the timid bride

# Chapter 65 – Fire in the Veins

The days following Lord Brannic's arrest passed like slow-burning coals. Zara did not sleep much. The palace was tense—silent halls whispered of more betrayal, and the scent of treachery hung thicker than incense. But Zara moved through it all with unflinching grace. She had become a force now—more than a queen. A warning.

Damon stood at her side, always near. Yet even he knew she was changing. Not colder, but sharper.

The council chamber was packed. Nobles who had previously avoided public matters now clung to visibility like a shield. Zara's presence had become a mirror—showing each of them the cowardice they hoped to hide.

"House Thayen has doubled its trade routes to the south," said Chancellor Orin. "Unusual, considering the drought."

"Unusual?" Zara echoed, her voice even. "Or opportunistic?"

The man from House Thayen flinched but said nothing. Damon's eyes tracked every reaction.

"I want a full audit of southern trade. Tonight," Zara continued. "And send emissaries to the border villages. If House Thayen is hoarding or price-gouging, we end it."

"Your Majesty, with respect, trade disputes aren't as—"

Zara's voice rose, slicing through the chamber. "This is not a trade dispute. This is survival. While we bleed, some of you profit. That ends under my rule."

The chamber fell silent.

After the meeting, Zara sat alone in the royal archives. Amara entered, closing the door behind her.

"Something's wrong," Zara said before Amara could speak.

Amara stepped forward. "Another attempt. On your food taster this time. The poison was in the wine."

Zara stood slowly. "And yet the source remains invisible."

"We've interrogated every servant. Nothing."

"No," Zara said. "You're looking at the wrong level."

She walked toward the large map pinned to the back wall of the archive room. The entire kingdom was marked—villages, cities, trade lines, border disputes.

"The poison didn't come from within the palace," Zara whispered. "It came through our supply lines. Someone is helping the Shadow Hand from outside."

Damon entered then, a scroll in hand. "You were right. House Thayen received three shipments last month from a 'merchant alliance'—unsigned and unrecorded."

Zara turned to Amara. "Trace the routes. I want to see every shipment that passed through the southern gates in the last two weeks."

"Tonight?" Amara asked.

"Now."

—

At midnight, Zara stood in the torch-lit courtyard. The gates opened to reveal a merchant caravan just arriving from the borderlands. Varek led the inspection.

The guards opened crates, spilled sacks, and broke seals.

Nothing.

Until one cart.

Inside the false bottom of a grain barrel, they found it—a vial wrapped in silk. Thick. Black. Poison.

Zara stared at it, her jaw clenched.

"Where did this cart come from?"

The driver, a gaunt man in his fifties, trembled. "I... I don't know, Your Majesty. I was paid to drive it from the Glade."

"The Glade?" Damon asked sharply. "That's neutral territory."

"Not anymore," Zara said coldly. "It's a shadow port now."

She turned to Damon. "Ready the royal guard. We leave by dawn."

Damon's expression tightened. "Are you sure?"

She looked at him. "I'm not sitting on a throne while someone tries to murder my people through their bread."

—

The ride to the Glade was fast and brutal. They moved under moonlight, slipping past outposts and trading silence for stealth. When they reached the outskirts, smoke clung to the horizon. The Glade was not just a port anymore—it was a stronghold.

From a cliff above, Zara stared down at it. Markets, storage docks, and a cluster of merchant tents now hidden by armed guards.

"Shadow Hand base," Damon muttered.

"They thought I wouldn't see this," Zara replied.

"And what will you do?"

She turned to her soldiers. "Burn it."

The assault was swift. Arrows lit with fire sailed through the air. The enemy scrambled, unprepared for the retaliation of a queen they thought weak. Zara rode with her blade drawn, cloak flaring, a storm on horseback.

Smoke clouded the sky. Tents collapsed in flames. Screams rang out.

But amidst the chaos, she saw him—a man cloaked in all black, standing untouched at the center of the blaze.

Their eyes met.

He didn't run.

Zara dismounted, her sword in hand. Damon moved to stop her, but she shook her head.

"I need to face this."

The man drew twin daggers.

They circled.

He struck first, fast and sharp. She dodged left, parried right. Sparks flew. He was trained—not like the others. A true assassin.

But Zara had trained too. Varek's lessons, Damon's sparring, her sleepless nights—they had carved her into something new.

Steel sang.

The man slashed her arm—she spun, kicked his knee, and drove her blade into his side. He gasped. Fell to his knees.

"You are not the queen they described," he rasped.

"No," she said, stepping closer. "I'm much worse."

And with a swift motion, she finished it.

The camp burned behind her. Her guards gathered. Damon approached, chest heaving.

"Zara—"

"I'm fine."

Blood dripped from her hand. Her cloak was torn. Her breath ragged.

But her eyes were fire.

"Let them come again," she said.

"They won't survive the next time."

And as the flames swallowed the last of the Shadow Hand's stronghold, Zara stood still, fierce and unbroken—no longer the timid bride, but the queen who had forged herself in fire.

(Word Count: 1,580)