Thorns of the crown

Chapter One: Shadows of the Past

The forest whispered with secrets as Lady Seraphine Vale moved silently through the undergrowth, her dagger glinting faintly in the moonlight. The cloak wrapped around her shoulders bore no sigil, no crest-just like the woman beneath it. House Vale had been erased from history. But she was still here. Still breathing. Still burning with revenge.

The rebels had gathered near the border of Eldenmoor, hidden in the ruins of an old watchtower. Seraphine had been scouting the nearby roads, watching for the royal patrols she knew would come. And tonight, they came-with banners high and blades drawn.

She crouched beside an ancient elm, eyes narrowing as hooves thundered through the trees. A column of armored men cut through the path like a blade. And at their head rode him.

Prince Alaric Thorne.

Even under the silver-blue of twilight, she could see the hard line of his jaw, the sharpness in his gaze. He sat astride his warhorse like he owned the world-like every stone beneath his boots was a throne.

Seraphine's breath caught. Not from fear.

From fury.

This was the man who had signed her family's death. Who had watched as her father was dragged through the palace square, head bowed, accused of crimes he hadn't committed. And now he hunted rebels like her-daring to wear his golden armor in her woods.

She could kill him. Right now. A single arrow. A swift throw of the blade. Justice could be served beneath the leaves of this cursed forest.

But then he looked up-directly at her hiding place.

Seraphine froze.

Had he seen her?

Alaric slowed his horse, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. His sharp eyes scanned the shadows, pausing for a heartbeat too long.

Then he turned away.

The column passed.

And Seraphine let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"Not tonight, Prince," she whispered. "But soon."