The Crown Of Ash And Blood

The moon hung low and full over the capital, casting silver light across the spires of the palace like a blade waiting to be drawn. Inside the great banquet hall, chandeliers of gold and crystal sparkled with a thousand tiny flames. Music danced in the air, light and artificial, as nobles in embroidered silks and lacquered masks glided across the marble floor.

Tonight was meant to be a symbol of peace—a feast of unity hosted by the High Council, with the Crown Prince Serion at its center. But for Aurelia Vaelthorn, the gathering reeked of something else: a trap wrapped in velvet and wine.

She entered the hall in a gown of deep crimson, embroidered with threads of black that shimmered like blood under moonlight. Her hair was swept into a crown of silver pins, her expression a mask of elegance carved from marble. Caelum Thorne followed a few paces behind, dressed not in armor but a sharp, dark tunic—his eyes never leaving her.

Serion rose from the high table as Aurelia approached, his smile practiced and polished. "Lady Vaelthorn," he greeted, extending a hand. "Tonight, the realm watches. Let them see harmony."

Aurelia accepted his hand, allowing him to guide her toward the head table. "Of course, Your Highness," she said smoothly. "Let them see whatever pleases you."

Nobles watched, whispering behind jeweled fans. Some smiled. Others narrowed their eyes. Among them: Lady Verena Althaea, clad in pale gold, sipping wine like poison. Lady Cyrene Vortalis, all in obsidian silk, her gaze cutting sharper than her blade-shaped earrings. Lord Thalien Corven, in quiet grey, observed from a shadowed corner with the stillness of a man waiting for something to burn.

The feast began. Servants swept in and out with trays of delicacies, laughter echoed under the vaulted ceilings, and yet beneath it all, tension coiled like a serpent under satin.

Halfway through the evening, a shriek broke through the music.

A nobleman—Lord Veyron of the Eastern Frontier—collapsed, convulsing. His goblet fell from his hand, red wine staining the marble like a wound. Gasps echoed. Some screamed. Others stood in alarm.

Serion was the first to rise. "Guards!" he barked. "Secure the exits! No one leaves!"

Aurelia stood slowly, gaze fixed on the fallen man. His lips were blue. His eyes wide open in terror. Poison.

Lord Thalien approached the body, knelt, and murmured, "It was quick. Clean. Professional."

Cyrene arched a brow. "How convenient, for this to happen at a banquet of unity."

"And how unfortunate," Verena added sweetly, turning toward Aurelia, "that the man collapsed just after a toast you proposed, Lady Vaelthorn."

The room turned to her.

Aurelia met their stares, cold and calm. "Lord Veyron and I shared no alliances. If he was targeted, it was not by my hand. But I find it telling that only moments after I began gaining public favor, someone dies—with poison, the weapon of cowards."

Gasps. Murmurs.

Serion raised a hand, his tone measured. "No accusations will be made tonight. We will conduct a full inquiry."

Aurelia stepped down from the dais. Her voice carried, controlled and dangerous. "Good. And I will offer my full cooperation—because I do not fear the truth."

She walked out without waiting for dismissal. Caelum followed, silent and watchful.

Later That Night – The Moon Garden

Wind moved through the hedges like whispers. Aurelia stood beneath a moonlit archway, her hands gripping the stone railing.

Caelum approached. "You shouldn't have left alone."

"They want a witch-hunt," she said quietly. "Let them search. I have nothing to hide."

Caelum reached for her hand. "But you have something to protect."

She turned, eyes catching his. "Do you believe me, Caelum? That I had nothing to do with it?"

He didn't flinch. "I would believe you against the world."

Something in her broke—and healed—in the same breath.

Aurelia leaned closer. Their foreheads touched.

"Then stay," she whispered. "Until this storm passes."

"Always."

And above them, the stars watched in silence—cold, ancient, and unblinking.

But far beneath, in the catacombs below the palace, a scroll was unsealed. A sigil drawn in blood. A shadow awoke.

The feast had only been the beginning.