**Chapter 91 – The Tyrant's Order**
Zara sat alone in the garden, her trembling fingers clutching the edge of the marble bench as her thoughts spiraled. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting gentle shadows across her lap, but the warmth did nothing to soothe the storm brewing in her heart.
She had overheard the court maidens whispering about a new royal decree—something about the Eastern kingdom and a deal Prince Maeven had struck. They spoke in hushed tones, but Zara had caught enough to understand that the prince was sending a message with her—*her*, not a diplomat or a soldier. Why?
When footsteps crunched across the gravel, she flinched. She didn't need to look up to know it was him.
"Zara," Maeven's deep voice broke the silence.
She looked up slowly, her brown eyes cautious. "Yes, my lord?"
He stood tall before her, clad in his usual dark robes that fluttered slightly in the summer breeze. His sharp features remained unreadable, but his eyes—those cold, grey eyes—watched her with an intensity that always made her feel exposed.
"You leave for the Eastern kingdom in two days."
Zara's breath hitched. "I... I don't understand. Why me?"
"Because you are the wife of the Tyrant Prince," he said bluntly. "Your presence sends a message louder than a hundred soldiers."
She stared at him, feeling her chest tighten. "But… I'm not trained. I'm not a negotiator."
"You don't need to negotiate. You just need to obey."
Her heart broke a little at those words. Was that all she was to him? A pawn? A figure to display? She had hoped—foolishly—that maybe the tenderness he sometimes showed was real. That perhaps, beneath the cruel façade, there was a man who could learn to love her.
"I will go," she whispered, her voice steadier than she expected. "But if I'm to represent the crown, then allow me to prepare. I will not be humiliated."
His brow lifted slightly, surprised. "You dare make conditions?"
Zara stood, slowly but firmly. "I only ask for a chance to not fail you."
Something flickered in Maeven's gaze—was it pride? Or amusement?
"You have until dawn tomorrow to learn what you need. The royal advisor will train you through the night. Don't disappoint me, Zara."
With that, he turned and walked away, his cape trailing like a shadow behind him. She watched him leave, her fists clenching at her sides.
***
That night, the palace library lit up as Zara sat across from the elderly royal advisor, Lord Neral. Books on etiquette, foreign customs, and courtly speech surrounded her. She had only hours to absorb what nobles spent years studying.
"You have a sharp mind, my lady," Lord Neral said as she recited a diplomatic phrase in the Eastern dialect. "Your husband wasn't wrong to choose you."
Zara blinked. "He didn't choose me. He controls me."
The old man chuckled softly. "Even the strongest kings must bow to fate, and I think your presence in his life is more than just strategy."
She said nothing, but her mind raced. Why had Maeven really chosen her for this mission? To test her loyalty? To punish her? Or… was he trying to see what she was capable of?
By dawn, she was exhausted but prepared. Her gown was packed, her carriage waiting. She stood before the gates of the palace, nerves tight, but her spine straight.
Maeven appeared, flanked by two royal guards. He approached her silently, his eyes scanning her face.
"You don't look afraid."
"I am," she replied. "But I will not act like it."
He stared at her a moment longer, then leaned in, his voice dropping low. "You surprise me, Zara."
She dared to look up at him. "Perhaps you don't know me yet."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "We'll see if you come back in one piece."
Then he stepped back, and the signal was given. The horses began to move, and the carriage wheels creaked as Zara left the palace.
She watched the walls disappear behind her, her heart pounding. This was more than a mission—it was a turning point.
For the first time, she wasn't just surviving. She was stepping into power.
And Maeven—the tyrant prince—had just set her free without realizing it.