The crossbow bolt grazed Seraphina's cheek with surgical precision, leaving a thin crimson line that burned like liquid fire. She barely registered the pain as Corvin's desperate grip yanked her backwards into the crypt's suffocating darkness. Behind them, Kaelan's broad form filled the narrow passageway, his sword flashing like quicksilver as he deflected another deadly bolt with a shower of sparks.
"Go!" Kaelan's voice was raw, the tendons in his neck standing out like bowstrings as he braced himself against the onslaught. Moonlight from the crypt entrance glinted off the sweat beading on his forehead, tracing the jagged scar that ran from brow to mouth - a permanent reminder of battles past.
Seraphina's fingers closed convulsively around the silver hairpin, its delicate wings biting into her palm. The metal pulsed with unnatural warmth, as though alive with some hidden magic.
The secret passage yawned before them like the gullet of some great beast, its walls slick with moisture that glistened in the flickering torchlight. Corvin moved like a spectre ahead of her, his normally vibrant russet hair dulled by dust and shadow. The prince's breathing came in ragged gasps, each exhale puffing white in the suddenly frigid air.
"They're coming," Corvin whispered, his voice cracking like thin ice. Even in the gloom, Seraphina could see his Adam's apple bob convulsively. "I can hear the captain's spurs."
The sound of armoured boots on stone grew louder, accompanied by the ominous creak of crossbows being reloaded. Seraphina pressed a trembling hand to her stinging cheek, her fingers coming away slick with blood that looked black in the dim light.
"How far does this passage go?" she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.
Corvin turned haunted eyes toward her. "To the old chapel ruins," he murmured. "Mother showed me when I was small. Right before..." His voice broke, and in that moment, he looked every bit the frightened boy he'd never been allowed to be.
A sudden clash of steel echoed behind them, followed by a pained grunt that could only have come from Kaelan. Seraphina whirled, but Corvin's grip on her arm was iron.
"No!" he hissed. "We have to keep moving!"
Kaelan materialised from the shadows like a wraith, his sword dark with blood that wasn't his own. He pressed the leather-bound diary into Seraphina's hands, his calloused fingers lingering against hers for a heartbeat too long.
"Take this," he ordered, his breath warm against her temple. "Your brother knows the way."
Before she could protest, Kaelan turned back toward the approaching guards, his broad shoulders blocking the passage like a living barricade. The last thing Seraphina saw before Corvin dragged her away was the determined set of Kaelan's jaw and the deadly glint of his sword in the torchlight.
The tunnel seemed to stretch into eternity, the air growing thicker with each labored breath. Seraphina's lungs burned, her once-elegant emerald gown now torn and filthy, the silver-threaded vines reduced to tattered remnants. The diary in her hands pulsed with unnatural warmth, its leather cover soft as well-worn skin.
"Just a little further," Corvin panted, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. Moonlight suddenly spilt through a rusted iron gate ahead, painting his freckled face in ghostly pallor.
The prince fell upon the gate with desperate fingers, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he struggled with the ancient lock. "Damn it all!" he cursed, his voice cracking. "It's rusted shut!"
Seraphina shouldered him aside. Without conscious thought, she pressed the silver hairpin into the lock. The mechanism clicked open with eerie precision, as if recognising its rightful owner.
Corvin's hazel eyes widened. "How in the seven hells—"
"Later," Seraphina cut him off, pushing through the gate into the moonlit ruins beyond.
The old chapel stood like a skeleton against the star-strewn sky, its collapsed roof allowing shafts of silver light to illuminate the crumbling altar. Seraphina collapsed onto a moss-covered pew, her legs trembling uncontrollably. The diary seemed to burn in her hands, its secrets demanding to be known.
Corvin crouched beside her, his boyish face uncharacteristically grave. In the moonlight, she could see the Valemont features emerging in his face - the sharp cheekbones, the stubborn jaw. No longer a boy, but not quite a man.
"Read it," he urged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before they find us."
With trembling fingers, Seraphina opened the diary. The handwriting was elegant but hurried, the ink faded in places where tears might have fallen:
My dearest Sera,
If you're reading this, I am gone, and the game has begun in earnest. What they told you about my death is a lie. The curse is not in our blood, child - it sleeps in the crown itself. The same crown that took your grandmother and her mother before her. The same crown that will come for you, unless you find the—
A twig snapped outside the ruins.
Seraphina's head jerked up, her silver eyes scanning the darkness. The hair on her arms stood on end as a familiar, honeyed voice drifted through the night air.
"Really, sister? Hiding in a graveyard?" Lysandra stepped into the moonlight, her ice-blue gown pristine, her golden hair shimmering like a halo. The ruby-hilted dagger in her hand glinted wickedly. "How dreadfully predictable."
Behind her, a dozen royal guards emerged from the shadows, their crossbows trained on Seraphina's heart.