Chapter 5: The Uncrowned King

They called it the Hollow Crown.

It wasn’t a place. It wasn’t even an object.

It was a person.

A myth, whispered among rebel fae and old magic traders. A name used by desperate survivors and exiled warriors.

The Hollow Crown had no throne, no court, no realm.

Only enemies.

And a legacy soaked in betrayal.

Seren now knew this name belonged to her father.

And she had no idea what that meant.

After the Trial, Seren was returned to the Queen’s chambers. No vines held her now. The room bloomed with pale roses, a sign of welcome, or perhaps warning. The throne had left scars in her palms that no healer could soothe.

She stared at the mirror across from her.

The girl she saw wore a gown of crimson and moon-thread. Her hair was braided with thorns. Her eyes, once filled with fear, now burned with quiet defiance.

Yet, beneath it all, she was still herself.

Still the girl who used to read books under candlelight and wonder what lay beyond the horizon.

She didn’t feel like a queen.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

Thalion entered, cloaked in twilight hues. His presence no longer felt like ice but like wind—still cool, but not unwelcome.

“Seren,” he said. “He’s real.”

“Who?” she asked, though she knew.

“The Hollow Crown.”

He sat on a chair near the vine-covered window, elbows on knees, face grim.

“His true name is Ciernan. Once prince of the Dawn Court. A fae of unmatched charisma. He could bend stone with song, silence storms with a breath. He had legions behind him once.”

“And he was my mother’s consort,” Seren said softly.

Thalion nodded. “But not willingly, or so he claimed. He sought the Thorn Queen’s power. Joined her court, earned her trust. They ruled side by side—for a time.”

“And then?”

“He betrayed her. Broke the Thorn Treaty. Opened the Veil to the High Fae. Sold our lands in exchange for magic drawn from the Rootwell.”

“The Rootwell?”

“The source of the Thorn Court’s magic. Ancient. Alive. It sleeps beneath the Spinewood.”

Seren clenched her fists. “Why would she choose him?”

“She didn’t,” Thalion said. “The Thorn chose. As it always does. And it chose him... just as it chose you.”

Later that day, Seren followed Kaelen into the archive beneath the Court.

It was carved into living wood, its walls lined with books bound in bark, scrolls sealed with thornwax, and memory crystals pulsing softly.

Kaelen pulled out a worn book and tossed it onto a moss-covered table.

“Read,” he said. “Page 413.”

She flipped through the pages, fingers tingling as the magic seeped into her skin.

Page 413 showed a sketch: a tall fae man with a crown of bark and smoke, and a smile like winter sun. Below it, a symbol: a rose split in two.

“Ciernan,” she whispered.

“The Hollow Crown,” Kaelen confirmed. “He disappeared after your mother fell. Some say he died. Others say he went beyond the Veil. Some think he’s gathering the lost ones. Fae with no court. No purpose.”

“He’s alive,” Seren said. “I feel it.”

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. “Careful, Your Thornness. Wanting it to be true doesn’t make it so.”

“It’s not a wish,” she said, eyes hard. “It’s a warning.”

The Court convened at dusk.

The four remaining council members gathered around the throne-tree.

Thalion, Kaelen, the barefoot illusionist named Elien, and Maelin—the woman in red, who turned out to be the Lorekeeper of the Thorn Lineage.

Maelin laid down a map of the Thornwilds. Half of it was marked with deep black roots.

“These are the places where our reach still holds,” she said. “And these—” she pointed to the places burnt out with ash—“are where the Hollow Crown’s whispers have reached.”

Elien flicked his fingers, and an illusion bloomed: a man’s shadow walking through a town, his voice calling fae to rise. His words were hollow and beautiful.

“He promises freedom from courts,” Elien said. “No Queens. No Kings. Only fae united under the Will.”

“The Will?” Seren asked.

“The ancient law beneath all things,” Thalion said grimly. “It is said to predate the courts, to predate magic itself. It gave fae their souls. Or so the stories go.”

Kaelen snorted. “He’s just trying to erase us. No order. No balance. Just power.”

Seren stood.

“Then we stop him.”

Maelin raised an eyebrow. “How?”

Seren looked down at the map. “He’s gathering the fractured ones. The courts that refused to join the Thorn Reign. The exiles. We must reach them first.”

Thalion exchanged glances with Maelin.

“She wants to rally the Wild Courts,” he murmured. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Seren said. “Just dangerous.”

Kaelen grinned. “Now she’s starting to sound like a queen.”

They left the next morning.

Seren traveled with Thalion, Kaelen, Elien, and a small scouting party into the Ashen Vale, where the last of the Verdant Court was rumored to dwell.

They rode fae stags, swift and silent, through forests where the trees whispered old songs and the shadows moved without wind.

On the third night, they made camp near a grove of moonwillows.

Seren sat alone near the fire, staring at the flames.

Kaelen dropped beside her, handing her a cup of honey-wine.

“You did well, back there,” he said.

She sipped the drink. “That was the easy part. Words. Maps.”

“And what’s the hard part?”

She looked at the fire. “Convincing people to follow a girl with no army, no alliances, and no idea what she’s doing.”

He chuckled. “You’ve got scars. That’s more than most.”

She smiled faintly. “You ever believe in something that terrified you?”

Kaelen’s gaze darkened. “Once. I believed the Thorn Queen would never fall. I was wrong.”

Seren didn’t press him.

Some wounds didn’t need opening.

On the sixth day, they reached the Verdant Grove.

It had been burned.

The trees were ash. The waters blackened. Magic poisoned the air.

Thalion knelt near a fallen arch of living wood. “Too late.”

A sigil burned into the bark—a split rose, hollow at the center.

“He’s recruiting faster than we thought,” Elien said quietly.

Seren touched the sigil.

It pulsed.

And in a flash, a memory entered her mind.

Her father—taller than she remembered, dressed in storm-gray armor—stood over a crowd of wild fae.

“You’ve been lied to,” he said. “You serve courts that bleed you dry. You call it duty. I call it chains.”

The crowd cheered.

Seren gasped and pulled back.

Thalion steadied her. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “He’s not hiding anymore.”

Kaelen looked out over the ashes.

“He’s building something,” he said. “Something big. And fast.”

Seren straightened. “Then so must we.”

As night fell, the winds carried strange music.

It was distant—broken and raw—but unmistakable.

War drums.

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