CHAPTER 3:SILENCE IS A SENTENCE

The guards burst through the doors like a wave of steel.

I didn't have time to move.

Their swords were drawn, faces grim, eyes going wide at the sight before them: the royal chamber drenched in blood, my parents lying still—

And me.

Standing in the center.

Blood on my hands.

A sword at my feet.

The silence stretched, suffocating.

> "Your Highness?" one of them asked—confused, wary.

Caelan stepped forward, slow and steady.

His expression had changed.

He looked… calm.

"I found her like this," he said quietly. "She was already standing over them when I arrived."

I blinked.

> What?

"Caelan?" My voice was a thread. "You saw him. The man in black—he was right there—he used some kind of magic—"

But they weren't listening.

Caelan turned his eyes on me. "Seraphina," he said softly, "Why would you do this?"

The guards moved.

> "No! No, you know I didn't—!"

Iron shackles clicked around my wrists.

Magic flared—blue light surged through the manacles, draining warmth from my veins.

> Binding cuffs.

They were cutting me off from my power.

I turned to him again, desperate. "Tell them. Please—tell them the truth."

He didn't speak.

Didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

Just like that night. Just like the last time I looked into our mother's eyes and saw nothing.

They dragged me through the halls as the palace slept.

I passed portraits of dead emperors, still watching from their golden frames. Servants peeked through cracked doors. A few guards turned their heads away.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

They led me to the central court chamber—normally reserved for nobles and formal disputes. Tonight, it felt more like a stage.

The Council was already assembled. How? Had they known?

The Archmage stood at the far end, robes glimmering with runes. His face was stone.

"She is accused of royal bloodshed," one of the councilors announced. "Murder of the Emperor and Empress. Attempted usurpation of the crown."

> "Lies!" I shouted. "There was someone else—Caelan saw him—!"

"Silence the traitor," someone growled.

A flash of magic snapped through my throat. I felt it clamp down on my voice.

> Muzzle spell.

They didn't even want to hear my defense.

I looked for him.

And there he was.

Caelan.

Dressed in white mourning robes. Looking every bit the grieving son, the noble twin left behind.

He didn't meet my eyes.

Not once.

The Archmage stepped forward, carrying a carved iron staff. "As First Mage of the Crown, I invoke rite of severance."

A shiver ran through the chamber.

"No—no no no—"

They forced me to my knees.

The rite of severance would do what the shackles only dampened:

Rip my magic out from the core.

Bind it. Seal it. Silence it forever.

"You are hereby disinherited," the Archmage said, reciting the words. "Stripped of your royal name, your magic, and your claim to the throne."

"Wait!" someone cried—Talia. She tried to push through, but was stopped by two guards. "She didn't do this! You know she didn't—!"

No one listened.

The Archmage drove his staff into the floor.

The runes ignited.

I screamed as something inside me tore loose.

My fire—my power—my identity—

Gone.

They didn't kill me.

Killing me would make me a martyr.

Instead, they did something worse.

They made me invisible.

A traitor. A stain. A shame.

They exiled me.

Dumped me in chains outside the city, where no one would dare help me. Where no one would think to look.

No name.

No title.

No power.

But deep inside the hollow space where my fire had once lived, something else began to burn.

Something colder.

Sharper.

Hungrier.

This isn't over.