The scroll arrived at dawn.
Seraphira stood barefoot in the stone corridor outside her chambers, staring down at the words that stripped her of everything she once was.
"By decree of His Majesty, King Thareon Vaelthorne,
Let it be known that the Lady Seraphira is hereby released from her royal standing, and cast from the House of Vaelthorne.
No title shall she bear.
No claim shall she hold.
From this day forth, she is no daughter of the Crown."
The seal gleamed at the bottom, her father's mark, pressed firm in silver wax.
It was done.
Behind her, Rynn stood silent. He had no words. She didn't expect any.
I thought, she whispered, that when it came… it would hurt more.
It did hurt, but not in the way she imagined. Not like fire, sharp and sudden but like frost, slow and merciless.
She rolled the scroll back up with shaking hands and tucked it beneath her cloak.
They'll come by nightfall, Rynn murmured, to escort you from the palace.
Escort, she said bitterly. How kind.
They both knew what it meant. She would be sent out like a prisoner, guarded, silenced, erased.
I'll come with you, he offered.
No, she said too quickly. Then, softer: No. You belong here. You're safe here.
And what are you?
A shadow of a smile tugged at her lips.
Dangerous.
He looked away, jaw clenched. Where will you go?
She turned toward the window where the mountains of the North broke the horizon in jagged lines.
There's nothing left here for me, she said. But out there… there may be something more. If I am no one, then I can become… anyone.
She didn't know what waited beyond the palace gates. Not yet.
But in the distance, the woods whispered her name. The moon, still low in the sky, blinked through storm clouds. The wind seemed to change course, as if the world itself noticed the moment when a forgotten flame rose again.
By nightfall, when the guards came to lead her through the gate, Seraphira had already burned her royal gowns.
She wore a traveler's cloak, plain and grey, with a blade strapped to her thigh and the scroll tucked beneath her belt not as a token of shame, but as a reminder.
Of who she once was.
And what had been taken from her.
No tears fell as she crossed the threshold.
Only ashes remained.