Ashes Beneath the Crown (Chapter 3) - by Shedrach Ojodomo Tijani

The Mask  The first time Aria stepped into the Capital after her exile, no one recognized her.Not the guards at the southern gate, who merely nodded at the weary traveler dressed in dusk-gray silks. Not the shopkeepers who once fought to catch her smile, now too busy chasing favor from a different queen. And certainly not the nobles who walked the marbled streets with the same arrogant tilt of their chins—unaware that a ghost moved among them.She had chosen her name carefully.Lady Seraphine Durell.A widow from the northern provinces, wealthy from her late husband’s trade caravans, traveling to the Capital to seek patronage and connection. She had the papers to prove it—meticulously forged by Dorian’s contacts, stamped with the seal of a defunct noble house long forgotten by the court.Her hair was lighter now, dusted with silver ash, and pinned in intricate coils that mimicked the fashion of distant regions. Her voice was lower, her accent altered. Her stride was measured. Graceful. No longer Aria Vale—the condemned daughter of a fallen line.Now, she was a mystery. And the court devoured mysteries.---The palace had changed.Not in shape—its towers still reached like daggers into the sky, and its gardens still bloomed with impossible flowers—but in spirit. The warmth was gone. The energy had shifted.Power lived here now, but it was hollow. Sharp. Paranoid.And at the center of it all was Queen Liora.Aria first saw her during a welcome banquet thrown for a visiting emissary. She hadn’t expected to be invited so soon after arriving in the city, but Dorian had already begun moving the right pieces. A bribe here, a favor there. Within days, Seraphine Durell had caught the attention of the right social circles.As Aria stepped into the grand hall, cloaked in deep violet silk and a veil of silver mesh, all eyes turned to her.“Lady Durell,” cooed one of the older lords, his brow slick with wine and curiosity. “The Capital is graced with your presence.”She smiled. Not too warmly. “And I am graced by its chaos.”Laughter. Approval.The game had begun.She allowed herself to be led through the hall, speaking in riddles and polished phrases, never too eager, never too cold. She sipped watered wine, listened more than she spoke. Every word was a weapon now, every glance a calculation.And then she saw Kael.King Kael now, though the title felt foreign on him. He had aged—subtly. His jaw was more defined, his eyes heavier. The smile he wore was mechanical. There was no light behind it.Beside him stood Liora.She wore Aria’s crown.Not in design, but in intent. Her gown was gold-stitched crimson, her lips blood-bright, her expression one of delicate arrogance.Aria watched them for only a moment.It was long enough.---Later that night, Dorian found her on the terrace of the small manor they had secured in the outer ring of the city. She stood beneath the moon, watching its reflection ripple in the fountain’s surface.“Well?” he asked.She didn’t turn.“They are brittle,” she said. “Power has made them careful. Afraid.”“Good,” he said. “Fear sharpens. And cracks.”“I spoke to the Lord Archivist tonight,” she murmured. “He let slip that the crown is quietly trying to erase the rebellion records from the libraries. They’re rewriting history.”“That’s not surprising,” Dorian replied.“But it’s sloppy. Desperate.” She turned to him. “And it gives us our next move.”---The Royal Archives were sacred. Tucked beneath the western wing of the palace, they housed centuries of recorded law, history, and bloodline. Gaining entry was difficult—even nobles required approval from the High Curator. But Seraphine Durell, the charming widow with old money and clever questions, was quickly becoming a court favorite.Within a week, she was granted access.She dressed plainly that day—a dove-gray gown, her veil loose, no jewels. The archivists respected humility. She carried no weapon, only a velvet notebook and a satchel.She was led inside by an apprentice who offered only a brief bow. “You’ll find the rebellion ledgers in Wing E, my lady. Do not remove any scrolls.”“Of course,” she replied with a warm smile. “I only wish to understand what scars still linger.”He left her among the shelves.She waited a full minute before moving.Not to Wing E—but to Wing C.It was older. Dustier. Reserved for sealed histories. But Dorian had bribed a clerk for one important detail: this is where the royal correspondence archives were stored. Including Kael’s pre-coronation letters.She moved swiftly, scanning shelf markings, pulling gloves from her satchel. She didn’t need many—just a few. One letter, one record, one trace of proof that Kael had sold her out to secure Liora’s influence.She found the right shelf. Her heart pounded.And then—footsteps.She froze.Not the apprentice. These steps were heavier. Slower.She slipped behind a column, pressing herself into shadow.A man entered the aisle. Middle-aged, well-dressed. Not a guard.He paused. Looked around. Then pulled a scroll from his sleeve and slipped it onto the shelf—deliberately misfiled.Then he left.Aria emerged slowly.She examined the scroll.Royal Decree – Unregistered Trade – 3rd Quarter.The same marking on the document Dorian had shown her. The one Kael had hidden.Someone was still feeding the records. Smuggling truth back into the system.A second ally?She slipped the scroll into her satchel and exited quietly, taking only one other letter—a personal note from Kael to a mysterious foreign noble. It mentioned a shipment. A favor. A betrayal.She would decode it later.That night, she sat in her study and unrolled the letter by candlelight.Kael’s handwriting was unmistakable. To the Lord of Ranseth—You will receive the shipment of silver spice by the 5th moon. Ensure your men do not wear the colors of the crown. If discovered, the Vale girl will take the fall, as planned.Once my coronation is secure, further trade routes will be discussed.Burn this.Aria closed her eyes.The “Vale girl.”Her name, reduced to a convenience.He had planned her ruin. Not as a last resort. Not in a moment of panic.But with strategy.She felt something dark coil in her chest. Not grief. Not even rage.Purpose.Within days, she returned to court.She didn’t seek out Kael or Liora directly. No—her path was more careful. She spoke to their advisors, their ministers. She planted questions. Kindled curiosity.And soon, she received her first private summons.Not from the king. Not yet.But from Liora.It arrived at dawn—an ivory envelope sealed with the royal emblem. Lady Seraphine,You’ve stirred quite the whisper among my court. Join me for tea this afternoon. I do so enjoy the company of women with stories to tell.—Queen LioraAria stared at the letter.She had been noticed.Good.She chose her gown with care that afternoon—cobalt silk, a subtle nod to the sea, with silver clasps shaped like thorns. She wore her veil lower than usual, just enough to show her mouth.She wanted Liora to look at her. And wonder.The queen’s parlor was all ivory and crystal. Liora lounged on a chaise, sipping rose tea, her eyes sharp and studying.“You’re quite the mystery,” she said as Aria entered. “And I do love mysteries.”Aria bowed. “Your Majesty honors me.”Liora gestured. “Sit. Tell me—where do you come from, truly? Your accent is northern, but your posture... courtly.”Aria smiled. “My late husband believed in refinement. He trained me in its uses.”“Ah, but refinement without ambition is wasted. And I sense ambition in you.”“I seek only to belong,” Aria said sweetly.Liora studied her again, and for a flicker of a moment, something passed behind her eyes. Doubt. Memory?But it was gone quickly.“Well,” she said, “I suspect you’ll belong quite well. Perhaps even among the Inner Circle. But you’ll have to prove yourself.”Aria tilted her head. “And how does one do that?”Liora’s smile sharpened. “By finding secrets. The right ones.”Aria bowed her head, hiding her smirk.Let the games begin.

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