the timid bride

Chapter 31 – The Rumor That Shook the Palace

The first sign that something was wrong came not with shouting, but with silence.

Servants whispered in tight corners, avoiding eye contact when the timid bride passed. Eunuchs bowed a little too quickly. Even the guards stiffened when she approached, as though unsure of their own posture. It wasn't the usual discomfort they had shown when she first arrived—this was different. Sharper. Measured.

She felt it in her bones before she heard the words.

That morning, she woke earlier than usual. The pale blue of dawn crept through her window, and for once, she didn't pull the sheets over her head. The nightmares had been more vivid lately—fragments of a fire-lit forest, voices chanting in a language she didn't recognize, and a woman with her face but glowing eyes.

She dressed slowly, brushing her hair herself, refusing to call her maid. The prince had not visited in three nights. She told herself it didn't matter. She had spent the past weeks tiptoeing around him, unsure where she stood. But now, she wasn't scared. Just… numb.

The corridor outside her chamber felt colder than usual. A few maids cleaning the floors scattered like startled birds when they saw her, one dropping a silver tray in her haste. She bent to help, but the maid muttered, "Don't touch it," and scampered away with eyes wide.

The timid bride stood frozen, the words lodging like a splinter in her chest.

Don't touch it.

She finally found Marah—her loyal handmaid—outside the laundry chamber, folding freshly washed linens. The girl didn't speak until the hallway was completely empty.

"They say you bewitched him," Marah whispered. "That you're using charms. That's why the prince's temper has changed. Why he hasn't gone to any of the noblewomen's chambers lately."

The bride blinked. "That's not true."

"I know," Marah said quickly. "But the noble daughters… they're furious. Lady Reena said she saw you walking barefoot in the garden during the moon's high point. Said you were chanting."

"I couldn't sleep," the bride replied, her voice barely above a breath. "I just walked."

Marah looked away. "They think you're a witch, my lady."

The prince didn't summon her that night either. Instead, a formal invitation arrived — not from him, but from the queen mother.

"You are hereby invited to tea at the Queen's Garden. Attendance is not optional."

It was sealed with crimson wax. No warmth. No flourish. Just an order wrapped in velvet.

Marah insisted on dressing her carefully, smoothing her gown, braiding her hair in soft loops. "They'll look for excuses to humiliate you," she warned. "Give them none."

As she walked toward the Queen's Garden, two guards flanked her from behind. Not escorting. Watching.

The queen mother sat beneath a white blossom tree, surrounded by silk-draped noblewomen sipping from golden cups. Their laughter halted the moment the bride arrived.

"Ah," the queen said, setting her cup down. "The bride joins us."

The bride curtsied, keeping her eyes low. "Your Majesty."

One of the noblewomen, Lady Siva, tilted her head. "We were just discussing charms. Isn't it curious how some women have… persuasive powers, even without status or beauty?"

A few snickered. The queen gave no sign of amusement.

"Tell me," the queen mother said, leaning forward, "did your family ever practice...the old ways?"

The bride's throat tightened. She remembered her grandmother's hushed tales, the chants, the herbs. But that was childhood. Superstition. Not witchcraft.

"No, Your Majesty."

"But you do talk in your sleep," another lady chimed in, "don't you? My cousin serves near your chambers."

"I've had bad dreams," she said, voice calm. "That's all."

The queen studied her. "And what do you dream of, girl?"

The bride paused. "Fire," she said finally. "And shadows that whisper in tongues I don't understand."

Silence.

Even the birds in the trees seemed to hush.

Then the queen stood. "Thank you for joining us. You may go."

Dismissed. Just like that.

As she walked away, she didn't need to turn to know they were still watching her—discussing, dissecting, judging.

That night, she stood at her window, watching the moon hang heavy in the sky. For the first time, she didn't cry.

Something inside her had begun to shift.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't afraid. But she was no longer willing to be broken.

If they wanted a witch, they would learn what it truly meant to awaken one.

---

By morning, word had spread that the prince had publicly dismissed Lady Reena after she insulted the bride by name.

By evening, another rumor followed: that the prince had ordered his men to burn all charms found in the noblewomen's quarters.

And by nightfall, one more whisper reached her ears: The prince had been seen entering her chambers.

Not with anger.

Not with command.

But with a question on his lips, and uncertainty in his eyes.

---

(Expanded scene continues...)

He stood at the doorway for a long time before knocking.

She didn't rush to the door. She made him wait.

When she opened it, her expression was unreadable. She had expected a guard, perhaps another summons. Not him.

"I heard what they're saying," he said.

She nodded, but said nothing.

"I know it isn't true."

She still said nothing. Her silence was a kind of defiance he hadn't seen before.

He stepped inside slowly. "You haven't asked me why I haven't come."

"I stopped expecting you," she said, her voice low.

He looked around her chamber. The soft cushions. The untouched dinner tray. The open window with moonlight pouring in.

"They're afraid of you," he said.

"And you?"

He looked her in the eyes then, really looked. "I don't know. But I'm not here because of fear."

She turned away. "Then why?"

"I'm here because I don't know what's happening to me. I don't understand it, and that scares me more than anything they've said about you."

He sat down on the edge of her bed, looking almost… lost.

"There was a time I enjoyed control. Knowing everyone feared me gave me power. But lately…" he paused, "...I find myself wondering what it means to be respected. Not just obeyed."

Her heart softened, just a little.

"Maybe fear isn't the only kind of strength," she said.

Their eyes met again. This time, there was no fire between them. No heat. Just quiet understanding.

He stood to leave. "If they come for you again… I won't let them touch you."

And for the first time in many nights, when she lay down to sleep, her dreams were quiet.

---

End of Chapter 31