**Chapter Twenty-Six: Shadows That Bleed**
Truth doesn't silence the shadows.
It only gives them a shape.
After the council meeting, word of my declaration spread through the palace like wildfire.
Some servants began addressing me as "Queen Zara."
Others lowered their gazes in the halls, unsure if I was the same girl they once pitied.
But I wasn't.
Not anymore.
* * *
I didn't seek celebration.
I sought action.
Lorenzo stood by me, but even he knew: the court's silence didn't mean loyalty.
It meant recalculation.
Every noble who didn't kneel was already plotting.
Every silence now carried a blade.
And every truth I spoke stirred older ghosts from their graves.
* * *
Three days after the council session, Elira brought me a sealed envelope.
"The ink matches the one used on the Queen Mother's old letters," she said. "But it's not from her."
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a single sentence:
> "A true queen bleeds for her crown—are you ready to bleed, little heir?"
There was no signature.
But the meaning was clear.
Someone wanted to test how far I was willing to go.
They wanted war.
I would give it to them.
* * *
That night, I summoned the quietest council of all.
Just Elira. Lorenzo. General Kai. And Bram—the old gardener.
He had known Ivelyn. Seen my mother flee the flames.
And more importantly—he knew the palace like the back of his hand.
"There are tunnels," he said, drawing a rough map. "Old ones. From the days of the founding queens. One runs from the Hall of Crowns to the outer forest. Another from the lower kitchens to the watchtower."
"And the third?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Through the dungeons. It leads under the hill. No one's used it in decades."
I leaned forward.
"But someone is using it now, aren't they?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I found muddy prints near the grate two nights ago."
Elira's jaw tightened.
"We seal the exits," Lorenzo said. "All of them."
"No," I said. "We let them think we don't know."
Elira blinked. "Why?"
"Because the best way to trap a snake... is to make it think you're asleep."
* * *
I started walking the halls at night again.
Alone.
No guards. No lights.
Just soft slippers and silent steps.
And I listened.
The palace was always speaking—if you knew how to hear it.
Floorboards groaned differently when someone was hiding.
Drapes whispered when they were touched by unseen hands.
Candles flickered where there was no wind.
On the third night, I found a scroll in the royal library's western alcove.
Hidden beneath the spine of an old book titled *Civic Reform Under Queen Elenya*.
I opened it.
It wasn't a message.
It was a drawing.
A crown—bleeding.
Underneath it, a single line:
> "The bloodline must end before it corrupts again."
I took it to Odric.
His face turned to stone.
"This symbol…" he said, tracing the ink with a shaky finger. "It belonged to the Order of Cleansing Flame."
"Who were they?"
"Assassins," he whispered. "Disbanded centuries ago. Formed after the fall of Queen Ivelyn. They believed royal blood was a curse."
"And now they're back."
He didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
* * *
We increased the guards.
Doubled the night watch.
Had servants report suspicious movement.
But I knew it wasn't enough.
Because this enemy didn't work with swords and poisons.
They worked with fear.
With symbols.
Whispers.
Doubt.
And they were winning.
* * *
Two nights later, they struck.
Not at me.
At Bram.
His body was found in the gardens, just beneath the statue of Queen Elenya.
His throat was slit.
No note.
No message.
Just a crown of thorns placed in his hands.
* * *
Lorenzo was the first to see me break.
He held me as I wept.
Because Bram had reminded me of my father.
Gentle.
Quiet.
Wise.
He had helped me see my lineage—my truth.
And now he was gone.
Because of me.
But even through the grief, a fire grew in my chest.
They wanted to make me afraid?
I would become their nightmare.
* * *
The next morning, I stood before the palace guard.
Every unit. Every division.
I wore no crown. No veil. Just black.
"This kingdom is bleeding," I said. "And they want us to be silent about it."
"They want us to forget the names of the ones we've lost."
"But I remember Bram."
"I remember Ivelyn."
"And I remember what they died for."
I raised my voice.
"We are not victims of silence. We are warriors of truth."
"If they want to see me bleed—then they will bleed first."
The guards roared in answer.
And the palace woke.
* * *
We searched the dungeons next.
Found new tracks.
A broken vial.
Scraps of fabric.
Elira followed the scent of burnt herbs to a corner tunnel.
"Someone's been using fireroot," she said. "It keeps bloodhounds confused."
Smart.
But not smart enough.
We followed the tunnel to a hidden grate beneath the east wall.
It had been widened recently—by tools.
The escape route.
Or the attack path.
We laid a trap.
Three guards hidden under the arch.
Two above.
Elira and I waited nearby, listening.
It took hours.
But finally—they came.
Two figures in gray cloaks.
Moving swift. Silent.
Elira pounced first.
One man fell instantly, stunned by her blade.
The other bolted.
Straight into my path.
He drew a knife.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I grabbed the nearest torch and struck it against his arm, searing the cloth.
He screamed—and I saw it.
The same symbol from the scroll—branded into his forearm.
A crown. Bleeding.
We caught him.
Alive.
* * *
He gave no name.
No threats.
Just silence.
Until I spoke the name "Ivelyn."
Then his eyes narrowed.
"You wear a cursed crown," he said.
I stepped closer.
"And yet you kneel before me."
He spat at the ground.
"I kneel before no queen. I was born to cleanse this land. To end the false line."
"What do you think I am?"
"An echo of her. And she was the beginning of the end."
I smiled coldly.
"Then you'll be the end of yours."
We locked him in the deepest cell.
And we kept the branded skin uncovered.
A reminder.
That even shadows bleed.
* * *
That night, I sat with Lorenzo in the war chamber.
Maps. Plans. Diagrams.
But no peace.
"They're not after the throne," I said.
"They're after the memory of it."
He nodded.
"And they'll erase anyone who carries it."
I touched my chest.
"I carry it. Not just the crown. The blood."
He turned to me.
"And I will carry you."
We sat in silence after that.
But it was a new silence.
Not fear.
Not waiting.
Preparation.
Because war had come.
Not the kind with marching armies.
But the kind fought in corridors, in secrets, in hearts.
And I was ready.