**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Crown's Shadow**
With the Queen Mother exiled, the palace breathed easier.
But power never leaves a vacuum for long.
Her absence left space—space for ambition, for whispers, for hunger.
There were still cracks in the walls. Cracks no paint or policy could fill.
And now, all eyes were on me.
* * *
At first, I didn't notice.
The way the guards stood straighter when I passed.
The way nobles bowed deeper.
The way the maids whispered with awe instead of fear.
But it wasn't *respect*.
Not entirely.
It was fear.
And fear, I had learned, was a dangerous kind of loyalty.
* * *
Lorenzo saw it too.
He stood beside me during council—not in front of me.
Every decision now bore both our signatures. Every strategy passed through my hands.
We ruled together.
But that very unity made us a threat.
Three minor lords submitted a formal petition—requesting my role be reduced to "ceremonial support."
Publicly, they cited *tradition*.
Privately, they feared a queen who ruled.
They feared what I represented.
* * *
The court buzzed with it.
"Why does she speak in military meetings?"
"Why does the prince always glance her way before giving orders?"
"Why is a girl with no royal lineage commanding this much power?"
I didn't argue with them.
I didn't need to.
Because every time I sat beside Lorenzo, I made it clear:
I wasn't just his wife.
I was his equal.
And I was here to stay.
* * *
But not everyone fought with words.
One morning, I received a letter.
Hand-delivered. No seal. No signature.
> "A crown casts a long shadow.
> The higher you rise, the colder the knife at your back.
> The Queen Mother was only the beginning."
Elira read it twice.
Her hand gripped her dagger.
"I want the sender found."
"I already sent three runners," she said. "They'll track the parchment and the ink."
I nodded.
But deep inside… a chill settled in my stomach.
Because this didn't feel like court politics.
It felt like a threat.
A real one.
* * *
Later that day, I walked the southern gardens.
Not alone—two guards followed, as always—but my mind was far away.
The roses were in bloom again. Crimson. Almost bleeding.
I touched one absentmindedly, the thorn pricking my skin.
I let it.
A reminder.
That beauty always comes with pain.
A rustle of steps behind me. Lorenzo.
"You read it?" he asked.
I nodded.
He exhaled. "Do you think it's someone inside?"
"I don't think," I said. "I know."
He studied me for a long moment.
Then: "You're changing."
"So are you."
"Is that bad?"
"No," I whispered. "It's necessary."
* * *
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I stood at the balcony, looking down at the torch-lit gates.
My kingdom.
My burden.
And perhaps… my battlefield.
Elira knocked softly.
She entered, holding a torn bit of parchment.
"The ink traces back to the archives," she said. "Someone used an old scribe station. Hidden behind the scroll cases."
"Was it used before?"
"No," she said. "But I found something else."
She handed me a smaller piece of parchment—an incomplete note.
The same handwriting.
But it wasn't addressed to me.
It was addressed to Lorenzo.
> "She's not who you think she is.
> Look deeper.
> You'll find what I found."
* * *
He sat in his study, reading by candlelight.
I placed the note on his desk.
He looked up.
His eyes searched mine. "Where did this come from?"
"The same person who sent the threat to me."
He leaned back.
"I don't need to read it."
"But you will," I said.
He did.
And when he was done, he tore it in half.
Then again.
And again.
Until nothing remained but slivers.
"I know who you are," he said softly. "And I choose you."
"But they want you to question."
"They'll fail."
"Will they?"
He stood.
Crossed the space between us.
Held my hands.
"They can make me bleed, Zara. But they cannot unlove you."
* * *
The next week, the council met again.
The three lords who submitted the petition came forward with a new one.
This one claimed "overreach of the queen" and cited "unauthorized command over military duties."
They presented a long, eloquent scroll.
I presented a single report:
The threat made against my life.
The tampering in the archives.
The forged notes.
The council fell silent.
I let them sit in that silence.
Then I said:
"Some of you see my power as a threat. I see it as protection. I have no family name to inherit this kingdom. But I have bled for it. Stood trial for it. Faced fire for it. If you believe I am unworthy, speak now—and speak with courage. Or be silent forever."
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The vote was dismissed.
* * *
Later, I found Elira on the archery field.
She handed me a report.
"Two guards from the Queen Mother's old wing have disappeared," she said. "Vanished during transfer."
"Find them."
"We're trying."
"They're part of this," I said. "Or they know who is."
She didn't argue.
Because she knew I was right.
* * *
The shadow around the crown hadn't disappeared.
It had shifted.
It moved quieter now.
And I had learned to do the same.
Because ruling wasn't about sitting on a throne.
It was about surviving the wolves who circled it.
One silent step at a time.
And I would.
Even if I had to walk through fire to do it.