Chapter 42 - The Quiet Before the Storm
The next morning dawned gray and heavy, as if the skies themselves were holding their breath. Rain hadn't fallen yet, but the scent of it clung to the wind—thick, earthy, and full of warning.
Zara sat in the garden courtyard, a book open in her lap but unread. Her mind kept replaying last night. Every word. Every glance. Every breath between her and Lucien.
He had changed. Slightly. But change nonetheless.
She no longer feared the man as deeply as she once did—not because he was less dangerous, but because she'd glimpsed the weight he carried. The cracks in the tyrant mask.
Footsteps approached.
She looked up, expecting a maid or perhaps a guard.
Instead, it was Queen Yelena.
The older woman moved with elegance, her gray-streaked hair twisted into an elaborate knot, her gown lined with pale gold. Her eyes—sharp and observant—landed on Zara with careful calculation.
"Walk with me," the queen said without pause.
Zara obeyed, closing her book and rising silently. They walked in stride, side by side, through the stone pathways of the royal gardens.
"You're causing trouble," the queen said calmly.
Zara blinked. "I don't understand."
"You've softened him. Lucien." Yelena's voice was flat, unreadable. "He was a blade forged in fire. Now you dull the edge."
"I'm not trying to—"
"Intentions are irrelevant, girl." She stopped, turning to face Zara directly. "A ruler must never hesitate. Never feel. Your presence in his life is breeding hesitation."
Zara's throat tightened. "Then perhaps I should leave."
"You cannot," the queen said sharply. "You married him. You are bound to him—and to this crown. Your fate is no longer yours alone."
Zara looked away, the air suddenly too thick.
"You love him," Yelena said, more statement than question.
"I don't know what I feel," Zara confessed. "But I'm not afraid anymore."
"Good," Yelena replied. "Because fear won't save you when the court turns against him. And they will."
Zara's breath hitched. "Why?"
"Because a tyrant with feelings is easier to kill."
---
That night, Lucien didn't come to her chamber. Zara waited, half-expecting the door to creak open, for his voice to command her into his presence again.
But nothing.
Instead, a letter arrived—sealed with his crest.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
> *"Zara—
> We leave at dawn for the border.
> You will ride with me. No excuses.
> —L"*
The border?
Why? What was happening?
Fear clawed at her chest. She was barely adjusting to the castle… now this?
She slept poorly, tossing in tangled sheets. Her dreams were laced with smoke, blood, and Lucien's voice calling out across a battlefield.
---
By dawn, she was dressed and waiting in the courtyard.
Lucien stood near the horses, dressed in full black and steel. His cloak rippled in the wind. He looked at her without a word, then mounted his horse.
Zara mounted behind him—no questions, no protest.
They rode fast. The cold wind stung her cheeks, and her arms clung tightly to his waist for balance. But she noticed something odd.
He hadn't said a single word since they left.
Not one.
---
It was hours before they stopped—at an abandoned watchtower overlooking the borderlands. The trees here were skeletal, twisted. The sky was darker. There was no sign of soldiers. No court members. No one but them.
Zara dismounted slowly, her legs aching. Lucien walked ahead into the tower without waiting.
Inside, it was quiet. Dust-covered. Forgotten.
She followed him into a chamber where a fire had already been lit by someone earlier. Maybe one of his men. But the space was still cold.
Finally, he turned.
"Why did you follow me?"
Zara blinked. "You told me to."
"And if I told you to jump from the cliff?" he snapped.
She stared at him. "You wouldn't."
His jaw clenched. "You still trust me?"
"I don't trust you. I know you."
That seemed to stop him.
"I brought you here to protect you," he muttered.
"From what?"
"From what's coming. From what I might become if I stay in that castle too long."
Zara stepped forward, heart pounding. "Lucien, if something is coming, I deserve to know."
He looked at her then, truly looked—eyes dark with something deeper than rage. It was fear. Real, raw fear.
"There are whispers in the court. Assassins. A revolt. My uncle's men are moving in secret. They plan to kill me."
Zara's breath caught. "What?"
"Not just me. You too. You're leverage. If they get to you, I won't obey. They know that now."
"So why bring me here?"
"Because I trust no one else to guard you. Only me."
She was trembling now, not from the cold—but from the realization of how far this had spiraled.
"And if they find us here?"
Lucien stepped closer, gripping her arms.
"Then we fight. Or we die. But we do it on our terms."
---
The storm outside finally broke. Rain slammed against the tower walls as the fire crackled weakly.
Zara and Lucien stood alone, surrounded by stone and shadow, yet bound together by something neither of them could name.
It wasn't love. Not yet.
But it was something close.
Something that might become dangerous…
or unstoppable.