Page 197 of Severed Heir

Victor paled as if he’d seen a ghost step from the wreckage of wind and flame. “Reina,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re alive.”

The king struck the base of his cane into the earth with a crack that echoed through the silence. “Too many realms have fallen to the Forgotten,” he declared. “What is to be done? When does this end?”

Reina didn’t bow. She didn’t flinch. Her fury was quiet, coiled beneath the calm like a serpent in waiting. “It ends with you, Norvin.”

The king’s mouth twitched, disdain curling his lip. “Absurd. The realms govern themselves. Their failures are not mine to shoulder, and no one dares question my title.”

“If only you’d ever cared,” Reina said, voice catching on the words. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Enough to show that whatever wound was between them, had never fully healed.

From the edge of the shadows, a figure stepped forward. The king’s cane struck the earth, when he saw who it was.

“Cleminore Herring,” he rasped. “So, you’ve survived all this time.”

Malachi had mentioned her name once when we were in the library at the academy. She was the founder of the Serpent Academy. How was she still alive?

She lowered her hood. Her blonde curls tumbled over her shoulders, framing a face far too young for someone bound to a legend. Her features were elegant, untouched by time, and her eyes gleamed like sunlit honey. She looked barely older than me, and that was what terrified me the most.

“I founded the Serpent Academy to forge rulers worthy of their thrones,” she said. “You’ve twisted that legacy into something monstrous, letting tyrants reign and silencing dissent with blood.”

“I don’t involve myself in the politics of kingdoms,” the king replied coolly.

Cleminore’s gaze turned razor-sharp. “That apathy has cost this Continent everything. For decades, no heir outside the legacy bloodlines has claimed a throne. And now you’ve stained my academy by naming only the legacies. You’ve ruined what it was built to protect.”

“The Serpent always chooses,” he said. “I don’t decide who wins their battle.”

She drew a steady breath. “Then let us choose a new heir—not through bloodlines or backroom bargains, but through trial. Let the strongest lead. Let the Continent watch.”

Victor stepped forward, fury stiffening every line of his frame. “The heir of Verdonia will not be chosen by traitors. Immortality is a forbidden quell, and we do not speak of it, let alone wield it. You haven’t aged in a century, Cleminore. Which means you’ve been tampering with illegal powers and poisons. How many laws have you broken to stand here today?”

The king didn’t answer right away. His gaze swept across the battlefield, taking in the sight of the fallen heirs, the blood soaking the earth, the silence that followed carnage. This was no victory. It was ruin. Slowly, he tapped his cane once against the ground. “What kind of trial?”

Cleminore didn’t blink. “Yours, Norvin. Before you die, you will have a successor. Every Serpent’s heir will compete—and a few of our choosing.” Her voice rang out clear and commanding. “No more secrets. No more lies. Let it be earned.”

From the line of Serpents, Hadrian stepped forward. “I support this.”

Victor’s voice sliced through the hush like a blade. “Your heir is dead,” he said, gesturing toward Caius’s body. “And six others lie beside him.”

Hadrian didn’t so much as blink. “Severyn Blanche is my daughter,” he said evenly. “She is my heir now.”

I stepped forward, fire searing behind my ribs. “I am not your heir.”

Hadrian’s eyes locked on mine. “Caius is dead. You carry no Night blood, meaning you have no claim to its throne.”

Archer surged forward, rage flashing in his gaze. “You don’t get to decide that. You have no authority here.”

The king’s cane struck the stone with a sharp crack. “He doesn’t,” the king said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “But I do.” His stare landed on me. “Severyn is the new heir of Wrathi. Hadrian, your champion stands.”

He turned to the assembled Serpents, his voice rising. “Those without heirs will have their chance. The throne will not pass by blood alone. Let it be earned. Let it be fought for. The next ruler of Verdonia will be chosen by trial.”

Murmurs swept through the ranks. Cloaks rustled. Heads turned. It was a moment that would define history, and no journalist stood to record it.

“We support the trial,” several Serpents echoed, their voices cutting through the charged air. One stepped forward, cloak brushing the ash. “Let it be fair. Let it choose who is worthy.”

The king’s jaw tightened. For a moment, the weight of centuries hung on his silence. Then he gave a single nod and raised his cane. “Prepare your heirs. Prepare your realms. Letters will be sent. The Serpent Trial begins.”

I reached for Archer’s hand, our fingers grazing in the settling stillness. “A trial to become king or queen?” I whispered. “And I’m expected to fight for Hadrian’s legacy?”

He didn’t answer.

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