Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 18: Into the Shadows

As much as I tried to forget it, I couldn't stop thinking about Darian. How he was so kind to me yesterday in the garden. I've been a horrible person to him, and what has he done to me in return? The worst thing he's done to me since his arrival was running into me outside the library and even that was a mistake.

I'd been so naive yesterday. Maybe all his kindness was just a ploy—a carefully crafted performance to earn my trust. And I'd fallen for it. I'd told him my biggest secret, handed him the one piece of leverage that could destroy me. However, I'm now realizing that my secret isn't true any longer with the discovery of my new powers.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that letting him believe I was powerless might actually work in my favor. If he saw me as weak, he'd underestimate me and when the time came, that mistake could give me the edge I needed.

I found myself wondering what he was doing at that very moment. Probably sitting alone in his room, maybe with a book in hand—plotting Atalar's downfall in a personal journal, or perhaps just asleep, unbothered. I could never be sure of his true intentions. It was strange, having him so close, with only a thin wall separating us. A wall that suddenly felt far too fragile.

It occurred to me then that he might've overheard all those late-night conversations I'd had with Brock. I'd never heard a sound from his room, not once. But somehow, that made it worse. His silence wasn't peaceful. It was calculated. And deeply unsettling.

My mindw as reeled back to reality at the sudden knock from my door. I hated that it startled me so much every time, however, I suppose we were all on edge these days.

I froze for a moment, staring at the door like it might grow fangs. In this palace, danger came cloaked in silence, or worse, in the illusion of safety. Who knew what might be lurking on the other side? An assassin, a spy, a servant with the wrong orders. Slowly and cautiously, I made my way to the door, heart racing and breath uneven. My hand hovered over the handle, but then—

"Aleah, it's me," I dark and muffled voice rang out, sounding almost as if they didn't want to be identified.

It made me hesitate more and my hand just sat on the handle, completely still, waiting for another sign to indicate who it may be.

"Aleah, are you in there?" This time, the voice was recognizable. It was Clifton. I kicked myself for not being able to recognize it earlier but long periods of time spent away from my brother caused me to forget what he sounded like from time to time.

A sigh of relief escaped me, and I opened the door. The creak of the old hinges echoed in the hallway. When I saw Clifton standing there, my heart tightened again, this time with something else. Grief, maybe. Or the strange sorrow that comes with seeing someone you love looking utterly defeated.

Clifton usually stood tall, brimming with authority and unwavering composure. But now, his shoulders sagged, and his eyes were dim with exhaustion.

It was unlike him. He was usually the proud one of the family, always upbeat and ready for the challenge. When I looked at him now, it seemed all the fight was drained from his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly.

He took a breath, one that felt heavy and reluctant. "I came to inform you that Breya's funeral is in a week."

Nothing could have prepared me for the blow he had just delivered. I knew the news would reach me somehow, but I wasn't quite ready to receive it yet. By the looks of it, Clifton wasn't ready for it either. It seemed all of us were trying to mask our grief.

The word dropped inside me like a stone into a pond, sending quiet ripples of pain throughout my chest. The pang of grief travelled throughout my body, sending shivers all the way up my back and down my legs.