Chapter 113 CHAPTER 113

Chapter 113 CHAPTER 113
The hall had barely settled from the king’s declaration before the first ripples of dissent spread like cracks through glass. Cheers erupted from those who believed in Lucien and Seraphina, but louder still were the murmurs of discontent, the sharp hiss of nobles whispering into sleeves, the rustle of silk as council members leaned toward one another in hurried, panicked counsel.

Seraphina stood tall at Lucien’s side, but the weight of every gaze pressed on her like iron. Some glared openly, mouths twisted with fury at her defiance. Others looked as though they could not decide whether to fear her or applaud her.

The king, frail yet unyielding, motioned for silence. “The trials have spoken. Fate itself has chosen. The matter is settled.”

But Duke Varrow—grey-haired, sharp-eyed, his voice like steel—stepped forward. “Majesty, forgive me, but the matter is far from settled. The trials may have been endured, but the throne is not a trinket to be won in spectacle. It demands stability, trust, the loyalty of all houses. And how can such loyalty be sworn when the heir insists upon binding himself to a woman of such…questionable repute?”

The word “villainess” hung unspoken in the air, sharp as a blade.

Lucien’s hand closed around Seraphina’s, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Careful, Duke. Speak your doubt of me if you dare, but insult her again and you insult your future sovereign.”

A stunned hush fell. Lucien had always been known for his cool charm, his measured words. But here was no charm—only raw, uncompromising defense.

Duke Varrow stiffened but did not retreat. “Your passion blinds you, Highness. Passion has no place upon the throne.”

Seraphina lifted her chin, her voice smooth and edged. “Then perhaps that is why your line has never claimed it. Passion is what gives life to rule, what binds ruler to ruled. Without it, sovereignty rots into tyranny.”

Gasps scattered through the gallery. It was bold—too bold, perhaps—but Seraphina did not flinch. She could feel the eyes of the people, the commoners who had been allowed in as witnesses, upon her. Some of them nodded, the faintest flickers of hope sparking.

King Aldric’s hand lifted once more, trembling but commanding. “Enough. The trials have spoken, and I will not hear them questioned further.”

For a moment, the hall stilled. But Seraphina saw it—the way Duke Varrow’s gaze slid toward Chancellor Rhodon, the slight nod exchanged, the tightening of lips among certain houses. They would not oppose openly, not yet. But their resistance had only grown more dangerous, because now it would retreat into shadow.

And shadows, Seraphina knew, were where knives hid best.

\---

When the hall emptied, Lucien led her into the royal chambers reserved for heirs. Guards stood double at the doors, their hands never straying far from their blades.

Inside, the room was quiet, almost too quiet. Seraphina pressed her palms against the carved oak table, steadying herself. Her body still trembled from the strain of the trials, though she would never admit it aloud.

Lucien came to her, his hand settling on her back, warm and grounding. “You were magnificent.”

She gave a small laugh, breathless. “I was terrified.”

“As was I,” he admitted softly. “But you stood as though the gods themselves carried your spine. They will remember today for centuries.”

Her gaze flickered up to him. “And they will plot tomorrow.”

He sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Yes. That too.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with both relief and foreboding. Then, almost reluctantly, Seraphina whispered, “Lucien…did you see Chancellor Rhodon’s eyes?”

His lips pressed thin. “I did. He will not sit idle. Nor will Varrow. But we have weathered worse.”

“Have we?” she asked quietly. “This is different. This is not whispers in corridors or poisoned cups. This is the throne itself, and every viper in this palace hungers for it.”

Lucien’s hand tightened at her waist. “Then let them hunger. We will starve them of their feast.”

\---

But the vipers did not wait long.

By nightfall, the palace was already ablaze with rumor. Nobles dined in their gilded chambers, dripping venom into one another’s ears. Some claimed Seraphina had bewitched Lucien, ensnaring him with sorcery to manipulate the trials. Others whispered that the Seer had been bribed, that the trials themselves had been staged to legitimize a dangerous union.

Beyond the palace walls, the city boiled. Some celebrated, raising torches in honor of the prince and his “fearless lady.” But others muttered uneasily, wary of a villainess ascending the throne. Old stories resurfaced, tales of cursed brides and kingdoms fallen into ruin.

And in the darkness of his private study, Chancellor Rhodon sharpened his quill as though it were a dagger.

