The rejected crown (book 1)

Chains of fate

jane

The forest seemed to swallow Jane whole as she ran deeper into the shadows, her heart pounding in her chest. Each branch that scraped her skin and every thorn that snagged her cloak was a reminder: You can't stop. Not now. Behind her, the soldier's footsteps thudded, relentless and unforgiving.

The trees were thick with damp leaves, muting the sounds of the pursuit. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, and magic hummed beneath her skin, begging for release. But she couldn't lose control again—not now. Not after what happened in the cottage.

The image of her mother dragged away by the villagers haunted her. They'll burn her because of me. She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. If she stopped, if she hesitated, she would be caught, and her mother's sacrifice would mean nothing.

Suddenly, a root caught Jane's foot, and she stumbled, crashing to the forest floor. Pain shot through her palms as she caught herself, dirt grinding into her skin. Panic surged, and she scrambled to her feet, but it was too late.

The soldier loomed over her, sword drawn, his face shadowed beneath his helmet. His chest heaved from the chase, but his eyes burned with determination.

"Enough running," he growled, lifting his sword. "Surrender, witch."

Jane's hands trembled as she raised them, palms out. "Please! I don't want to hurt anyone!"

He hesitated, the sword hovering in the air. For a moment, Jane saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, as if her words had pierced through his hatred. But then, the flicker vanished.

"You killed one of us." His voice was cold, but she could hear the anger beneath it. "You'll answer for that."

"No!" Jane cried. "I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"

The soldier shook his head. "The council won't care. You witches are all the same—liars and murderers."

Jane's magic pulsed beneath her skin, begging to be set free. She clenched her fists, trying to suppress it. If she used her powers again, there would be no turning back. But if she didn't, this soldier would drag her to the council—and they would burn her just as they planned to burn her mother.

"I won't let you take me," Jane whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and resolve.

The soldier lunged, his sword slicing through the air. Instinct took over. Jane's magic exploded outward, a burst of energy so fierce that the forest itself seemed to shudder.

The soldier flew backward, slamming into a tree with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Jane's heart stopped, panic gripping her. Had she killed him, too?

She ran to his side, her hands shaking as she leaned over him. His chest rose and fell—he was still alive, but unconscious. Relief and horror washed over her in equal measure.

What have I done?

The sound of voices echoed through the forest—more villagers, closing in fast. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess herself. Jane pushed herself to her feet, wiping tears from her cheeks. She had to keep moving.

She ran until her lungs burned, her magic simmering dangerously under her skin. She knew the villagers would stop at nothing to find her—a witch on the run only fuels their fear. Every twig snap, every gust of wind felt like a threat.

But it wasn't fear that slowed her. It was exhaustion. Days of running, hiding, and spellwork were taking their toll. And that's when they caught her.

It happened in the dead of night, the forest dark and quiet. She had stopped near a stream, hoping to catch her breath, but the sound of hounds had already reached her ears. Before she could react, they were on her—a group of soldiers dragging her down with rough hands.

"Witch!" one of them snarled as he yanked her to her feet.

Jane fought, magic surging within her, but they were prepared. Iron shackles clamped around her wrists, burning her skin. The iron sapped her strength, leaving her magic trapped beneath the surface, useless.

They bound her hands behind her back and threw a hood over her head. She thrashed against them, but it was no use. The scent of damp metal filled her nose as they dragged her toward the castle, the promise of freedom slipping away with each step.

The dungeon was colder than she had imagined—cold and unforgiving, like death.

They dragged Jane down twisting stone steps, her feet stumbling over the uneven ground. When they finally yanked the hood from her head, she blinked, adjusting to the dim torchlight flickering against the wet stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of mold and despair.

"Enjoy your stay, witch," a guard sneered, shoving her into a cell. She hit the ground hard, knees scraping against the rough stone floor. Before she could rise, the door slammed shut, the sound of the iron bars echoing through the dungeon like a death knell.

Jane pulled herself up, biting back the tears that threatened to spill. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She was stronger than this.

But then she saw her mother.

"Mom?" Jane whispered, her voice cracking with disbelief.

Her mother sat huddled in the corner of the cell, her face pale and gaunt. The sight of her in chains—her wrists raw from the iron cuffs—made Jane's heart clench painfully.

"Jane?" Her mother's voice was soft, filled with disbelief. "Oh, gods, what have they done to you?"

Jane staggered to her mother's side and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around her. For a moment, they clung to each other in the dark, their breaths ragged and filled with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," Jane whispered, her voice breaking. "I tried... I tried to run. I tried to save you."

Her mother stroked her hair, just as she had when Jane was a child. "Hush, my love. It's not your fault."

"They'll burn us," Jane whispered, her throat tightening. "Both of us."

Her mother's silence was answer enough.

Jane pulled back, wiping her tears with trembling hands. "I won't let that happen, Mom. I'll find a way out. I promise."

Her mother gave her a small, sad smile. "We may not get out of this, Jane. But I need you to listen to me carefully."

"No." Jane shook her head fiercely. "Don't say that. I can—"

"Listen, Jane." Her mother's voice was steady, though tears glimmered in her eyes. "You are stronger than you know. You've always been. You have to survive, no matter what."

Jane bit her lip, the weight of her mother's words settling like a stone in her chest. "We'll survive together."

Her mother said nothing, only pulling Jane closer, holding her as if trying to protect her from the world.

Days passed in the dungeon, each one bleeding into the next. The guards barely spoke, and when they did, it was only to hurl insults or threats. They brought little food, only enough to keep the prisoners alive for their execution.

But the worst part was the waiting—the knowledge that the trial would come, and with it, the flames.

Jane tried to plan, but the iron shackles sapped her strength. Every time she tried to summon her magic, the cold weight of the iron crushed her efforts, leaving her exhausted and helpless.
Until one day a man she recognized entered but he was older now. More intimidating
She couldn't believe her eyes
"Edweyn??"