question, the ritual loses its meaning.”

He paused.

“But we are not here to debate ceremony.”

His voice dropped.

“We are here to speak of magic.”

The hall fell silent.

No one dared breathe too loudly.

“On the battlefield, magic is what keeps our soldiers standing.”

He lifted his gaze to the throne.

“If the heir possesses no magic, what will the throne rely on to defend the kingdom?”

A senior mage stepped forward.

“In the records since Aethrador’s time, there has never been a King who did not wield magic.”

A military official followed.

“Soldiers must believe the one they serve can lead them against any threat.”

The three men bowed their heads in unison.

“We will not serve one who cannot lead us on the battlefield.”

King Eryndar remained seated, one elbow resting against the arm of the throne, his fingers rubbing slowly together.

Derron bowed lower.

“Your Majesty, to preserve order, the Princess must be removed from court until her magic is fully restored.”

Syveris inclined his head toward the King.

“I believe the Princess acted without ill intent.”

He folded his hands.

“But the kingdom sees only the image of the throne. To preserve the dignity of the royal house, she should be confined for seven days.”

Eryndar understood. Syveris was right.

Seven days would steady the army, long enough for the eight clans to see that the throne stood above any individual.

He rose.

The entire hall knelt at once, though their eyes did not lower.

His hand tightened slightly against the arm of the throne.

If he refused, he would stand against the military.

If he agreed, his daughter would be cast into doubt within her own court.

At last, he spoke.

“The Princess will be confined to the northern tower for seven days.”

Then he stepped down, stopping directly before Derron.

Derron had served since his father’s reign. A general of long record. A man of considerable power.

And now he was using the army to press the crown.

That line could not be crossed without consequence.

“Luca will also be confined for seven days, for insulting Aulith.”

The King’s voice rang through the hall, aimed at Derron with unmistakable clarity.

A pause.

“Your Majesty is wise.”

Derron bowed, though not fully.

His expression did not fully settle.

But it was the King’s decree. No one could oppose it.

The order was carried out at once. A Royal Mage was dispatched to Moontis Chamber to escort the Princess to the tower.

The sky burned deep red, the last of the darkening sunset bleeding along the horizon.

A mage stood before the great doors of Moontis Chamber. Behind him, two lines of soldiers stood at attention.

Obewich stood beside Lyra, shifting from foot to foot, his hands rubbing together without purpose.

“By the gods… this is bad. What do we do now?”

Lyra stood still for a moment, her gaze fixed beyond the doors.

I was not wrong.

This kingdom’s system was built on falsehood.

If I don’t expose it, then I have no right to inherit it.

They abuse their authority.

They serve themselves.

And they call it duty.

Those are the things that should be brought into the light.

But I understand my father.

She let out a quiet breath.

“All right. I’ll answer for what I’ve done.”

Lyra set her crown down on the table without looking at it again. Then she lifted her chin and stepped forward, passing between the two lines of soldiers.

“Your Highness—” Obewich reached out, as if to stop her. But he couldn’t.

Instead, he turned and hurried off toward Turquias Chamber to inform the Queen.

Night settled over the palace.

Food and bedding were brought to her, but Lyra had no appetite.

She replayed the day, searching for a moment she might regret. There was none.

If these seven days helped her father hold the army… then it was worth it.

At least, that was what she told herself.

Clouds smothered the sky. Not a single star.

Lyra curled against the cold stone wall and drifted off.

A thud.

Something heavy struck the floor beside her.

She woke and sat up.

The smell of blood reached her before she saw him. A masked figure lay collapsed beside the bed, a sword slipping from his hand onto the edge of the blanket.

Lyra flinched.

A thin shaft of light had pierced the back of his neck. Blood spilled from his throat.

He died instantly.

She could not understand what had just happened.

“Lyra. Get up.”

From the tower door, a small-framed soldier rushed in, holding up a faintly glowing ocarina.

The light fell across a familiar face.

“Mother…?”

“Quick. Come with me.”

The Queen seized her hand and pulled her along.

Outside, every guard lay unconscious.

They ran down into a hidden passage. The Queen’s voice reached Lyra’s mind without passing her lips.

I knew they would make a move. I was waiting.

Lyra answered in thought.

Why would they try to kill me?

The Queen quickened her pace.

Because this morning, you threatened their interests.

Lyra wanted to ask more, but the words stuck in her throat.

All she could do was run.

Moments later, they reached a hidden exit beneath the palace.

Both of them were breathing hard.

Obewich was already there, waiting. His hands fumbled, his voice unsteady.

“Your Highness… are you unharmed?”

A large white horse stood ready.

A saddlebag hung at its side, her sword strapped beside it.

The Queen pushed her up into the saddle.

“Your sword. Gold coins. Ride east. Through the Grey Oak forest. You’ll reach Sonareth before dawn.”

Lyra barely had time to speak.

The Queen placed a hand on her shoulder.

“From this moment on, you are no longer safe in the palace. Go.”

Obewich added quickly, his face tight with worry.

“Your Highness, please go. There’s no time to hesitate.”

No tears. No final embrace.

Only orders remained.

Lyra looked at them once, then nodded. She mounted and urged the horse forward, racing out through a side gate of the palace.

The Queen stood still, eyes glistening.

One hand clenched the still-glowing ocarina.

Obewich pressed his lips tight, fighting back tears. The Queen nudged him.

“Come. We need to look panicked.”

He wiped his eyes. He cared deeply for the Princess, but there was a role to play if she was to survive.

Their figures disappeared into the dark passage.

Above them, alarms rang through the palace corridors.

“Assassin!”

Torches flared to life. Armor clashed.

Chaos returned.

Lyra’s horse carried her beyond the palace grounds. The night was pitch-black.

She slowed at the crest of a hill and turned back.

Everything had happened too fast.

This afternoon, I was still in Moontis Chamber.

Now I’m being hunted.

Ravok was right. I had no idea what I was stepping into.

Haris had warned me too. Stay away from Luca.

They sealed my magic. And now they want my life.

Even if I hadn’t stopped the wedding, they would never have let me take the throne in peace.

Her throat tightened.

“So, this is what power means.”

Her gaze lingered on the distant ridge.

The palace burned with light, like a star she knew… and no longer belonged to her.

“Father. Mother. Obewich.”

She did not realize she was crying until the tears were already falling.

Her breath broke, quiet and uneven, answered only by the call of a night bird.

And Lyra knew that when dawn came, that place would no longer be waiting for her.