Page 31 of Shattered Crown

“Why?” Thorne asked finally. “Why did your family risk so much to maintain these connections?”

Elena's fingers traced the edge of a page, her expression distant. “Because we remember what Marcus was before the corruption. Because we understand how easily love turns to destruction when fear enters.”

She closed the journal and reached for another, even older volume. This one was bound in leather so dark it seemed to absorb light. “Would you like to know the truth my family preserved? About what really happened?”

Thorne nodded, though his chest tightened with remembered pain.

“Marcus wasn't the firstborn,” Elena began, her words careful, weighted. “By rights, he should never have inherited. But there was a story my grandmother told—that he used magic to influence their father's decision. Nothing proven, mind you, just whispers about enchanted wine at the family council when inheritance was decided.”

She turned the page, revealing a portrait. Marcus wore court finery, crowned with authority he'd claimed rather than inherited.

“Whether by magic or manipulation, Marcus gained what he wanted. But the guilt...” Elena's voice grew thoughtful. “To love truly while hiding such a fundamental betrayal of blood... How could such love survive when built on stolen foundations?”

Thorne felt fragments stirring—emotions without context, guilt without clear source. “He changed,” he said slowly. “Became someone I didn't recognize.”

“Because to recognize himself, he would have to face what he'd done,” Elena explained. “So he buried the truth deeper with each passing year. Built lies to cover lies. And when guilt becomes too heavy to bear, people often convince themselves they were right all along.”

“Every cruel act became justified,” Thorne realized. “Every betrayal a necessary measure to protect what he'd stolen.”

Briar, who had been unusually quiet, spoke up. “The shadow entity feeds on that, doesn't it? On guilt transformed into righteousness.”

“Yes,” Elena confirmed. “And it's been feeding on the Ashworth line ever since. Each generation inheriting not just lands and titles, but the corruption of believing their ancestors' crimes were virtues.”

She stood, moving to a small chest hidden behind a loose stone. From it, she withdrew several items: a compass that pointed to magical north rather than true north, a mirror that showed truth rather than reflection, and a small vial of what looked like liquid starlight.

“These were Lysander's,” she explained. “Passed down through our family. Tools for those who would heal rather than harm.”

Thorne touched the compass reverently. It spun wildly before settling, pointing directly at his heart. “Why show me this now?”

“Because tomorrow, everything changes.” Elena's voice carried the weight of prophecy. “The hunt, the binding ceremony—they're just the beginning. King Thomas isn't just following his father's footsteps anymore. The shadow entity has him fully now. And it wants more than just the Eldergrove.”

She pulled out one final document—a map of the entire kingdom, marked with ley lines and guardian territories. Red X's marked fallen groves, conquered sanctuaries. The pattern they formed made Thorne's blood run cold.

“It's creating a web,” he realized. “Using the bound guardian magic to create a network of control.”

“And Silas is meant to be the centerpiece,” Elena confirmed. “His connection to you, his Ashworth blood, his position as heir—it all makes him perfect for their purposes. They don't just want to use your bond to control guardian magic. They want to fundamentally change how magic works in this realm.”

The implications staggered him. This wasn't just about his forest or his love anymore. This was about the very nature of magic itself.

“That's why we can't just storm in,” Elena continued. “We need to be smarter. We need to use everything our ancestors learned, every connection we've maintained.” She gestured to the journals, the tools, the accumulated wisdom of centuries. “We're not just fighting for ourselves. We're fighting for everyone who still believes in the old ways, in balance rather than domination.”

Thorne leaned back against the oak's trunk, feeling its ancient patience seep into him. Through the muffled bond, he sensed Silas's determination, steady as a heartbeat. But now he understood the true scope of what they faced.

“Tell me about these weak points in the palace defenses,” he said finally. “Tell me everything.”

Elena smiled, fierce and bright. “I thought you'd never ask.”

They worked through the night, planning and preparing. Elena revealed secret passages that hadn't been used in centuries, guard schedules that followed patterns unchanged since her grandmother's time, and most importantly, the specific requirements for the binding ceremony itself.

“It has to happen at noon,” she explained, pointing to astronomical charts. “When the sun is at its zenith. They need that solar power to overwhelm your lunar nature. And it has to be in the throne room—that's where the original binding circles were carved into the floor.”

“Hidden under carpets now, I assume,” Thorne muttered.

“Under carpets, under newer stone, under layers of concealment spells. But still there, still hungry.” Elena's expression darkened. “That's the real danger. Those circles were made to hold guardian magic. Once you're inside them...”

“I'd be trapped,” Thorne finished.

“Unless we change the game entirely.” Briar spoke up again, her small face serious. “What if we don't try to stop the ceremony? What if we let them think they're winning, right up until the moment they realize they've lost?”

---