CELESTE'S POV
The trial lasted exactly seven minutes.
Seven minutes to destroy my entire life.
I stood in the center of the Council Chamber with my hands still cuffed behind my back. Twelve members of the High Council sat in their tall chairs, looking down at me like I was a bug they wanted to squash. The morning sun streamed through the windows, making their ceremonial robes shine with gold thread. Everything looked so beautiful and official and wrong.
"Celeste Starweaver," Council Leader Thaddeus announced, his voice echoing off the marble walls. "You stand accused of attempting to murder Crown Prince Adrian. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty!" My voice came out stronger than I felt. "I didn't do anything! Prince Adrian is lying—"
"Silence!" Thaddeus slammed his staff against the floor. "We have evidence. A vial of poison was found hidden in your chambers."
"Because Morgana planted it there! She admitted it in the garden—"
"Your sister has testified against you," another Council member interrupted. She was an older woman with silver hair and cold eyes. "She swears you confessed your jealousy to her weeks ago."
My stomach dropped. "That's not true!"
But no one was listening. They never planned to listen.
Adrian sat in the front row of observers, dabbing at his eyes with a silk handkerchief. He looked heartbroken and betrayed. Everyone probably thought he was the victim. No one saw the tiny smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.
Morgana sat beside him, her hand on his shoulder like she was comforting him. When she caught me looking, she winked.
Actually winked.
I wanted to scream.
"Does anyone speak in defense of the accused?" Thaddeus asked.
The chamber fell silent.
I searched the crowd desperately, looking for anyone who might help me. My best friend Seraphine stood near the back, tears streaming down her face. She started to raise her hand, but two guards immediately moved toward her. She lowered it slowly, mouthing "I'm sorry" at me.
They'd threatened her. I could see it in her terrified eyes.
Then I found my mother.
Grand Enchantress Vivienne Starweaver sat in the Council member's chair reserved for the head of all magical families. Her face was carved from ice. Her eyes stared straight ahead, not even looking at me.
"Mother?" My voice cracked. "Please. You know I wouldn't do this. You know me."
Finally, she looked at me. For just a second, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes—doubt, maybe, or pain. But then it vanished, replaced by cold disgust.
"I have no daughter who would bring such shame to our family," she said clearly. Each word felt like a slap. "The Starweaver name has been honored for three hundred years. You have destroyed our reputation in a single night."
"But I didn't—"
"Enough." She held up one hand. "You embarrassed our family. You embarrassed me. I vote guilty."
The world went fuzzy around the edges.
My own mother. The woman who taught me my first spell. Who used to braid my hair and tell me stories about the stars. Who promised she would always protect me.
She just sentenced me to death without even hearing my side.
One by one, the other Council members voted. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Every single one.
"Celeste Starweaver," Thaddeus declared, "you are hereby stripped of your title as Royal Star Witch. You will be bound with iron to prevent the use of magic. At sunset tomorrow, you will be executed for treason and attempted murder."
The guards grabbed my arms, dragging me toward a metal table where thick iron chains waited. I tried to pull away, but there were too many of them.
"No! Please! Just listen to me for one minute—"
They slammed me down onto the table. The head guard, a massive man with scarred hands, picked up the first chain. It glowed red-hot, burning with some kind of spell.
"This is going to hurt," he said. He almost sounded sorry.
He wrapped the chain around my wrists.
The pain was instant and horrible. It felt like my skin was on fire and freezing at the same time. I screamed as the iron burned into me, sealing itself to my magic. I could feel my power—the celestial energy that had been part of me since I was five years old—being crushed and locked away.
More chains wrapped around my arms, my waist, my ankles. Each one brought fresh waves of agony.
When they finally finished, I could barely breathe. My magic was still there—I could feel it buried deep inside—but it was trapped behind iron walls I couldn't break through.
"Take her to the dungeons," Thaddeus ordered. "And make sure she can't escape."
They dragged me through the palace halls. People I'd known my whole life turned away when they saw me. Servants I'd been kind to whispered behind their hands. Children I'd taught simple spells pointed and laughed.
The dungeon stairs seemed to go down forever. Each step took me deeper into darkness, deeper into despair. Finally, they threw me into a cell and slammed the door shut. The lock clicked with terrible finality.
I was alone.
I crawled to the corner and pulled my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible. The iron chains were so heavy I could barely move. My burned wrists throbbed with each heartbeat.
I tried not to cry. I really tried. But the tears came anyway, hot and bitter and endless.
I cried for the life I'd lost. For the love that was never real. For the family that abandoned me. I cried until my throat was raw and my eyes were swollen and there were no tears left inside me.
When I finally stopped, the cell was completely dark except for a tiny square of night sky visible through the barred window near the ceiling.
Stars twinkled beyond the bars, cold and distant.
"Please," I whispered to them. My voice was barely a breath. "Please, if anyone is listening, help me. I don't want to die. I didn't do anything wrong. Please."
Nothing happened.
I laughed bitterly. What did I expect? The stars were just balls of burning gas millions of miles away. They didn't care about one broken girl in a dungeon.
But then—
One star began to move.
I blinked hard, thinking I was seeing things. But no. A star was definitely moving across the sky, growing brighter and brighter as it fell toward the earth.
A shooting star.
Grandmother used to say that shooting stars were messages from the cosmos. Signs that someone was listening.
I pressed my chained hands against my chest. "I need a miracle," I whispered to the falling star. "I need someone to believe me. I need—"
The star exploded with light so bright I had to close my eyes.
When I opened them again, the entire cell was glowing with soft silver radiance. The light seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
And in that light, I heard a voice.
Not out loud. Inside my head. Deep in my soul.
"Help is coming," it said. "Trust the one who walks in shadows. He will break your chains. He will stand beside you when all others fall away."
"Who?" I gasped. "Who's coming?"
But the light was already fading, taking the voice with it.
Within seconds, the cell was dark again. Everything was exactly as it had been before.
Except for one thing.
On my burned wrist, beneath the iron chain, a mark had appeared. A tiny silver star that glowed faintly in the darkness.
And somewhere far away, I heard footsteps.
Heavy. Determined. Coming closer.
Someone was coming for me.