Chapter 7: Moonlit Betrayal
The moon rose blood-red over Ilyrá, a rare omen. Across the kingdom, seers whispered of broken fates and twisted loyalties. In the palace, those whispers took root like poison.
Liora stood in the Moon Garden alone, cloaked in silver and thought. Her magic hummed faintly beneath her skin, restless. The Crown Tree had gone quiet, its light dimmed over the last two nights. Even the spirits seemed to be holding their breath.
She waited.
Kaelen had sent a note, asking her to meet him under the Moon Arbor, where they could finally speak freely—away from the wives, the council, and the throne. She had worn his favorite color. She had come hoping for more than words.
But it was not Kaelen who arrived.
It was Maevia.
"You came," the First Wife said, stepping from the shadows like a blade from silk.
Liora tensed. "Where is the king?"
"Oh, he's quite safe. For now."
Maevia circled her, slow and poised. "You truly think you're the first woman to catch his eye? The first to believe she's different?"
Liora didn't flinch. "No. But I might be the first who doesn't need his crown."
That stopped Maevia for half a heartbeat. Then her lips curled.
"You speak boldly for a woman marked for exile."
She snapped her fingers—and suddenly, guards surrounded the garden. Council-approved. Palace-trained. Their blades glowed with anti-magic sigils.
"You've been accused of treason," Maevia said smoothly. "Conspiring with the exiled bloodlines. Harboring forbidden knowledge. And of enchanting the king."
"You're lying."
"I don't have to lie, dear. I just have to speak loud enough for the court to believe me."
Two guards moved forward.
Liora raised her hands—and the air split with a crack of light. Her mother's sigil flared across her chest, and the guards were thrown back by a pulse of ancestral magic.
The garden shook. Statues cracked. The trees hissed as if alive.
But then a voice rang out.
"Enough."
Kaelen stepped into the garden, sword drawn, his crown discarded behind him. He looked at the scene—at Liora, at Maevia, at the guards frozen mid-strike.
"Stand down," he ordered.
The guards hesitated, then obeyed.
Liora turned to him. "They mean to destroy me."
"I know," Kaelen said. "But I won't let them."
Maevia's voice was ice. "If you protect her, you defy the Council."
"I am the Crown," he snapped. "And I will not lose her to your fear."
Liora's breath caught—because it wasn't strategy in his voice. It was something far more dangerous.
Love.
Maevia's face darkened, but she said nothing. She turned and walked away, silent as a storm gathering.
Kaelen stepped to Liora, touched her face, and whispered, "There's no turning back now."
She touched his hand, and whispered back, "Good."
But above them, the Crown Tree pulsed once—dim, flickering—as if warning them both.
Something was coming.