the timid bride

# Chapter 93 – The Queen's Mandate

It had been twelve days since the sealing of the Veil, and still, the kingdom whispered.

Not in fear this time—but in awe.

Markets bustled again. Schools reopened. The streets of Corshal, once a battlefield of flame and prophecy, now sang with music and laughter. Yet beneath the peace, the Queen planned.

Zara did not rest.

---

In the royal council chamber, she stood at the head of a long obsidian table, tracing a new map with glowing lines. The kingdom was whole, but fragmented at the edges—too many scars, too many silences.

"We cannot govern like the old kings," she said.

Amara, her arms still recovering from the fire ritual, nodded. "We need voices from every region. Not just loyalists."

Zara agreed. "We need a realm of flame—not to burn, but to light the path."

---

Thus, the Queen's Mandate was born.

One messenger sent to every city, town, and mountain outpost.

**"Speak your truth to the throne. Write your pain. Tell us what needs mending. Your words will build the future."**

The people responded.

Thousands of scrolls arrived.

One read: _"We want schools, not swords."_

Another: _"Give us back our rivers. Let no noble own the rain."_

One child simply wrote: _"Make sure my mother never cries again."_

Zara read them all.

Every. Single. One.

---

Thorne created a new division: the Flamewrights—builders, healers, peacemakers, trained not in war but in restoration. Amara and Kael led regional defense reforms, turning former battle stations into learning centers and cooperative hubs.

But Zara's vision reached further.

She summoned the Watchers—an ancient sect of recorders long hidden beneath the mountains.

"Write everything," she ordered. "Truthfully. No edits for flattery. Let the world remember—not just me, but the fire we came through."

---

That night, Zara walked alone through the ruins of the first palace—the one where she was born. Only the throne remained, cracked but standing.

She sat on it for the first time in years.

A voice echoed beside her.

"You still carry it well."

Kael emerged from the shadows, leaning on a cane but still formidable.

Zara smiled. "You should rest."

"I rest when the fire sleeps," he said, sitting beside her.

For a moment, they just watched the stars.

No war. No Veil. Just sky.

---

In the eastern deserts, strange lights began to rise—remnants of the Veil flaring like fireflies. A new generation of mages began to study them, led by Jiro's disciples. The Flame Queen had declared that magic would no longer be feared—it would be taught.

In the forests of the north, tribes that once rebelled were now invited to lead.

Zara did not forget who fought her. But she also remembered who bled for her.

And so, she gave them voice.

---

On the 13th day of peace, the people gathered for a festival: The Kindling.

A celebration of survival.

Children painted their faces like phoenixes.

Elders lit lanterns for the fallen.

Zara stood at the top of the palace steps, no crown on her head—only fire tattoos drawn in honor of her people.

"You gave me a throne," she said, "but I give you a kingdom. Ours. One that will burn not with war, but with wisdom."

Cheers rose like thunder.

Kael whispered beside her, "You've done it."

Zara's gaze swept the crowds.

"No," she said. "We've only just begun."

And as fireworks danced across the sky, she held up the new crest:

**The Phoenix of Peace.**

One wing flame.

One wing shadow.

One heart whole.