Chapter Seventeen

The sound of crickets filled their silence as each of them became lost in their own thoughts. But unbeknownst to Elara, Sebastian had been watching her the whole time, resting his chin in his hand.

“8…9…10…11…12…,” she counted the delicate daisies on her bracelet, each charm shimmering whenever the moonlight kissed it.

Her heart fluttered at the realization of how observant Sebastian had been. She lifted her gaze, and their eyes met. The world around them seemed to still, the distant music from the ballroom fading into nothing. The warmth in his expression, the way his lips parted as if to say something—it sent a quiet thrill through her.

But just as Sebastian took a breath to speak—

A thunderous boom erupted in the distance.

The ground trembled violently beneath them, and the manor’s stained-glass windows rattled in their frames. Gasps and startled cries rang from inside, followed by the clatter of silverware and hurried footsteps. Another explosion shook the earth, followed by an aftershock that nearly sent Elara stumbling—

Until strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her against a firm chest.

“Stay close to me!” Sebastian’s voice was urgent, his grip tightening around her as the tremors continued.

Screams and panicked shouts filled the air as the manor’s guests rushed toward the exits. The once-elegant banquet now dissolved into chaos, nobles abandoning their etiquette in favor of survival. Servants scrambled to usher people outside while the chandeliers overhead swayed dangerously, casting frantic shadows along the marble floors.

Sebastian kept his arm securely around Elara as he guided her through the frantic crowd. The night air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, and in the distance, the glow of fire painted the sky a deep, menacing orange. Another explosion rocked the ground, closer this time, and a new wave of screams erupted from the guests. Flames licked at the rooftops of the nearby town, their bright embers swirling into the night sky like falling stars.

His guards found him swiftly, their expressions tense and urgent. “Your Highness! We must return to the palace immediately! It’s not safe here.”

Sebastian turned to Elara, his grip on her hands tightening. “Elara, listen to me,” he said, voice firm yet gentle. “You need to get to safety. I promise you, I will find out what’s happening and make sure everything is alright.”

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Elara searched his face, uncertainty and fear swirling inside her. The thought of him leaving made her chest tighten, but before she could argue, the guards pulled him back.

“Sebastian—”

“I’ll be fine!” he called over the chaos. “Just stay safe, Elara. I swear I’ll come back.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the mass of guards who whisked him away toward the palace.

Everything was unraveling.

Explosions continued in the distance, each one creeping closer. Tremors shook the ground with relentless force, as if the earth itself were breaking apart. The fires in the nearby town spread rapidly, devouring everything in their path. The eerie orange glow reflected in the terrified eyes of the guests as they frantically climbed into their carriages, desperate to flee the scene. The once-grand Whitmore estate now stood under siege by something unseen, something Elara had no time to understand.

“Elara! Come now!” her mother’s voice snapped her back to reality.

Her parents, along with a handful of servants, were moving swiftly toward the woods, where a hidden bunker had been built for emergencies. Without another thought, Elara gathered her skirts and followed them, her mind racing with unanswered questions, her heart still hammering from the lingering touch of a prince who had just promised to return.

***

The morning after the attack, Emberlund awoke to devastation. Smoke still lingered in the air, and the scent of charred wood clung to the ruined streets. Homes had been reduced to rubble, bodies lined the roads, and the once-lively town was now a graveyard of destruction. Reports confirmed what many had feared—the attack had come from Valeria. The neighboring kingdom had launched cannon fire into Emberlund, obliterating homes and businesses in a single night of terror. Thousands had perished, and many more were left injured or displaced.

In the palace, the atmosphere was tense. Sebastian sat among the council, his hands clenched into fists as he listened to the reports of devastation. The nobles spoke in frantic voices, demanding heightened security, stronger borders, and immediate retaliation. The weight of responsibility pressed heavy on his shoulders.

At the head of the chamber, Emperor Regis Belmont sat, his expression carved from stone. His fury was barely restrained, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his throne.

“This attack was an act of war,” the emperor finally declared, his voice cold with rage. “Valeria dares strike at our land, slaughtering our people. This cannot go unanswered.”

The room was silent, every noble awaiting his verdict.

“We march at dawn,” he ordered. “Thousands of our soldiers will be sent to crush this offense. Emberlund will not be disrespected.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply but said nothing.

War had come to Emberlund.