Selene's Ring

Selene's POV (Three Days Ago):

The scent of dried herbs and molten wax clung to the velvet curtains as sunlight pierced through the stained glass of the chamber. A kaleidoscope of gold and crimson danced across the polished floor, but even beauty couldn't soften the chill that hung between my mother and me.

I, Selene, the Phantom Dancer, sat poised at the edge of a chaise, fingers wrapped around a goblet of spiced wine I hadn't sipped. My emerald-green gown shimmered with thread-of-gold, but my expression was carved in marble—cold, calculating.

Across from me, seated at the head of the chamber's table, was Lady Maelyra, my mother, draped in mourning black despite the day's brightness. Mourning—for appearances. Not for the fallen priests.

Maelyra's lips curled, her voice laced with venom. "What kind of game is the Queen playing this time? Sending you, my one and only beloved daughter, to chase after shadows? A village investigation? This should've been dealt with by knights, not heirs."

I scoffed softly, my laugh like the clink of broken glass. "It's not a mission, Mother. It's a show."

Maelyra narrowed her eyes. "A show?"

"A demonstration," I murmured, swirling the wine in my goblet but never drinking. "The Queen parades us like puppets on strings. Thirteen heirs, scattered across the kingdom, all cloaked in honor and duty—but it's pageantry. She wants the court to see a united front while our enemies stir."

"Then refuse her," Maelyra snapped. "Refuse and remind her you are not some expendable piece in her little performance."

I tilted my head, a smirk ghosting across my lips. "And miss the opportunity to see which heir bleeds first?"

My mother's eyes flashed. "You sound just like your father."

"Then perhaps he wasn't entirely a fool," I replied coolly, setting the goblet down with a soft clink. "You raised me to play the game, Mother. Did you think the Queen wouldn't notice?"

Maelyra stood, the rustle of her silks cutting through the silence. "I raised you to win the game, not dance for the amusement of those who already sit on the throne."

"And yet here I am, dancing," I whispered, more to myself than my mother.

Her tone dropped to a near hiss. "Do not grow comfortable with playing servant to Seraphina's schemes. She may call you daughter, but you are not blood. You are a symbol—one she can burn the moment the crowd demands a martyr."

I looked up, my gaze like a blade. "Isn't that what you've always wanted? For me to burn brighter than all the others—even if it meant turning to ash?"

"Well, you should smile more, Selene," Maelyra said, her voice smooth like silk drawn over a blade. "You've become far too pensive since that little priest was crowned as prince. A total anomaly—no, an insult to this noble court."

My jaw flexed. My knuckles whitened around the stem of my goblet. "I find no joy in watching fools scramble to fill the void the Priesthood left behind. Or in watching that boy ascend like some prophecy incarnate."

"Ah, yes. Aric." Maelyra's lips curved into something cold, predatory. "The Queen's surprised token. Her golden mistake. The realm may call him hope right now, but I see only fire waiting for wood."

She wasn't wrong—and that was the most dangerous part. A mere commoner, cloaked in stolen silk and crowned with reluctant legitimacy. If Seraphina could name one like him as heir, what message did that send? That the throne was no longer born, but earned? That blood meant less than favor?

It was heresy. And worse—it was a revolution in disguise.

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. "He survived what none did. The temple's walls turned to ash. The runes, blackened. The knowledge was lost. Yet he emerged whole. Why? Why now, after seven years of its destruction?"

Maelyra leaned forward, candlelight catching on the silver pins at her throat. "That is the right question. But not the only one. Who destroyed the Priesthood of Knowledge? And what did they take before its ruin?"

Silence.

But it wasn't the kind shared between mother and daughter. It was the kind that settles between predators.

I exhaled slowly, my voice like frost. “The Queen knows more than she lets on. She sent both Valtor and Aric to Erin, to the Southern forest. Where more shadows were spreading. And where probably Aric’s power grows each time.”

“She wants him tested,” Maelyra said darkly. “Like a blade forged too quickly—let’s see if it breaks in combat. Or turns in the wielder’s hand.”

I stood slower, as if the weight of the court, the throne, and my mother’s words pressed on my shoulders.

“I’ve danced through fire, Mother,” I said, “but if Seraphina thinks I’ll be outshone by some boy with a tragic past and golden eyes, then she’s forgotten who raised me.”

“You were raised to conquer,” Maelyra replied, slowly walking to my side. “But be careful, Selene. Even stars fall. And fire doesn’t care who it burns.”

I walked toward the window, my fingers brushing over my other hand—where a slender band of silver gleamed faintly on my finger, inset with a stone darker than midnight. I paused there for a heartbeat, thumb tracing its edge. The Queen must be out of her mind.

To place him—Valtor, the favored prince, the kingdom’s gleaming weapon—at Aric’s side?

My gaze hardened. That was no accident. That was strategy.

“I wasn’t pleased with how she grouped them,” I said quietly. “The court may be blind with awe, but I see what she’s doing. Valtor should be leading a charge, not babysitting a relic of burned faith.”

I stopped myself right away when my mother's head turned sharply. Her eyes darted to the high-arched ceiling—its painted angels and constellations as timeless as the walls themselves.

“Selene,” she warned, low and clipped. “The walls still have ears.”

My lips pressed into a thin line, but I said nothing more. I turned back to the glass, watching nobles drift like silk across the eastern courtyard below.

She continued, her voice hushed but weighted. “The Queen is staging a play. A union of opposites. Valtor, the sword. Aric, the enigma. One raised in marble halls, the other from ashes. Blood and myth, together. The people will look at them and see balance. Destiny. They’ll forget lineage. Forget order.”

“They’ll forget us,” I said coldly.

I noticed in my peripheral vision that my mother's fingers tapped the armrest once, then stopped. “That power is not natural. Light and darkness do not coexist—they consume each other. He should not exist. Which means he was made.”

My eyes sparked with something unspoken. “You think the Priesthood created him?”

“I think,” Maelyra whispered, leaning forward, “they feared what was coming. And in desperation, they broke their tenets. They did something irreversible.”

The weight of that hung in the room like smoke.

I stepped closer to the window, staring beyond the courtyard, beyond the spires, to the horizon where storm clouds were gathering—slow, deliberate, and full of intent.

“The nobles are watching,” I murmured. “They smell weakness. If Seraphina does not control Aric soon, they’ll act.”

Maelyra's expression sharpened. “One of them will try to remove him. Quietly. Cleanly.”

My hand curled into a fist. “And if Valtor defends him, it’ll fracture the court.”

“Which is exactly what the Queen wants,” Maelyra said. “A controlled fire. Let the snakes reveal themselves. Let the world believe in a new era.”

“She’s gambling the throne on a myth,” I muttered.

“No,” Maelyra corrected. “She’s gambling the throne on him.”

I turned from the window, my voice low and measured. “Then perhaps it’s time we reminded the court that there are other players. And not all of us dance for Seraphina’s stage.”

Maelyra stood, approaching me with slow, regal steps. "Then perhaps it should be us who starts the play before others make their move."

I turned, surprised—but intrigued.

Maelyra's voice was low and lethal. "If Aric is the last relic of the Priesthood, then he holds their secrets. Their power. If we control him, we control what they feared. We become the only force that can stand against the darkness—or wield it."

My lips curled in the faintest smile. "And if he resists?"

Her smile was colder. "Then we remind the world why the shadows listen when the sun sets."