“The trials may have blessed them,” he murmured, dipping the quill into ink blacker than midnight. “But ink and whispers can topple thrones faster than any blade.”

Letters flew that night, carried by hawks and hidden couriers. To allied houses. To foreign courts. To those who would profit most from division.

\---

The following morning, Seraphina and Lucien faced the council.

The chamber was smaller than the Hall of Ascension, but no less oppressive. Tapestries depicting victories of past kings lined the walls, their woven eyes seeming to judge the proceedings. The council sat at a great semicircle table, their faces masks of disdain, curiosity, or veiled contempt.

Chancellor Rhodon, ever the serpent in human skin, inclined his head. “Your Highness, Lady Seraphina. We extend congratulations on your…success.”

The pause before the word dripped with poison.

Lucien leaned forward. “Let us not waste time, Chancellor. Speak your objections plainly.”

A ripple of discomfort passed through the council, but Rhodon only smiled faintly. “Plainly, then. While the trials confirm divine favor, they do not erase earthly concerns. The nobility worries. The people whisper. A kingdom cannot thrive on unease.”

Seraphina interjected, her tone calm but sharp. “And what do you suggest? That we annul the trials because they delivered an answer you dislike?”

“Not annul,” Rhodon said smoothly. “Merely… temper. It is customary for heirs to embark on a proving journey before coronation. A tour of the realm, to earn the people’s trust. What better way to dispel doubt than for you both to walk among those you will one day rule?”

Murmurs of agreement spread. Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “A proving journey? Or an exile dressed in ceremony?”

Rhodon’s smile never faltered. “Surely, Your Highness, if your bond is as strong as you claim, if Lady Seraphina’s heart is as noble as she declares, then such a journey will only strengthen your claim.”

Seraphina’s pulse quickened. She understood at once what he was doing. A journey across the realm would take them away from the capital, away from the king’s protection. It would leave them vulnerable to ambush, to accidents, to orchestrated unrest.

But refusing would make them appear cowardly, as though they feared to face the people.

Lucien glanced at her, eyes searching. And though every instinct in her screamed trap, Seraphina inclined her head.

“We accept.”

Rhodon’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

Lucien stiffened, but he trusted her enough not to contradict her then and there.

\---

That night, in the privacy of their chambers, he turned to her sharply. “Why agree so quickly? You know what he intends.”

“I do,” she said simply. “But imagine how it would look if we refused. We would prove his whispers true—that we fear the people, that our strength is only for show.”

Lucien raked a hand through his hair. “Seraphina, he will use this to destroy us.”

“Then we use it to win,” she countered, her eyes blazing. “If the people see us—truly see us—not as villainess and cursed prince, but as flesh and blood who bleed for them, who fight for them—they will rally. And no council, no chancellor, no viper in this palace will be able to strip that from us.”

Her conviction silenced him. Slowly, his anger softened into reluctant admiration. “You terrify me,” he admitted.

“And yet,” she whispered with a faint smile, stepping close, “you chose me.”

He kissed her then, fiercely, as though anchoring himself to the storm she carried.

\---

The journey was decreed within days. Messengers spread the news, and the palace erupted in both excitement and dread. Nobles scrambled to position themselves, some volunteering escorts, others withdrawing under the guise of illness.

Seraphina prepared meticulously. She chose her attendants carefully—loyal servants who owed allegiance to no noble house. She studied maps of the realm, marking villages and cities where unrest was strongest.

But even in her planning, unease gnawed at her. She knew Chancellor Rhodon would not leave their fate to chance. There would be plots woven into every step of the road.

As she packed her final trunk, a faint sound brushed against her ear—the flutter of wings. A raven landed upon her windowsill, its leg bound with a black ribbon.

Seraphina’s blood ran cold. She untied the ribbon and unfolded the small parchment.

They are already waiting. Trust no one.

The signature was nothing more than a symbol—a single crescent moon inked in silver.

Selene’s mark.

Seraphina stared at it, her pulse racing. Selene…still in the shadows, still watching. Friend? Foe? Or something more complicated?

She folded the note into her sleeve just as Lucien entered.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed concern.

Seraphina glanced once more at the raven, now gone into the night. Then she smiled faintly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

But in her heart, she knew: this journey would not only decide the throne. It would decide whether love could withstand the full weight of fate—or whether the world would break them before they ever wore crowns.