It started with a crack.
Not thunder.
Not breaking glass.
A crack in the floor beneath the east wing, a hairline fracture where marble had once laid smooth.
At first, no one noticed.
Palace walls were old, they said. The foundation shifted with time.
But then the crack began to pulse.
Red.
Dim.
Steady.
Like a heartbeat.
Selene stood over it that evening, alone, her boots resting inches from the line that split the floor like a scar.
Ingrid had tried to explain it with runes.
Elric had offered to destroy the entire wing and rebuild it.
But Selene… she felt something else.
This wasn't weakness in the stone.
This was something buried.
And now, it wanted out.
She summoned no one.
Instead, she walked the long hall in silence.
Past the closed doors of courtiers who no longer smiled at her.
Past the empty gallery where her coronation portrait was meant to hang.
Past the wall where an old tapestry once covered a symbol no one remembered, a crest too ancient for records, too dangerous for display.
She stopped there.
Laid her hand against the stone.
And whispered.
"I'm ready."
The wall responded with a groan.
Then a hiss.
And then… it opened.
No gears.
No magic.
No ceremony.
Just centuries of silence pulled back like a veil.
Behind it: a staircase descending into black.
She didn't flinch.
She stepped inside.
The passage narrowed with every step.
The air thickened.
Damp. Earthy.
Laced with something older than rot, the smell of memory left too long in the dark.
At the bottom, she found the door.
Iron-bound.
No lock.
No markings.
Except a single sigil carved at chest height.
A broken crown.
But not like the Circle's.
This one was bent inward, a crown swallowing itself.
She pushed it open.
The chamber inside was circular.
Walled in obsidian.
And silent in a way that felt unnatural, as if sound had been bled from the very walls.
At the center stood a table.
Simple. Stone. Covered in dust.
Laid across it:
Scrolls.
Weapons.
And a single portrait.
Selene wiped away the dust.
And her breath caught.
It was her face.
Not exact.
But unmistakable.
The same eyes.
Same line of jaw.
Etched in paint that had no right to survive this long.
A voice echoed in her mind.
"You think you were the first."
"You were just the one who lasted."
There were journals beside the painting.
Selene opened one.
"The Crown has always needed its fire."
"We gave it one. Every generation. A woman to control. A blade in silk."
"But the fire always burns more than we bargain for."
She flipped the pages.
More names.
Dozens.
Women bred, trained, inserted into noble lines, then abandoned once they failed to obey.
All marked with the same sigil burned into the corner of each scroll.
The Silent Throne.
Selene dropped the journal.
Stepped back.
She wasn't just a queen.
She wasn't just a Circle spy.
She was part of a bloodline weaponized by something older than the throne itself.
Something that had used her ancestors as tools.
And was now watching her do the same.
Behind her, the wall groaned.
Cassian stood in the doorway.
His expression unreadable.
"You found it," he said.
Selene turned slowly.
"You knew?"
He nodded.
"My mother brought me here when I was twelve. She said the throne isn't just a seat. It's a system. A machine that devours anyone who doesn't feed it."
Selene stepped forward.
"And you didn't burn it?"
"I was twelve."
"You're not twelve now."
Cassian walked to the table.
Looked at the portrait.
Then at Selene.
"It looks like you."
"I know."
"They made you in her image."
"No. They made me in their image."
She reached for the torch in the wall.
Lit one of the scrolls.
Watched it curl and blacken.
"I'm not their puppet."
Cassian didn't move.
"But they still control the court. They own half the trade routes. If you destroy this, you'll be hunted."
"I already am."
"And if you fail?"
Selene met his eyes.
"Then they'll learn what happens when fire gets out of hand."
He didn't stop her.
Together, they burned the chamber.
Not just the scrolls.
The tapestries.
The weapons.
The chair carved into the floor.
The portrait.
The sigils.
Everything.
Until the room screamed with flame and ash.
They didn't speak on the way up.
But when they reached the hall again, Selene turned.
"I want a list of everyone who ever visited this wing in the last twenty years."
Cassian nodded.
"And when you find out who inherited this legacy."
She smiled coldly.
"I won't inherit it."
"I'll end it."
Later that night, Ingrid stormed into the war room with a scroll trembling in her hand.
"Your Majesty."
Selene looked up.
Ingrid placed the parchment down.
It was stamped with a wax seal shaped like a serpent devouring its tail.
She didn't need to open it.
She knew what it meant.
The Silent Throne had noticed.
And they were sending a reply.