the timid bride

# Chapter 83 – A Kingdom Watched

The palace no longer slept.

Since Lira's betrayal, Zara had ordered a complete reshaping of the kingdom's intelligence network. No longer would she rely on nobles' whispers or fragile loyalties. She had created something new.

It was called the Flamewatch.

A network of eyes and ears—former rebels who had pledged loyalty to the throne in exchange for redemption, spies trained in the outer provinces, and citizens who reported suspicious activity in exchange for royal favor. It was her unseen army.

And it was already delivering results.

---

"Three supply ships diverted from their routes," Amara reported as she laid the latest dispatches across Zara's council table. "Two made unauthorized stops in Gravenport. One carried weapons marked as farming tools."

Damon leaned over the documents. "This wasn't trade. It was smuggling."

Zara circled a symbol stamped in the margins. A broken wheel with a flame above it. "That's the Trin family mark. Again."

"They're everywhere," Amara muttered. "Like ghosts."

Zara stood slowly. "Then we need someone to hunt them who knows how ghosts move."

---

That evening, she summoned someone unexpected to the throne room.

A man in chains. Once known as Kael Draven.

Former assassin. Former rebel commander. Now imprisoned in the southern tower since the fall of Westmere.

He was led in by two guards. His hair was longer. His eyes dull. But his posture still held power.

"You've kept me alive for months," he said. "Finally ready to kill me?"

Zara rose. "I'm ready to offer you a choice."

He laughed. "Ah. The queen offers mercy again."

"No," she said coldly. "I offer use. You know the Trin network. You once worked with them. Help me burn it to the ground… or rot in that tower until your bones fade into dust."

Kael studied her, intrigued.

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't," she replied. "Just trust your own hatred for the people who abandoned you."

He gave a slow smile. "Then give me a sword."

---

Kael was not set free. He was given quarters under guard, watched night and day. But under Zara's orders, he was reinstated in secret as a tracker. His first task: trace the broken wheel symbol from Gravenport to its financier.

Within days, he returned with a name.

"Lady Virela of Greywatch," he said. "She's been financing rebel cells under the guise of orphan shelters. They move funds through her charities."

Zara's hands curled into fists.

Virela had stood beside her during the war. Helped supply soldiers. Even knelt to her after the coronation.

Betrayal ran deep.

---

She summoned Virela to the palace.

The woman arrived in flowing silks, her expression as polished as ever. She bowed.

"You summoned me, my Queen?"

Zara didn't speak. She merely handed her a scroll. The financial documents. The ciphered ledgers. Her signature, unmistakable.

Virela's face paled.

"I did what I had to," she whispered. "I thought if I supported both sides—"

"You would survive either way," Zara finished. "But that's not loyalty. That's cowardice."

"I did it for my people!"

Zara stood. "You sold them for coins dipped in blood."

Virela fell to her knees. "Please. I can be useful. I can help you find the rest."

Zara looked down at her, then to the guards. "House Virela is dissolved. Her lands seized. Her name stripped. Let her walk the streets and face those she betrayed."

---

That night, Zara met with Kael again.

"I delivered," he said. "Now what?"

Zara regarded him carefully. "I may need you again."

He leaned forward. "You're not what I expected."

She frowned. "What did you expect?"

"A queen who rules through fear. Like the rest."

She turned away. "I don't rule through fear. I rule through memory. I remember what it costs to lose everything."

Kael didn't answer.

But for the first time, he didn't sneer.

---

By morning, Zara rode through the streets of the capital.

People bowed. Merchants offered her goods. Children waved. But now, she didn't just see smiles.

She saw what she was fighting to protect.

And why she could never stop watching.

Because even in peace…

The war never really ended.

(Word Count: 1,543)