📍 Chapter 59 – A Crown of Thorns
Zara moved through the palace like a shadow.
No jewelry. No guards. No soft silks to rustle with every step.
Just a dark cloak, her dagger secured beneath it, and a mind sharpened by betrayal.
She didn't ask Zaire for permission. She didn't need it. Not anymore. She wasn't his frightened bride hiding behind velvet drapes. She was his partner now. And this palace—the one that once swallowed her whole—was now her battlefield.
The entrance to the tunnel was still hidden behind the tapestry in the west wing.
She slipped through again, breath shallow, ears sharp.
She knew the walls could whisper if she listened hard enough.
Tonight, she needed them to speak.
---
The path was colder than before. Damper. She stepped carefully, holding a small lantern Zaire had given her—shielded on all sides so it gave off barely a sliver of light.
She passed the old junction where she had first heard the Queen and Eshan.
This time, she went deeper.
Further than she'd dared before.
The tunnel curved left, then split. She marked the stone with charcoal at every fork—just in case she had to flee fast.
Then she heard it.
Voices again. Faint. Echoing through the stone.
She pressed her back to the wall and moved forward on instinct.
"…it's almost ready," came Eshan's voice.
"You're sure the wine will be untraceable?" the Queen asked.
Poison.
Zara's heart skipped.
"I've arranged everything," Eshan said. "A northern trader arrived yesterday. His caravan is unregistered. One vial in the Prince's cup, and he'll collapse by morning. No signs. No suspicions."
"Good," the Queen replied. "When the council sees him weak, stuttering, uncertain… they'll demand he be relieved of duty."
"And Kalren?"
The Queen's voice was steel. "He'll arrive at the next council session, speak of peace and order. The nobles will rally. They've already been softened. Zara will be removed quietly. The Prince—" she paused, "—will be remembered fondly."
Zara didn't wait to hear more.
She turned and ran, faster than she should have in a tunnel that narrow. Her cloak snagged once on a jagged rock, but she pulled it free.
If she didn't reach Zaire in time—
---
She burst into his chamber like a storm.
Zaire jumped up, startled, reaching instinctively for his sword.
"It's the wine!" she gasped. "They're going to poison you. Tonight!"
Zaire didn't hesitate.
He grabbed his coat, barked an order to the nearest guard, and together they stormed the kitchens.
---
They arrived just as a tray of wine was being prepared—Zaire's usual evening drink. The steward bowed low, startled.
"Who approved this batch?" Zaire demanded.
The steward looked confused. "The Queen's request, Your Grace. She said you'd had a long day."
Zaire said nothing. He stepped forward and picked up one of the glasses.
Then handed it to Varyn, the head of his guard.
"Test it."
Varyn took a small silver pin from his sash and dipped it into the wine.
Moments later, the tip turned black.
Poison.
The steward's eyes went wide.
Zaire's voice dropped to ice. "Lock down the kitchens. Arrest everyone who handled that tray."
Zara stood by the door, trembling—not from fear, but from rage.
They had planned to silence Zaire slowly. Not with blades, but with poison and doubt. Let the kingdom watch him unravel, helpless, weak.
And they would've gotten away with it… if she hadn't listened.
---
By morning, the palace was on edge.
Servants were questioned. Kitchens were turned upside down. The Queen remained in her chambers, claiming illness. Eshan vanished from sight.
Zaire didn't announce the poisoning. Not yet. That would come later—when they were ready.
For now, they planned.
"I'll call a private session," Zaire said, pacing in his war room. "Just five nobles. Rulin. Thalos. Venra. People I trust. We present the evidence. We strike quietly—no blood, no chaos."
Zara nodded. "And Leva?"
"She's not made a move," he said. "But I don't believe she's just a companion. She hasn't spoken. She doesn't eat. She doesn't ask questions."
"She's an observer," Zara said. "Or something worse."
Zaire paused. "You think she's the one behind the notes?"
Zara hesitated. "Maybe. Or maybe someone else entirely is playing both sides."
---
That evening, a new message appeared on Zara's table.
This one was bolder.
**You're close. But not enough.
Leva is not his servant.
She's his leash.
Break her. Or she breaks him.**
Zara read it twice.
Then went to find Leva.
---
She found her alone in one of the sunlit sitting rooms near the East Wing. Kalren wasn't with her.
Leva stood by the window, staring out at the garden, arms folded. Still silent.
Zara stepped in without asking.
"I want to talk," she said.
Leva didn't move.
Zara walked slowly around her until they faced each other.
"You're not a servant. You're not his lover. And you're not afraid of me."
Still, Leva said nothing.
Zara took a breath. "You're the one giving me the notes. Aren't you?"
Leva blinked, just once.
Then she finally spoke.
"I'm giving you time."
Zara's heart slammed against her ribs. "Time for what?"
"For the game to end."
Leva turned, her voice soft and sharp. "Kalren is not the only pawn. You are, too. Everyone in this palace is being moved. Watched. Tested."
"By who?" Zara asked.
Leva didn't answer.
Instead, she stepped forward and pressed something into Zara's hand.
A key.
"This unlocks a drawer in the Queen's desk. Use it tonight. And come alone."
Zara stared at her.
"Why are you helping me?"
Leva's eyes glittered.
"Because if she wins… you die first."