Chapter 1 The Trail of Ashes

The palace courtyard was full of people, but Serenya had never felt more alone.

She knelt on rough stone, wrists bound in silver cuffs, her gown torn and stained. The morning sun beat down on her, too warm, too bright for a day meant to end her future. Every eye in the kingdom was on her-nobles, soldiers, servants. Even the commoners had been allowed in to witness her downfall.

Her father, King Eldric Veyl, stood tall on the dais above. His face was unreadable, cold and distant. Not once had he looked her in the eye.

"Serenya Veyl," he said, his voice echoing across the square, "you stand accused of rejecting your sacred duty, defying royal command, and breaking the bond of alliance with the Kingdom of Dareth."

The crowd stirred, whispers flowing like wind through leaves. She could feel their judgment like heat against her skin.

"You were promised to Prince Calren," the king continued. "Your refusal has brought shame on this court and insult to our allies. By your actions, you have forfeited your place among the royal bloodline."

Serenya kept her head high, even as her hands trembled in the chains. Her heart pounded in her chest, but her face remained calm. She had expected this. She just hadn't thought it would hurt so much.

To her right, Prince Calren Dareth stood dressed in white and gold, the picture of elegance and confidence. And beside him, his new bride-Lady Vyra-smiled faintly, eyes glittering with satisfaction.

The betrayal still burned in Serenya's chest.

She and Calren had grown up together, trained together. She had been told from childhood that they would marry. But when she had confronted him about his affairs, his lies, his manipulation, he had laughed. Told her no one would believe her. Told her she had no choice but to marry him anyway.

She refused.

Now, she would pay the price.

"By royal decree," the king said, "you are stripped of your title, your claim, and your name. You are no longer heir to the throne. You are no longer a princess of Elaria."

A wave of gasps swept through the crowd. Some of the nobles looked uncomfortable. Others nodded in agreement. No one spoke up for her.

A priest stepped forward, holding a shallow bowl filled with ash.

He scattered it at her feet. The flakes drifted through the air, sticking to her skin, her hair, her lashes. Her humiliation was complete.

"Ash to crown, crown to ash," the priest said. "Let her walk forgotten."

Serenya blinked, keeping her tears hidden. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Her legs ached. Her arms burned. But she stayed still, her jaw set, her back straight.

Calren stepped closer as if to inspect her, hands clasped behind his back.

"You could've had everything," he said quietly. "But you chose pride. Now look at you."

Serenya met his eyes. "I'd rather fall with pride than live as your puppet."

His smile slipped, only for a second.

Guards grabbed her arms and lifted her to her feet. The crowd watched in silence as she was dragged from the courtyard, her chains rattling with every step. She didn't resist. There was no point.

As they passed the outer gate of the palace, she glanced back just once. Her father was already gone from the dais. Calren was kissing his bride. The same people who once bowed to her now turned their backs.

Let them.

They led her through the streets of Highveil, where the crowds grew thicker. People gathered on rooftops, in alleys, leaning out of windows to catch a glimpse of the disgraced princess. Some spat. Some cheered. Some threw pebbles or wilted flowers.

"Traitor," someone hissed.

"She's cursed," another whispered.

Serenya kept walking. Her feet bled inside her shoes, but she didn't stop.

Finally, they reached the outer gates of the city. The guards released her shackles and handed her a satchel. Inside was a half-loaf of hard bread, a small flask of water, and a thin brown cloak.

"This is mercy," one of the guards muttered.

She didn't thank him.

The gates opened with a groan, revealing the long road stretching toward the horizon. Far ahead, past the golden hills and rocky paths, loomed the Viremoor Forest-dark, vast, and wild. It was the edge of the known world. Beyond it were only stories.

The guard pointed. "You're to go east. Cross the hills. Don't stop before the trees."

She nodded once, turned, and walked.

They closed the gates behind her.

That Night – Edge of the Forest

By the time the sun set, her legs were shaking. Her mouth was dry, and the bread had done little to ease her hunger. The wind was colder now, cutting through the thin fabric of her cloak.

She found shelter under a sloping rock at the forest's edge. The trees of Viremoor rose high above her, thick and shadowed, their branches twisted like claws.

She tried to light a fire with flintstone and dry grass. Her fingers were numb. Sparks danced but never caught.

Her breath hitched as she stared at the useless kindling.

Her chest tightened. Her throat burned. And without warning, the tears came.

Not delicate. Not quiet. Ugly, heaving sobs that tore from her chest before she could stop them. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and cried like the child they had made her feel she was.

Everything was gone.

Her mother had died when she was ten. Her father had turned on her. The people had laughed. And Calren-Calren had humiliated her for all to see.

She wasn't a princess anymore. She wasn't even sure she was a person in their eyes.

"I hate them," she whispered to the dark. "I hate them all."

A soft light flickered nearby.

She froze.

It wasn't firelight-not exactly. A flame floated in the air, small and warm, hovering without fuel.

From the shadows, a man stepped forward, tall and cloaked in black. His face was partly hidden, but his silver eyes glowed like polished metal.

"You're far from safety," he said. "And far too loud to be alone."

Serenya scrambled to her feet, dagger in hand.

"Stay back."

He raised both hands in peace. "I'm not your enemy."

"Then what are you?"

He studied her for a moment. "Someone who knows what it's like to be thrown away. And someone who sees power when it's still sleeping."

His gaze didn't pity her. It recognized something.

He held out his hand. "You want to survive. I can help."

Serenya hesitated.

Then, slowly, she reached for his hand.