CHAPTER 3 : STORMS BENEATH THE CROWN

Rain fell over Maelric Keep in a steady whisper, washing the dust from its stone walls and drowning the restless murmurs of its people. The dawn sky broke in bruised shades of purple and gray as thunder rolled far beyond the horizon. Ilyana stood beneath the archway of the Great Hall, her fingers tight against the stone column, her mind tangled in a storm greater than the one outside.

A sister. A shadow. A secret rebellion.

Solara—a name she had never heard until last night, and yet it carried the weight of shared blood and forgotten destiny. Ilyana’s chest ached with the thought: how had the kingdom hidden this truth from her? How many more lies remained buried beneath the palace stones?

Marin approached cautiously, her eyes searching Ilyana’s face. "Your Grace, the council has gathered. They await your command."

Ilyana straightened, forcing the storm from her thoughts. "Then we will give them one."

The council chamber buzzed with restrained tension. Lords and advisors, some loyal, some opportunistic, sat in anticipation. Duke Renard, poised as ever, greeted her entrance with a shallow nod and a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Your Grace," he began smoothly, "we heard troubling reports from Halewatch last night. Some say the attackers were rebels. Others speak of... ancient orders."

"And what do you say, Duke Renard?" Ilyana asked, her voice calm as still water.

He spread his hands. "I say the kingdom teeters on chaos. And chaos requires a firm hand to restore order."

A murmur of agreement spread through the room.

Torvell rose, his voice steady. "The Third Trial has not concluded. By law, no power is yours to wield until its completion."

"And yet," Renard countered, "we cannot wait for ancient laws while enemies gather at our gates."

Ilyana stepped forward. "Then let the trial end today."

A hush fell over the chamber.

"Prepare the Trial of Allegiance," she commanded.

The Trial of Allegiance, the most dangerous of all, required the candidate to stand unarmed before a gathering of soldiers—each loyal to a different house, each with reasons to question her claim. It was not a test of strength but of loyalty. One misstep, and swords would be drawn against her.

The courtyard was cleared by midday. Rain slicked the stones, and soldiers gathered in silent ranks. Their armor glinted like dull silver beneath the storm clouds.

Ilyana approached alone, her crownless head held high.

"I come not as a ruler," she said, her voice carrying across the courtyard, "but as one who would serve. I ask not for your swords, but for your hearts."

A long silence followed, broken only by the patter of rain.

Then a captain stepped forward—Sir Alden of the Eastern Watch, a man who had once served under her father. He knelt.

"I pledge my sword."

Another followed—Lady Selene of the Southern Shores.

And then another.

One by one, the soldiers knelt until the courtyard was a sea of bowed heads.

But not all.

A sharp cry pierced the quiet—"Traitor's blood cannot rule Avaran!"

A blade flashed from the northern flank. A lone soldier charged, sword raised.

Time slowed.

Ilyana stood her ground.

Before the sword could strike, Sir Alden intercepted the blow, his blade ringing against the attacker’s.

Chaos erupted.

Torvell raised his staff. "Enough!"

The courtyard fell silent once more, the attacker restrained.

Ilyana turned to the soldiers. "My trials are not yet done. But loyalty earned through fear is no loyalty at all. Those who would oppose me may leave in peace."

A few rose and walked away. Most remained.

The trial was complete.

Later that evening, the keep fell into an uneasy quiet. Ilyana retreated to the western tower, the wind howling beyond its narrow windows. Marin entered, her steps hesitant.

"You did well today," Marin said gently.

Ilyana gave a faint smile. "It feels hollow."

"Victory often does."

She turned to her handmaid. "Why did no one tell me of Solara?"

Marin lowered her gaze. "Perhaps they feared what it would mean."

"That I am not the only heir."

"That you are not the only threat."

In the depths of the keep, Othric the archivist poured over forgotten scrolls, his candle flickering against the encroaching dark. He found what he sought—a faded treaty, unsigned and sealed in wax: "In the event of twin heirs, the throne shall be contested by rite of arms or joined in equal rule."

A chill ran down his spine. Equal rule had never succeeded in Avaran.

He rose swiftly. Ilyana had to know.

But someone was already waiting in the shadows.

A dagger flashed.

The candle fell.

Darkness swallowed the room.

At midnight, a messenger arrived breathless at Ilyana’s door.

"Your Grace, the northern villages report sightings—burned fields, missing townsfolk. The Broken Sun marches south."

Her stomach tightened. "How many?"

"Thousands."

The war had already begun.

Across the Iron Border, Solara stood atop a ridge, watching the smoke rise from Halewatch. Her forces moved like shadows through the valleys, swift and silent.

Beside her, a young commander spoke. "The Queen passed the Trial of Allegiance today. Soldiers kneel at her feet."

Solara smiled faintly, though it did not reach her eyes. "Let them kneel. Soon they will bow to a new sun."

She turned, her cloak billowing in the wind. "Prepare the eastern flank. We march at dawn."

As the storm thundered over Maelric Keep, Ilyana stood alone in the chapel, lighting a single candle beneath the crest of her family.

She whispered into the flickering flame, "Forgive me, mother. I will not let our kingdom burn."

But far beyond the walls, destiny had already set the fire.

And as she blew out the candle, the darkness seemed to whisper back.

"Then you must learn to burn with it."