**Chapter 10 – Of Ash and Oaths**
The journey back to the palace was silent.
Not the peaceful kind. The kind where everyone was listening.
For hoofbeats behind them.
For movement in the trees.
For betrayal.
Amaris sat stiffly in her saddle, the prince riding close beside her now—not for show, but protection. She could still feel the pressure of his hand on her cheek, even though he hadn't touched her again since that moment.
She didn't ask any more questions. Not yet.
But her thoughts were loud.
Why would anyone want her dead? What had she done? She was no princess by blood. No sorceress. She had no claim, no magic. No secrets worth killing for.
Just a name that had been tied to a prince. That's all it took.
The palace guards rode ahead, clearing the path. The trees slowly thinned as the tall golden towers of the palace broke the skyline once more.
She should have felt relief.
She didn't.
The moment her boots touched stone again, the prince barked commands. "Double her guards. No one enters her chamber without written seal. Not even you, Captain."
"Yes, Your Highness."
He turned to her next. "Go to your room. Rest. Don't answer any knocks. I'll come to you when it's safe."
Safe.
The word struck her strangely. As if safety were something someone else had to give her. As if it could be wrapped and delivered.
She nodded anyway.
But as she walked back through the long corridor of marble and firelight, a strange sensation coiled in her chest.
Fear was no longer her strongest emotion.
It was anger.
—
Her chamber felt colder than usual.
The fire had long since died, and the servants, sensing the change in palace mood, had not returned. She sat at the edge of the velvet bed, still dressed in her riding cloak, hands shaking.
She stared at them.
So useless.
What kind of queen couldn't lift a blade? Couldn't ride? Couldn't see danger before it cut?
If the prince hadn't arrived when he did...
She closed her eyes.
There would be no tomorrow.
A sharp knock broke the silence. Her body tensed—but it was him.
No guards. No announcement. Just the prince.
And for the first time, he looked... not armored.
His sword was still at his hip, but his cloak was gone. His shirt was half-unlaced, as if he'd come straight from war council. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than it had ever been.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head.
"Any pain?"
"No."
He stepped closer, then stopped. His jaw was clenched. His fists at his sides.
She expected another lecture. Another order.
But instead, he said, "This is my fault."
She blinked. "What?"
"I should have seen it coming," he said. "They've been testing our borders. I thought it was about me. About war. But someone has turned their eyes toward you."
"I don't understand," she whispered. "I'm no threat to anyone."
"You are now."
The words dropped like a blade between them.
That silence came again—the kind that settles between people who've been wounded in ways they've never spoken aloud.
He turned and walked to the hearth, lighting it with a single flick of flint. The fire caught quickly, casting gold and red across the stone walls.
She watched him in silence.
There were stories about him. About how he never flinched in battle. About how he once dragged a traitor by the throat through a winter storm and didn't speak for two days afterward.
But this version of him—the one standing in her chamber, not raising his voice, not giving commands—was more dangerous somehow.
Because he wasn't hiding behind armor.
He faced her again.
"You need to know something."
She met his eyes.
"If you die…" He hesitated. "If anything happens to you—this peace collapses. Two kingdoms fall. Thousands bleed. I don't just protect you for your sake. I do it for everyone."
"I know."
"But," he added, voice low, "I also do it for me."
She tilted her head slightly. "You?"
He exhaled slowly. "I didn't ask for this marriage. I didn't ask for prophecy. But I won't lose you."
She swallowed hard.
"Why?" she asked. "Because I carry a kingdom in my womb?"
He didn't answer at first. Just looked at her. Then finally—
"No. Because I see something in you. Something dangerous. Something fierce."
She laughed—soft, bitter. "I'm not fierce. I'm just surviving."
"You think that's weakness?"
"I think I'm tired of being hunted."
"Then stop running," he said. "Let them chase something that can bite back."
The firelight danced across his face, casting shadows that made him look more beast than man.
"I can teach you," he said. "Not just how to ride. How to survive. How to make them fear your name the way they fear mine."
She stood slowly. Her knees still felt unsteady. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I'll still protect you," he said. "But you'll always be someone they hunt. Never someone they bow to."
Silence stretched between them. But it wasn't sharp this time.
It was thoughtful.
Then he added, "I don't want a silent queen. I want one they write about in fear."
The fire crackled between them.
And for the first time, Amaris didn't look away.
She wasn't ready to be a blade yet.
But she was done being a shadow.
That night, she didn't sleep.
She stayed by the fire, staring into the flames, whispering words into the quiet.
"I won't be prey again."
And something in the fire seemed to whisper back.