## Chapter 32 – Masks of Nobility
The Council chamber was vast and ornate, bathed in light streaming through high glass windows and decorated with golden emblems of the royal crest. Zara had never seen a room like it before. The walls whispered stories of power, of centuries-old decisions that shaped the kingdom, of secrets buried under royal silence.
As she stepped in beside Prince Damon, every eye turned toward them. Nobles. Lords. Advisors. Men and women dressed in the finest fabrics, each of them trained in the deadly art of politics.
Zara's hand tightened slightly around Damon's arm. He didn't flinch. Didn't look at her. He walked with the confidence of a man born to rule. But Zara? She felt like a porcelain doll, delicate and out of place.
A long table awaited them at the center, where the king's advisors and generals had already gathered. Damon guided her to her seat, then took the throne-like chair beside her. The air grew still as the meeting began.
"Your Highness," said Lord Garven, a thick-bearded man with a sharp voice, "we received your summons regarding the recent unrest in the southern provinces."
Damon nodded. "I have decided it is time to reinforce our presence in the southern border. The recent thefts, the raids—they threaten our trade routes. We will deploy the Third Regiment."
Murmurs broke out among the council. Zara remained silent, her eyes darting between faces.
Lord Kendel, a thin, hawk-nosed advisor, leaned forward. "Forgive me, but isn't that the regiment assigned to the western watchtower? Removing them weakens our hold on the rebels—"
"There are no rebels left in the west," Damon interrupted coldly. "Because I crushed them last winter."
The room fell into silence.
Zara could feel the tension rising. Damon was making bold moves—and people didn't like bold. They liked controlled.
"But this is not a war council," Damon added. "I called you here because I wanted you to meet your future Queen."
His words turned the room into a hive of whispers again. Zara sat up straighter, realizing this was more than a political gathering—it was a test.
"Lady Zara has adapted quickly to court life," Damon continued, glancing at her. "Her grace, intelligence, and discipline are worthy of admiration. And she will learn more in time."
The way he said it—so formal, so detached—it felt like he was describing a project, not a person.
Zara swallowed the lump in her throat and gave the room a polite nod. "It's an honor to be in your presence," she said softly.
Lord Garven's gaze lingered on her with curiosity. "The honor is ours, Princess. We hear you come from humble roots."
She smiled politely. "Yes, my lord. I was raised in the quiet province of Elanor."
"Yet now you sit beside the throne," he replied. "Life has a strange sense of humor."
There was a faint chuckle in the room, but Zara didn't laugh. Damon's jaw tensed, just for a second.
"She sits beside the throne," Damon said slowly, "because she belongs there."
The council grew quiet again.
Zara didn't know what shocked them more—his defense of her, or the fact that he spoke of belonging. A word that implied she was more than a temporary choice.
---
After the council session ended, Damon stood and offered his hand to Zara.
She hesitated for just a moment before taking it. The guards opened the chamber doors, and the couple walked out together.
They were halfway down the corridor when Damon finally spoke.
"You held yourself well."
She blinked, surprised by the compliment. "I was nervous."
"You didn't show it," he said. "That matters more than you think."
Zara looked up at him. "Why did you defend me back there? I thought you were still... angry."
His eyes stayed forward. "What I think of you in private doesn't concern them. You are my wife. That is all they need to know."
Zara's chest ached at the coldness in his voice.
"So it was an act?" she asked.
He stopped walking.
Slowly, he turned to her, and this time, his gaze was softer. "I don't put on acts, Zara. I speak what needs to be spoken. You were brave today. And I respect that."
Her lips parted slightly. Was that the closest thing to kindness she would get?
Before she could answer, one of the royal guards approached in haste. He bowed before Damon.
"Your Highness, there's a matter that requires your attention. A dispute between two noble families in the east wing."
Damon sighed. "Handle it, if you must."
"But... the families are armed, my prince. I believe your presence will prevent escalation."
Damon clenched his jaw. He turned to Zara.
"Go back to the chambers," he said. "Stay inside. Do not speak to anyone."
"Is it dangerous?" she asked.
"For me?" He gave a dry smirk. "No. For them? Possibly."
He turned and followed the guard down the hall, his cape fluttering behind him like a shadow. And just like that, he was gone again.
---
Zara returned to her chamber in silence.
Mara was waiting with fresh tea and a warm towel. She fussed over Zara's shoulders, brushing invisible dust off her gown.
"You looked royal today," Mara said proudly.
Zara smiled faintly. "Even if I didn't feel like it."
"You were radiant. Every servant in the hall is talking about you."
Zara sat by the window, staring out at the royal garden. "Mara... do you think he'll ever truly trust me?"
The maid paused, choosing her words carefully. "I think... he wants to. But his world is filled with enemies. People he's learned not to trust. To survive here, you must become more than a gentle girl."
Zara looked down at her hands. "I don't want to become cold. I don't want to be like them."
Mara knelt beside her. "You don't have to lose your kindness. But you must guard it. Keep it safe. Let it bloom only where it will be nurtured."
Zara touched the glass. "I wish he saw me... not as a duty, but as a person."
"Then show him who you really are," Mara whispered. "Not in words. In actions. That's what the prince understands."
---
Later that night, Zara sat alone by the fireplace.
She replayed Damon's words in her mind. *"She belongs there."* Did he mean it? Or had he only said it to save face?
The door creaked open.
Damon stepped in, looking weary but unharmed. His shirt was slightly rumpled, and there was a faint cut across his knuckle.
Zara stood. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing," he muttered. "One of the nobles got bold. I reminded him why he shouldn't."
She frowned. "You didn't kill anyone, did you?"
"No. But I wanted to."
He walked toward the basin, washed the blood off his hand, then turned to face her.
"You're still awake."
"I couldn't sleep."
They stood in silence, watching each other.
Zara gathered courage. "You said I belong beside the throne."
"I did."
"Did you mean it?"
Damon didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the table, poured himself a glass of wine, then turned toward her.
"Yes," he said. "I meant it."
Zara felt a strange warmth bloom in her chest. She moved closer. "Then why do you push me away?"
He looked at her for a long moment, then said, "Because getting close to anyone is a weakness I cannot afford."
"But I'm not your enemy."
"No," he whispered. "And that's what terrifies me."
For a moment, the room was filled with more truth than silence. Zara stepped forward and gently touched his injured hand.
"You don't have to fight me, Damon," she said softly. "I'm not here to bring you down. I'm here to stand beside you."
His fingers curled around hers slowly.
For once, he didn't pull away.
And for the first time in weeks, Zara allowed herself to hope.