Bride of the Forgotten Throne

The war tent was choked with the scent of iron and old woodsmoke. The brazier crackled low in the center, casting a flickering halo across the rough faces gathered around the war table. They were fighters, all of them—scarred, hollow-eyed, worn thin by years of loss.

Some still bore traces of nobility, their old coats torn and mended with rebellion red. Others wore nothing but soot and steel.

But all eyes were on Roen. And the scroll in front of him.

Thesa stood near the entrance, silent but watchful. Her presence was tolerated—not because she was a healer, but because she had saved more of them than any blade ever had.

Roen's voice was rough.

"You all know who she is."

"We knew who she was," Commander Jorah snapped. His beard was graying, blood still crusted under his fingernails. "The fire witch. The Iron Queen. The one who burned our banners at Lethra and called it justice."

Roen didn't flinch. "And yet here we are. Still burning. Without her."

Captain Solen leaned forward next, a younger man with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

"She sends terms now, but she had years to fix this rot. She ruled over our silence. Don't tell me she's suddenly found a conscience."

Thesa's quiet voice cut through the smoke.

"She walked into the Hollow and came back. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Solen scoffed. "Plenty of things walk into the Hollow and come back. Doesn't mean they come back sane."

"She didn't come back mad," Thesa replied. "She came back changed."

Jorah laughed, bitter. "You sound like a girl who's fallen under the Queen's spell."

Thesa didn't blink. "Maybe I have. Maybe I'd rather follow a woman who remembers her sins than one who pretends they never happened."

The table stirred.

Murmurs passed like ripples in a storm.

Roen raised a hand. The tent stilled.

"She was a weapon. Once. I know it. You know it. She was built by the Council to crush and conquer."

He looked at the scroll again.

"But this—this doesn't read like a threat. It reads like a woman who's tired of bleeding people to prove she has power."

He looked around the table.

"She offered us a seat. A voice. Shared rule."

He let the words hang.

"We've killed for less."

An older woman—Captain Deyra, missing an eye and most of one arm—cleared her throat.

"What's the catch?"

Roen didn't hesitate. "Trust. She's not asking for loyalty. Not yet. Just a meeting. One envoy. One blade. Hollow ground."

Jorah snorted. "You'd walk into her court like a lamb?"

Roen met his eyes.

"I already walked into the Hollow. I looked her in the eyes. And I saw a woman who didn't look like a Queen anymore."

"What did she look like?" Solen asked, voice low.

Roen's answer came slowly.

"Like someone who had to burn down everything she was to remember who she used to be."

That silenced even Jorah.

For a moment.

Then Captain Deyra spoke again, gravel in her voice.

"You think she's offering peace because she wants redemption?"

Roen looked around the table—at the tired eyes, the scars, the ghosts that never left.

"No. I think she's offering peace because she's seen what war does to people like us."

He looked at the flames.

"It makes monsters out of martyrs."

The fire popped.

Sparks flared, then faded.

Outside, the rebel camp breathed in and out in restless silence.

Thesa stepped forward, braver now.

"So who goes?"

Roen exhaled. Looked down at the scroll again.

"I will."

"Alone?" Deyra asked.

"Yes. If it's a trap, I die. If it's not…"

He looked at them all.

"Then maybe this war ends before we lose what's left of ourselves."

The captains didn't cheer.

They didn't stand.

But they didn't stop him.

And that was enough.

After the others had gone, Jorah lingered.

His voice was low when he finally said:

"I don't believe in her. Not like you do."

Roen didn't look at him.

"I don't believe in her either."

He turned slowly.

"But I believe in what she's trying to be."

Jorah grunted and left the tent.

Thesa stayed behind. She watched Roen as he knelt by the dying coals, staring into them like they held the shape of the future.

"Do you think she'll keep her word?" she asked.

Roen's voice was almost a whisper.

"I think… if she's lying, it'll break her."

He stood, eyes hard again.

"And if she's not…"

"Then the world is about to change."