The first pale light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the sealed Crest Wing. Dust hung in the air like drifting ash. The torches had long burned low, casting long shadows against walls carved with centuries of imperial history.
Now those same walls bore fresh scars—scorch marks, shattered stone, blood.
A wing of the palace meant to symbolize the empire's brilliance…
reduced to a battlefield.
The crisis was over.
But it had not passed.
The Aftermath
Daren stood near the center of the devastated chamber, leaning against a cracked pillar while Rhedon wrapped cloth around his bleeding arm.
"You're going to need stitching," Rhedon muttered.
"I've had worse."
"Your arm says otherwise."
Daren did not reply. His eyes weren't on his injury—they were fixed on the Empress.
Lysandra moved through the room with deliberate calm, checking her wounded guards and murmuring instructions to the healers who finally forced their way in once the seal was lifted. Her pale gown was torn, smudged with smoke, dotted with blood that wasn't hers.
She carried herself as if she hadn't almost died.
But her hands shook when she thought no one looked.
Daren saw it.
He saw everything.
Serene saw it too, though her approach was far less subtle.
The princess marched straight up to her sister, arms thrown in dramatic exasperation.
"You promised me," Serene declared, "that after the duel fiasco with King Rehdon, we were done with deadly drama for at least a month!"
Lysandra blinked. "I made no such promise."
"You implied it!"
"I implied nothing."
"You implied it with your eyes!"
"Serene—"
"No," Serene cut in sharply, though her voice trembled. "Don't you dare brush this off. You almost died. You both did."
Her gaze flicked to Daren—whose bloody arm did not help the argument.
Serene scowled at him. "This is also your fault."
Daren looked bewildered. "Mine?"
"Yes. Because now you're nearly carved in half and I can't even be mad at you because you saved her three times tonight!"
Daren opened his mouth to reply—but Lysandra beat him.
"Serene." Her voice was quiet. Firm. "Enough."
The princess bit her lip, tears forming. "…Just don't scare me like that again."
Lysandra pulled her into a tight embrace. "I won't. I promise."
Daren looked away, giving them a sliver of privacy, though exhaustion gnawed at him like a persistent blade.
Rhedon's Report
Rhedon approached the Empress, bowing stiffly.
"Your Majesty. We counted twelve Iron Shades inside the wing. No survivors."
"Signs of more outside?" Lysandra asked.
"A few. They retreated the moment the lockdown triggered."
Cowards when cornered. Shadows when free.
"Meaning," she said slowly, "that this was only an opening strike."
"Yes."
Daren's jaw tightened. "The attack was too organized. Too well-timed. Someone inside the palace had to open their way in."
Rhedon grimaced. "I fear you're right, Sir Vale."
Lysandra's gaze darkened.
A traitor in her palace.
She had expected political sabotage. Attempts to damage her reputation. Pressure from the Union of Kingdoms.
But a breach of the Crest Wing?
A strike at her life?
That was a declaration of war.
The Moment Between
While the guards busied themselves clearing the bodies and restoring order, Lysandra stepped toward Daren—her footsteps soft but purposeful.
"Show me your arm."
"It's—"
"Show me."
He sighed, removing the makeshift bandage. The gash was long, deep, and ugly.
She winced. "And you said this was nothing."
"I've survived worse."
"That is not comforting," she murmured.
She reached for fresh cloth, dipping it into a basin of water. When she pressed it gently to his wound, he inhaled sharply.
"Sorry," she said quietly.
"You don't need to—"
"I do."
Her hands trembled again—but only slightly.
He didn't miss it this time.
"Lysandra," he said, his voice softer than he meant. "You were brave tonight."
She shook her head. "I was reckless."
"You were decisive."
"I endangered everyone."
"You saved them."
She paused. Their eyes met.
The noise of the broken wing faded around them.
For a heartbeat, it was only the two of them—his steady breathing, her trembling hands, the closeness neither dared acknowledge aloud.
"Daren," she whispered, "I—"
A shout cut her off.
"Your Majesty! A rider just arrived from the Union Court!"
Lysandra straightened instantly, all softness vanishing.
"From the Union?" Rhedon asked, stepping beside her. "At this hour?"
The messenger rushed in, dust-covered and pale.
He dropped to one knee, unrolling a sealed parchment.
"The Union of Kingdoms has issued a summons," he announced. "Effective immediately."
Lysandra stiffened.
Of course.
King Mavren's allies in the Union had moved fast.
Too fast.
The messenger continued, voice trembling:
"The Empress of Valenfirth is to attend an emergency hearing regarding the… 'incident of aggression and endangerment of Asterfell interests.'"
Serene sputtered. "He attacked us!"
Daren's eyes turned to steel. "This is a trap."
Lysandra stared at the summons, her voice cold.
"They dare accuse us after sending assassins?"
"They dare," Rhedon said grimly, "because Mavren purchased half the Council with favors and coin."
Silence spread like frost.
Then—
Lysandra folded the summons, eyes burning with controlled fury.
"Prepare my carriage," she said.
Daren stepped forward. "You intend to go?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
She looked at him—really looked.
"No," she said softly. Then louder, steadier:
"Sir Daren Vale will accompany me as my personal shield knight."
The words carried weight.
Symbolic. Defiant. Unmistakably intimate.
Daren bowed his head. "As you command."
Serene whispered under her breath, "Oh, this is going to cause rumors…"
Lysandra didn't deny it.
For the first time since the night began, she welcomed it.
Dawn's Decision
As the sun finally broke over the horizon, spilling light across the ruined Crest Wing, the Empress turned to her shaken court.
"Today," she declared, "Asterfell has made its intentions clear. They came for my life. They failed."
Her voice rose, cutting through the air with steel-like clarity.
"But they will not twist this night to their advantage."
Her gaze hardened.
"The Union will hear the truth—my truth. And if they refuse to listen…"
She looked at Daren.
He stepped forward, unwavering. "Then we make them."
Lysandra nodded.
"Then we make them."
The morning sun rose over Valenfirth, illuminating the scars of battle—and the first steps toward a confrontation that would shake the entire continent.