the timid bride

# Chapter 66 – A Throne in the Shadows

The blackened ruins of the Glade still smoldered in Zara's memory long after they returned to the capital. Though the stronghold had been burned to ash and the poison supply line severed, peace did not follow. It merely changed shape.

Whispers moved like shadows in the corridors. Some nobles lauded Zara's boldness; others, fearful of her growing strength, began forming alliances in secret. The court had never been more fragile—held together not by law or tradition, but by the force of Zara's will.

That morning, she stood before the full council, draped in a gown of deep emerald silk embroidered with dragons. The color of rebirth. Of danger.

"We've confirmed it," Amara said, placing a sealed parchment on the table. "A new faction has emerged—one loyal not to the crown, but to the old order. They call themselves the Circle of Valtor."

Damon's jaw tightened. "Valtor was exiled decades ago. His name alone could incite treason."

Zara remained calm. "Then it's time the people remembered why we exiled tyrants."

The council chamber was silent.

Zara rose to her full height. "I will not be ruled by ghosts."

—

Later that day, she walked alone through the Hall of Ancestors. It was a quiet place, filled with marble busts of kings and queens long dead. Each pedestal bore names carved in stone, their eyes forever staring down at whoever dared wear the crown.

Zara paused at the statue of Queen Elaria—the last ruler before Valtor's bloody rebellion. She had died defending the palace gates, sword in hand, crown still on her brow.

Zara touched the cool marble. "They think I'll fall like you did. But I won't."

A voice behind her answered, "No, you won't."

It was Damon.

He stepped forward, his voice quieter now. "But you're burning yourself out."

Zara turned, her face unreadable.

"I'm not allowed to be tired, Damon. Not now. Not until every traitor is rooted out."

He took her hands. "You don't have to carry it alone."

She looked away. "I know. But sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one willing to bleed for it."

Damon said nothing. He just held her closer.

—

At midnight, Varek burst into her chambers.

"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly. "We found something."

He handed her a coded letter retrieved from a captured rider. The language was ancient, but Zara recognized it. The Cipher of the Iron Courts—a code used by Valtor's loyalists.

She worked through it for hours, fingers inky and eyes sharp. Finally, the message was clear:

**"The Circle will rise when the moon bleeds. The Queen will fall by her own blade."**

Zara stared at it.

"Prophecy?" Damon asked.

"No. A plan."

She rose and walked to the window. Outside, the moon hung low, round and pale. But in three nights, it would turn red during a rare eclipse.

"They plan to strike then," she said. "We have three days to find them."

—

What followed was chaos beneath calm.

Zara launched a silent sweep of the inner palace. She changed guard schedules. She restricted movement. Every hallway was watched. Every meal tested. She slept with a dagger under her pillow.

On the second night, a maid was found dead in the lower cellars. Poisoned. Another guard vanished.

Zara did not panic.

She sharpened her blade.

The third night came quickly.

As the moon began to darken in the sky, the palace grew tense. Zara dressed in armor beneath her gown and stationed herself in the Hall of Stars, where the royal eclipse ceremony would be held.

Nobles gathered slowly. The Circle was said to hide among them.

She gave no speech.

She just watched.

As the moon bled red above them, a scream shattered the ceremony.

Chaos erupted.

One of the guests had collapsed—throat slit.

Guards moved, but Zara was already running. She didn't wait for protection. She chased the shadow she'd seen slipping through the inner door.

Through halls. Down corridors. Past forgotten stairwells.

She followed them into the catacombs beneath the palace.

There, in the cold stone silence, a figure waited.

Cloaked in blood-red robes, they turned slowly.

"Zara," they said. "You weren't supposed to come alone."

"I don't follow scripts," she answered.

A sword slid from beneath the cloak. "Then die unscripted."

They lunged.

Zara met them blow for blow. Metal rang in the dark. She ducked. Slashed. Parried. She was no longer fighting like a queen—but like a survivor.

The robed figure was fast.

But Zara was faster.

With one final strike, she cut through the cloak and into the assassin's chest. They fell back, gasping.

Zara stepped forward and pulled the mask away.

It was a woman. Young. Eyes defiant.

"You think this ends with me?" she whispered.

"No," Zara said. "But it begins with me."

She left the woman bleeding on the stone.

Above, the moon began to fade from red.

She climbed back into the Hall of Stars, cloak torn, arms bloodied, sword still in hand.

Everyone turned.

Zara walked to the center of the chamber and raised the sword.

"The Circle is broken. And if another rises—I will break that one too."

No one moved.

No one dared.

And in that moment, Zara did not just command the room—she owned it.

(Word Count: 1,552)