to be continued

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Part 2 — Rising Tension & Secret Discovery

The days after the River Festival passed like pages turning too slowly. Serenya remained in Galenreach under the pretense of touring the grain stores and river docks, but in truth, she was watching.

The rival princes had begun their own maneuvers.

Prince Rhaiven prowled the training yards, his soldiers drilling within sight of the townsfolk, a not-so-subtle display of force.

Lord Veyric lingered near her at every public event, spinning charming stories meant for her ears but loud enough for others to overhear.

Duke Marrec sent her daily offerings—gems, furs, even a hawk trained to carry messages—each gift more ostentatious than the last.

Kael, the mason with storm-grey eyes, did not appear again for several days. Serenya told herself she wasn’t looking for him as she walked the river path each morning. But when she finally spotted him—shoulders bent under a basket of quarried stone—something unspooled in her chest.

She stopped him without thinking. “You never told me your name.”

He set the basket down slowly, dust rising around his boots. “Kael.”

“Kael of…?”

“Just Kael.”

She almost smiled. “You speak as though a name is a dangerous thing.”

“It can be, depending on who asks.” He looked past her toward the hill where the citadel loomed. “You’re not safe walking without your guards.”

“I’m not safe walking with them either,” she said. “They report every breath I take to my father’s council.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. Then he lifted the basket again and walked on, leaving her in the sunlight with more questions than answers.

That night, a storm rolled in from the east, flattening the lanterns and scattering the festival remnants into the river. Kael worked late, shoring up the bridge’s lower supports against the rising water. As he hammered in the last wedge of stone, his chisel slipped against something hidden—something smooth and warm under the cold river spray.

He pried away the outer layer of mortar, and there it was: a carved slate tablet veined with faint golden light. Symbols curled across its surface like vines. The Keystone Tablet.

Every child in Galenreach knew the story—that the tablet bound the kingdom’s borders by ancient magic, answering only to the blood of the Stonekeeper’s line. Kael’s breath caught as he touched it and the light pulsed in answer.

His father’s voice came back to him, a memory from long before the fever took him:

“When the stone answers you, you will know what you are.”

Kael replaced the mortar quickly, covering the glow before anyone could see. But the river’s roar felt louder now, as if it knew a secret had been uncovered.

Two days later, Serenya’s patience with the courtly charade finally broke. During a meeting with her suitors in the mayor’s hall, Rhaiven suggested fortifying the bridge with Corvash steel, “to ensure its stability.”

“Stability?” Serenya’s voice was razor-sharp. “Or control?”

Rhaiven’s jaw tightened. “If the pact rests on that bridge, and no Stonekeeper comes forward, then the throne must ensure—”

“The throne will decide what the throne ensures,” she cut in. Her gaze swept across all three men. “And it will not be decided in whispers over my head.”

Afterward, she ordered her guards aside and went alone to the river. She found Kael crouched near the bridge again, tools in hand.

“Show me,” she said without greeting.

He glanced up. “Show you what?”

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