Page 47 of Shattered Crown

Lyra stepped forward, studying Silas with eyes that held centuries of Ashworth heritage despite her youth. “Before we can trust you with the location of my father, you need to prove your commitment isn't just noble words.”

“I came here, didn't I?” Silas challenged. “Left the capital, accepted your terms?—”

“Words cost nothing. Actions less,” Lyra interrupted. “My father has waited decades for the right moment to emerge from exile. He won't risk everything on promises alone.”

She drew a silver dagger from her sleeve, its blade etched with symbols that seemed to shift when viewed directly. The metal hummed with old magic, resonating with the forest around them.

“There's a ritual,” she continued. “A blood oath that was used by Lysander's line to bind allies. Not compulsion, but voluntary witness. The forest itself becomes party to the promise.”

“That's all?” Kai asked, suspicious. “Just blood?”

“Blood carries memory,” Lyra explained. “And in Ashworth blood, that memory runs deep. The ritual will reveal your true intentions. Any deception, any hidden agenda—the forest will know.”

Silas stared at the blade, mind racing. This wasn't just about trust—it was about laying bare his soul to powers far older than crown politics. He thought of Thorne, of quiet mornings in the forest, of love that asked nothing but truth. The choice crystallized.

“I'll do it,” he said.

Lyra smiled approvingly. “Then we begin.”

She guided him to the center of the ritual circle, tracing the edges with her fingertips as she walked. The carved stones began to glow faintly, responding to her presence. The air grew heavy with potential, charged like the moments before a storm.

“Speak these words,” she instructed, placing the dagger in his hand. “I, of Ashworth blood, seek passage beyond walls built by fear. I offer proof of purpose, bound in blood and bone.”

Silas repeated the words, feeling power gather around him. The trees leaned closer, branches reaching toward the circle as if drawn by invisible currents.

“Now the offering,” Lyra whispered.

He cut across his palm with one smooth motion. The pain was sharp but brief, awareness quickly overtaken by something else—a vast consciousness pressing against the edges of his mind. The forest, awake and watching.

Blood dripped onto the carved stone, each drop creating ripples of light that spread outward like waves in a still pond. The symbols on the stone's surface drank eagerly, and Silas felt himself pulled into something greater than himself.

His love for Thorne blazed bright and true. His determination to bridge two worlds. His rejection of the crown's false power. The genuine grief and anger at Sebastian's betrayal.

Then deeper still. Old memories awakened by Ashworth blood. Marcus's first meeting with the guardians, charged with hope and ambition. Lysander's quiet defiance, choosing love over title. The slow corruption of what had once been pure alliance, twisted by fear and greed.

“Let the forest witness,” Lyra intoned, her voice joined by whispers from the trees themselves. “Let truth be known and alliance be forged.”

The power crested like a wave and receded, leaving Silas gasping. The glowing symbols faded to darkness, the circle releasing its hold.

“It is done,” Lyra said, satisfaction evident in her voice. “The forest has read your heart and found it true to your words.”

Kai approached cautiously. “So that's it? We're good?”

Lyra wrapped Silas's bleeding hand with a strip of cloth drawn from her satchel. “The circle has accepted him. His commitment is witnessed and sealed. More binding than any crown oath—this promise, he cannot break without the forest itself knowing.”

As the cloth tightened around his palm, Silas felt the weight of his choice settle into him. No longer just words spoken in passion, but a pact sealed in magic and blood. The path forward had narrowed to a single course.

“Welcome to the true resistance, cousin,” Lyra said, helping him to his feet.

They walked in silence for several minutes, following a path that seemed to reveal itself only when Lyra stepped forward. The forest canopy grew thicker, filtering sunlight into ethereal columns that danced with motes of pollen and dust.

“I have to ask,” Silas finally broke the quiet. “How long have you known? About Sebastian? About what's happening to our bloodline?”

Lyra glanced back at him, considering. “My father was thirteen when he first saw the patterns. Young enough to think he could warn everyone. Old enough to understand why no one would listen.”

“The King's council threatened to have him executed if he kept talking about 'ancestral corruption,'” Kai added, then caught Lyra's questioning look. “Diana told me. Before we left the capital.”

“They feared the truth,” Lyra confirmed. “That the shadow entity had been guiding our family for generations. Pushing us toward this moment.”

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