Page 44 of Shattered Crown
“You know nothing of what you saw.”
“I saw enough. I watched you call shadow magic to kill the king. To murder Thorne. All for power you claim you never wanted.”
Sebastian stood. The move was subtle, but the energy shifted. His voice lowered as he spoke again—no longer to the room, but directly to Silas.
“And what did you learn in Thornhaven, cousin? How to speak to trees? How to let monsters touch your skin and call it love while the realm burns?”
Silas held his gaze. “I learned what it means to protect something without expecting power in return. Something you forgot when you summoned that shadow.”
A silence fell. Somewhere, a noble cleared his throat too loudly and went still. Elena shifted slightly, just enough to let the light catch her family ring—reminding the court that old alliances still held weight.
Diana stepped forward to add precedent, citing language buried in centuries-old charters. Silas listened, but his eyes never left Sebastian.
He was watching him unravel—not into chaos, but into something darker. There was something in his cousin's face that didn't fit the mask. A flicker behind the eyes. Something wounded and desperate.
And when the arguments subsided and the court withdrew to deliberate, Sebastian stepped down from the dais and crossed the floor like a knife through velvet.
He caught Silas by the arm and pulled him into a shadowed alcove behind one of the marble pillars.
Silas yanked his arm free, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you think threatening me in secret will work?—”
“Where have I threatened you?” Sebastian asked. “At the hunt? When I could have ended you with Thorne?”
“You tried to murder my father. Our king. Your uncle.”
“Your father was already dead.” Sebastian's voice was sharp, cold. “That shadow had him. The real Thomas died weeks ago. What walks the palace halls is something wearing his skin.”
Silas blinked. “You're insane.”
“Am I?” Sebastian's face shifted, the sneer gone. For the first time, he looked—desperate. Not weak, not weary. Desperate. “Ask me, Silas. Ask me what I saw that night. What any mage with true sight can see.”
Silas hesitated.
“…What did you see?” he asked finally, the words feeling colder than he'd expected.
Sebastian exhaled slowly. “The truth. The rot eating this kingdom from within. You think I wanted any of this? That I woke up one day and decided to call shadow magic at a royal hunt?”
Silas said nothing.
“I was trying to cut out the infection,” Sebastian continued. “Before it spreads further. The shadow entity doesn't possess—it invades. Once it has a foothold in someone's bloodline...” He trailed off, eyes haunted.
“My father is alive. I spoke with him. Touched him.”
“Did you really? Or did you speak to something that knew how to answer? That understood every memory, every gesture?” Sebastian leaned closer. “The king you knew is gone. That's why I swore the regent's oath. To contain what's left.”
Silas pulled back. “You're lying. This is just another way to justify?—”
“Justify what? Nearly dying myself? Nearly destroying the guardian I need alive to face what's coming?” Sebastian's voice cracked with something like panic. “You think I don't know what I'm doing? What I've become?”
“You've become someone who murders family for power.”
“I've become someone who tries to save what's left!” Sebastian grabbed his arm again, grip iron. “You want to know why the shadow chose me? Because I was already halfway there. Because I'd already seen what happens when duty fails.”
Silas looked at the hand gripping his arm, then back at Sebastian's face. “You haven't crossed the point of no return. Not yet.”
“Haven't I?” Sebastian released him. “I summoned forbidden magic. I nearly killed my uncle—our king—whatever he's become. I've taken the regent's oath knowing what I am.” His laugh was hollow. “The point of no return isn't a line you cross. It's a descent. And I've been falling so long, I don't remember what solid ground feels like.”
“Then step back from the edge,” Silas said. “Help me. Help us find another way.”
