the timid bride

**Chapter 49 – The Palace Will Burn**

The scroll lay open on the war table, its edges curling from the heat of the lantern flames. Kael, Zara, and Thorne stared down at the hand-drawn map Veris had died protecting.

The palace was circled in blood-red ink.

Three arrows. Two dates. One word.

**"Judgment."**

Zara's voice was quiet, but cold. "They're planning to strike us at the heart."

Thorne nodded. "It's not just another attack. They're planning to burn the monarchy down."

Kael clenched his fists. "They won't."

Zara traced the arrows on the map. "They mean to kill us. And everyone loyal to the crown."

Thorne added grimly, "And if they succeed, they'll take the throne. Not by inheritance. Not by diplomacy. But by chaos."

---

That night, Zara couldn't sleep.

She stood by the window of the royal chamber, her silhouette framed by moonlight. Below, the courtyard buzzed with increased patrols. Soldiers marched with sharper steps. Guards stood at every gate.

But she knew—

Security didn't stop shadows.

Kael rose from bed, walked to her silently, wrapping a robe around her shoulders.

"You should rest."

She leaned into him. "If I close my eyes, I'll see them here. In our halls. In our bedchamber. I'll see them winning."

Kael pressed a kiss to her hair. "Then we don't sleep. We plan."

---

By dawn, a new set of scrolls was delivered across the capital.

Royal summons.

Zara's command.

Every house, every noble, every commander and treasurer was to present themselves for a security hearing. Anyone who refused would be seen as siding with the enemy.

Whispers exploded like wildfire.

The Queen wasn't playing games anymore.

---

The hearings lasted days.

Zara watched them all — silent, sharp-eyed, seated in a chair just below the throne.

She asked questions Kael never would.

Not about politics.

About **alibis**.

About **servants recently dismissed**.

About **donations with no paper trail**.

One by one, secrets unfolded.

By the fifth day, she had three names.

Three traitors.

She gave the order herself.

Public stripping of titles.

Public exile.

No blood. Not yet.

But the message was clear.

---

That evening, Zara removed her royal gown and stepped into black armor again.

Kael looked up from sharpening his blade.

"You're not going out again?"

She nodded. "I need to see the gates myself. The guards. The weak spots. I need to know the way the enemy might think."

Kael stood. "Then I'll go with you."

She smiled slightly. "We really are two halves of one sword."

---

They toured the lower palace first.

Zara asked to inspect servant tunnels. The hidden hallways. The escape routes once reserved for fleeing royalty.

It was in one of those tunnels that they found it.

A mark.

Small. Carved into stone.

A serpent's head.

Kael crouched beside it. "They've been here."

Zara's voice was tight. "They're still here."

She turned to the captain of the guard. "Seal every servant entrance. Double every watch. And find the rat that let them inside."

---

By nightfall, the palace transformed.

Gone were the silks and music.

Now it hummed with steel and tension.

The people called it "The Queen's Silence."

Because no one saw her smile anymore.

Only command.

Only flame in her eyes.

---

And then… it happened.

Three nights later.

Midnight.

Zara was in the war chamber when the alarm rang.

Three rapid bells.

One long.

Kael burst in. "They're here."

Thorne followed. "South tower breached. Two guards dead."

Zara was already moving. "Evacuate the inner court. Get the advisors out. Lock the high doors."

Kael drew his sword. "We defend from the grand staircase. They'll want to make a scene."

She met his eyes.

"No mercy."

"No survivors."

---

The Order came in like smoke.

Masked.

Silent.

Dozens.

Maybe more.

But Kael and Zara were already waiting.

And they did not fight like nobles.

They fought like wolves.

Zara's sword met blade after blade. Her shoulder was grazed. Her thigh cut. But she didn't fall.

Kael struck like fire—protecting her back, his blade an extension of rage.

Thorne's men sealed the western wing, forcing the intruders into a choke point.

Screams rang.

Steel clashed.

The marble floor was painted in red.

---

Zara kicked one masked man down the stairs, twisted another's wrist, and drove her blade through his throat.

Behind her, Kael shouted, "Behind you!"

She ducked just in time.

Another assassin fell by his sword.

"Seven left!" Thorne yelled.

Zara's breath was ragged. "Six now."

They fought to the last second.

Until silence fell again.

The floor was littered with bodies.

Smoke drifted through broken windows.

And in the center of it all—

Zara stood with her sword raised, her crown still on her head.

---

But one thing was missing.

Veris had been right.

She wasn't the worst.

Because a letter was found on the last assassin's body.

Zara read it aloud, voice hollow.

> "Even if the Queen survives, she will bleed.

> Because what we could not burn in the palace—

> We will burn in her past."

Zara's knees buckled slightly.

Kael caught her. "What does it mean?"

Zara's eyes widened.

"My mother."

---

Hours later, a rider came.

He was from the village Zara had been born in.

He'd ridden all night.

There'd been a fire.

Her family's home—

**Gone**.

No bodies yet.

But no survivors found either.

Zara sat frozen.

Thorne stepped forward. "It's a message."

Kael clenched his fists. "They couldn't beat us here, so they reached into her bloodline."

Zara stood.

Not trembling.

Not crying.

But **burning**.

"I'll bury the Order," she whispered.

"No mercy. No delay."

Kael touched her cheek. "You still have me."

She nodded.

But her voice was no longer soft.

It was **war**.

---

That night, she didn't sleep.

She stood over the bodies of the assassins laid out in the palace square.

Nobles watched from windows. Citizens peeked from alleyways.

Zara raised her voice.

"This is what happens to those who betray the crown. Who slit throats in the dark. Who burn homes of innocent blood."

She pointed at the sky.

"And for every fire you set— I will light ten more beneath you."

Then she gave the order.

The bodies burned.

The flames reached higher than the palace spires.

---

In the smoke, the people saw not a bride.

Not even a queen.

They saw a legend.

A storm wrapped in a woman's frame.

And the Order— wherever they were hiding now—knew:

The timid bride was gone.

What remained was **wrath in a crown**.