the timid bride

# Chapter 69 – The Storm Within

Zara stood before the throne but did not sit. The great hall was filled with silence. Lords and Ladies watched, uncertain, eyes flicking to one another for reassurance. No ceremony had been called. No war had been declared. Yet everyone could feel it—something was coming.

And it was coming from her.

The Queen.

The warrior.

The threat.

"I've spent months pulling weeds from this garden," Zara said, voice ringing with quiet fury. "And every time I uproot one traitor, another sprouts from the rot they left behind."

Lord Vexlan shifted in his seat. "With respect, Your Majesty, you rule through strength and fear—"

"Do I?" she interrupted. "Then perhaps you should fear me more."

The room fell to stone silence.

Zara took a slow breath and turned her back to them, facing the stained-glass windows depicting past monarchs.

"My reign was forged in blood," she continued. "I was sold as a bride, beaten into silence, and nearly assassinated more times than I can count. And yet I still stand."

She turned again. "I don't want obedience. I want loyalty. Loyalty to the realm. To its people. If that is too much to ask—leave your titles at the door."

No one moved.

Damon watched from the side, arms crossed, eyes dark. Amara and Varek flanked the pillars like sentinels.

Zara descended the steps slowly.

"I am not here to threaten you," she said. "I'm here to rebuild a kingdom that forgot what justice looks like."

Then she drew a scroll from her cloak and unrolled it.

"This is the new decree."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber.

"All noble houses will be required to swear a second oath. This time, not to the crown—but to the realm's people. Those who break it will be tried as enemies of the realm. This decree takes effect immediately."

The nobles erupted.

"You can't—"

"This is treason—"

Zara lifted her hand.

Silence.

She rolled the scroll back up. "You've profited from chaos for too long. If I fall, it won't be because I lacked courage. It will be because I gave you too much time to show your true colors."

—

That night, Zara sat in the Queen's study, fingers tracing the edge of her cup. She hadn't touched the wine.

Damon entered and closed the door behind him.

"They hate you," he said simply.

"I know."

"You scared them."

"I meant to."

He moved to sit beside her. "And yet you haven't touched your wine. Poison again?"

"Trust is a currency I've run out of."

He reached over, took the cup, and drank.

She blinked.

He grinned. "Still alive."

She laughed softly. A rare sound. But it faded quickly.

"I'm tired, Damon. Not of ruling. But of watching every shadow like it hides a knife."

He nodded. "Then we end this. One way or another."

—

Three days later, word arrived.

The southern coast had rebelled.

Zara read the scroll in the council room. "House Verenth. Of course."

"They were quiet for too long," Varek said. "I should have known."

"They've allied with remnants of the Circle," Amara added. "But worse... they've taken a town hostage."

Zara folded the scroll carefully.

"We ride at dawn."

Damon's jaw clenched. "You said you were done rushing into fire."

"I said I was done waiting for it to find me. Now, I go to end it."

—

The march south was quick and cold.

As they neared the coast, the signs of rebellion grew—burnt villages, slaughtered guards, messages carved into stone.

**"We want a realm without a tyrant."**

Zara didn't flinch.

When they reached the town of Merevale, Damon called for scouts.

Zara rode ahead.

Merevale's gates were closed.

She rode up alone.

A figure stood on the ramparts. A woman—noble robes, cruel smile.

"You must be the Queen," she called. "So small, in person."

Zara raised her voice. "Open the gates. Return the people. And I'll grant mercy."

The woman laughed. "Mercy? That's rich coming from the butcher of the North."

Zara didn't blink. "Last chance."

"Or what?"

Zara signaled.

A barrage of arrows flew over the walls.

Screams echoed.

The gate cracked.

Zara drew her sword.

And led the charge.

The battle lasted less than an hour.

When the dust settled, the hostages had been freed. The rebel nobles captured.

Zara stood in the center of the town square, blood on her face, wind in her hair.

A child approached her, holding a flower.

"Are you the queen?"

Zara knelt. "Yes."

The child smiled. "You don't look scary."

Zara smiled faintly. "Good. I'm not here to scare you."

And for a moment, she remembered why she had chosen this path.

Not for power.

But to protect those who had no voice.

To be more than a crown.

To be a storm that cleared the skies.

(Word Count: 1,537)