Chapter 49 – The Prince and the Punishment
The morning after the battle was painted in ash and silence.
No horns. No cries. Just the sound of burned wood creaking and banners flapping weakly in the wind. The rebels had pulled back — not defeated, but shaken. It wasn't over, but for one day… there was breathing room.
Zara stood on the castle wall, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The air was cold, but the cold wasn't what made her shake.
She hadn't slept. She couldn't. Not after watching so many lives vanish in smoke.
Behind her, the doors creaked open, and slow, steady footsteps approached.
She didn't turn around.
Lucien's voice was quiet. "You shouldn't be up here."
"You shouldn't have left me behind."
Silence stretched.
He moved beside her, looking out at the ruined fields. His bandages peeked from beneath his collar. He was pale, worn out. But still standing.
Zara glanced at him. "How many did we lose?"
"Two hundred and sixteen." His jaw clenched. "Fifty-nine were just stable guards. Boys who had never held a sword before last week."
Her chest ached. "It's my fault."
"It's mine," he replied flatly.
She looked down. "You're the one who trained them. I was the one who told them not to retreat."
Lucien didn't argue.
Instead, he whispered, "This crown eats us all, Zara. Even when we try to do the right thing."
---
Later that day, the throne room was filled with tension.
Several commanders stood at attention, bruised and bloodied. Nobles sat stiffly, whispering behind closed fans. The scent of burnt stone and old blood still hung in the air.
Lucien sat on the throne — not lounging, not relaxed. Rigid. Cold. His crown felt heavier than usual. Zara stood just behind him, her hand resting lightly on the arm of his seat.
A prisoner was dragged in.
His face was covered, wrists bound in iron cuffs. Soldiers shoved him to his knees.
"This is the man," said General Iroth. "He opened the western gate to the rebels. We caught him trying to flee in a servant's uniform."
Lucien leaned forward slightly. "Uncover his face."
A guard obeyed.
Zara gasped softly.
It was Cian.
One of the kitchen boys. No older than seventeen. Soft-spoken, shy, always smiling when he brought her tea. She remembered him flinching whenever Lucien walked by.
He was just a child.
Lucien's voice came out ice-cold. "Why?"
Cian didn't lift his head. "They promised to spare my sisters. They knew my name. My family's house. They said if I didn't help, they'd burn everything."
Lucien said nothing.
The room was still.
"I'm sorry," Cian whispered. "I didn't want anyone to die. I just didn't want to lose my family."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "You helped murder two hundred soldiers."
The boy was crying now. "I didn't know they'd… I thought they'd just sneak in, not attack. I swear. Please. Please don't kill me."
Zara's hand gripped the throne tighter.
Lucien turned slightly. "Leave us."
The commanders hesitated.
"Leave."
Within moments, the room emptied — except for Zara, Lucien, and the trembling boy on the floor.
Lucien stood, walking slowly toward him. "I want to be merciful. But mercy doesn't stop rebellions."
Cian sobbed.
Zara moved forward quickly, placing a hand on Lucien's arm. "Let me speak to him."
Lucien glanced at her — his expression unreadable — then stepped back.
Zara knelt before the boy. "Cian, look at me."
He raised his head, tears streaking down his face.
"You betrayed the prince," she said gently. "But more than that… you betrayed every person who trusted you. You took food from our kitchens. You smiled at our guards. You looked me in the eye."
"I know," he whispered.
"You made yourself invisible so you could survive. I understand that. But survival doesn't erase choices."
He nodded, sobbing harder. "I just didn't want them to hurt my sisters."
Zara's voice was firmer now. "Do you know what happens when word spreads that betraying the palace gets a slap on the wrist?"
He nodded again.
"People die," she said softly. "More people. Like the ones we just buried."
Lucien watched her, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Zara stood. "He shouldn't die. But he can't walk free."
Lucien's tone was sharp. "What do you suggest?"
Zara turned to him. "Brand him."
Lucien raised a brow.
She didn't flinch. "Mark his face. Let the world know he's a traitor. He will never eat in peace again. Never sleep easy. He'll carry it for life."
Lucien stared at her long and hard.
Then: "Agreed."
Cian didn't speak. He just collapsed forward, still crying.
---
That night, Lucien sat at the edge of the bed, hunched over, his shirt off, hands gripping his head.
Zara stood at the washbasin, watching him in the mirror.
"You didn't want to punish him, did you?" she asked quietly.
"No," he said. "But I did."
She walked over slowly. "He was just a boy."
Lucien's voice was strained. "I was a boy too. When I watched rebels gut my father in front of me."
She said nothing.
He looked up at her. "Sometimes I forget what I've become, Zara. Then I look in the mirror and remember."
Zara knelt in front of him. Took his hands. "You're not a monster."
"Say that again when our child grows up hating me."
She cupped his face. "Our child will love you. Because I'll make sure they see who you really are — not just the man with a crown, but the man who gave up everything to protect what he loved."
Lucien leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
And for the first time that night, he breathed.
---
The following day, the rebels sent a message.
A white flag.
But not for peace.
Attached was a letter, sealed in wax with the sigil of a broken crown.
Lucien read it in silence.
Zara watched his expression darken.
"What is it?"
He handed it to her.
She read:
> *"The tyrant has a weakness.
> A woman and a child.
> We will take them both.*
> *And the throne will crumble."*
Her fingers trembled.
Lucien reached for her hand, gripping it tightly.
"Let them come," he said coldly. "I will bury every one of them."