the timid bride

# Chapter 63 – The Assassin's Shadow

The rain fell heavily that night, drumming against the stained-glass windows of the royal study where Zara sat alone, poring over parchments and decrees. Candlelight danced over her face, casting flickers of gold and flame in her dark eyes. Though she wore the crown lightly, she bore its burden with every breath. The peace she had earned was fragile.

She felt it. Like a pulse beneath the skin of the palace.

Something was coming.

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence.

Amara entered, pale and breathless. "A rider has come. He bears no crest and refuses to dismount until he sees you personally."

Zara stood immediately. "Bring him to the eastern hall. Have Varek and Damon meet me there—armed."

Within minutes, the rider was escorted in. He was soaked to the bone, his dark hair matted to his face, mud and blood streaked across his cloak.

He dropped to one knee before Zara. "Forgive my intrusion, Your Highness. I came through the western passage. I bring news from High Vale."

Zara's eyes sharpened. "Speak."

"They're coming. An assassin's guild known as the Shadow Hand. Hired weeks ago. They've already breached several noble houses. Last night—House Serent fell. Poisoned. Every one of them."

Gasps echoed through the hall.

"Who hired them?" Damon's voice was a low growl.

The messenger hesitated. "I do not know. But they are no longer targeting nobles."

He looked up, straight into Zara's eyes.

"They are coming for the Queen."

—

The castle went on high alert. By dawn, every entrance was sealed, every corridor doubled with guards. Zara's bedchambers were swept three times a day, and food tasters tested every drink and meal. Damon refused to leave her side. Even Amara now carried a hidden blade.

But the fear did not cripple Zara—it forged her.

"We will not cower," she declared in a meeting with her council. "We will draw them out."

She issued a public decree: a banquet in honor of the alliance with House Elvryn. Every noble was invited.

"A trap," Damon murmured to her as they dressed that evening.

"Exactly," Zara replied.

The banquet was opulent, full of music, masked dancers, and glittering jewels. But beneath the beauty was a coiled tension. Zara's every movement was measured. Every word, bait.

And finally, just past midnight, it happened.

A servant dropped a goblet—no one noticed. But Zara did. She followed the movement, her eyes sharp. The man turned to flee.

"Now," she whispered.

Guards sprang. The man drew a curved blade—poisoned. Damon tackled him before it could strike. In the chaos, Zara held her ground.

"I am not the woman you expected," she told the assassin. "I do not fall."

The man only laughed, even as he bled.

"This is only the beginning."

—

Later, as the palace returned to uneasy quiet, Damon stood beside Zara on the balcony. Rain fell again.

"Do you think it's over?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. "It has only begun."

And her eyes stared out at the darkness—not in fear, but in fire.

Ready.

Her hands clenched into fists. "I want the Shadow Hand dismantled. I want every ally they have exposed. We will no longer wait to be hunted. We will hunt."

"Where do we start?" Varek asked.

"With House Brannic," Zara said. "They were too quiet during the banquet. And their steward disappeared two nights ago. Coincidence?"

Damon's eyes narrowed. "I'll ready the scouts."

"No," Zara said. "I'll go myself."

"You're the queen—"

"I'm also the target," she replied. "Let them see that I'm not afraid to walk into fire. Let them see the woman they underestimated is the one bringing the storm."

She turned, her cloak swirling behind her.

It was time to stop reacting.

It was time to take control.