Chapter 94 – Whispers Behind the Veil
Zara stood before the tall mirror in her chamber, her fingers trembling as they reached up to adjust the thin veil that framed her face. The morning sun filtered through the long silk curtains, casting golden streaks across the polished floor, but even the brightness of day could not dispel the heaviness in her chest.
The palace had become too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that didn't bring peace—but foreboding.
Something was happening.
Something no one would speak to her about.
"You're not just imagining it," Lydia whispered as she fastened the gold clasps on Zara's sleeves. "They've all been whispering. Even the servants."
Zara turned to her friend, eyes wide. "Whispering about what?"
Lydia hesitated, biting her lip. "About the war camps. The king's men have returned. They say the border tension has erupted again."
Zara's heart thudded in her chest. "But the prince is still at the southern post—"
"Exactly." Lydia's voice dropped to a hush. "That's why everyone is nervous. If there's conflict… he'll be on the front line."
Zara sat down heavily, the cold of the marble bench seeping through the layers of her dress. Her thoughts spiraled. Lucien had sent her a letter three days ago—soft, intimate, filled with promises of his return. But if the situation had changed, would he still return?
Would he still be safe?
"I need to speak to someone. I need to know if he's in danger," she murmured, rising with sudden urgency.
Lydia tried to hold her back. "Zara, you can't go storming into the war council chamber. They'll never allow you."
"I'm his wife," Zara said quietly but firmly. "And if something has happened to him… I have a right to know."
---
Zara's slippers made no sound as she stepped through the marble corridors, past rows of golden statues and thick columns. Her veil fluttered behind her, a soft wisp of rebellion. When she arrived at the council wing, she saw two guards posted by the heavy wooden doors.
They straightened at her presence.
"Your Highness," one of them said, lowering his head. "The king is in counsel. No visitors are allowed."
Zara drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am not here as a visitor. I am here as a wife."
The men exchanged glances.
"I only need a moment," she added. "If Prince Lucien is in danger, I deserve to be informed."
Before the guards could respond, the door creaked open slightly from within. A gruff voice emerged. "Let her in."
Zara stepped inside.
The council chamber was dim, lit only by candles and the tall stained-glass window that threw slanted hues of crimson and violet across the polished oak table. At its head sat King Alderan, stern as ever, with several generals seated around him. They all turned as Zara entered.
The king didn't smile. "Zara."
She curtsied. "Your Majesty."
He gestured for her to step forward. "You came seeking news of Lucien."
Zara nodded. "Yes, sire. Is he—"
"He's alive," the king said, interrupting. "And holding his line."
She exhaled in relief. "Thank the gods."
"But," the king continued, "the border has indeed grown unstable. We received word this morning that the enemy crossed into our territory. Minor, but enough to force retaliation."
Zara felt the walls closing in.
"Retaliation?"
"We sent word for Lucien to pull back and reinforce the central border, but he refused. He claims the people there would suffer without him. Typical of him." There was a trace of reluctant admiration in Alderan's voice.
Zara swallowed. "So he's staying?"
"For now. But he won't remain silent for long. He's requested backup."
Zara's fingers curled into her gown. "And you'll send it?"
The king studied her, his eyes heavy with thought. "I will. But not just soldiers."
Zara frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You'll understand soon enough."
---
By afternoon, the entire palace was buzzing. Caravans were being prepared. Maps unfurled on tables. Servants moved with quickened pace. And Zara, though filled with dread, was not given any more answers.
That was, until Lady Miren—one of the older royal matrons—summoned her.
Zara found the woman seated in the green drawing room, sipping dark tea, her back straight as a rod. She was the only person who had once served Lucien's mother, and her voice always carried the weight of history.
"You're being summoned to the camp," Lady Miren said bluntly.
Zara froze. "The... camp? You mean—"
"To Lucien," Miren nodded. "There are whispers among the council that your presence could stabilize him. He's been acting recklessly since he learned you were nearly attacked in the gardens last week."
Zara looked away. She hadn't told him about that. He must have heard through other channels.
"But it's dangerous," she murmured.
Lady Miren narrowed her eyes. "And yet you married a man raised for danger."
The room fell silent.
After a pause, the older woman stood. "You must decide. Either stay here, safe in luxury, or go to him—and remind him what he's fighting for."
---
The next morning, Zara was ready.
She wore a practical travel dress—a deep navy trimmed with silver embroidery—and her hair was tied in a single braid down her back. No jewels, no ornaments. Only a pendant Lucien had once given her.
Lydia stood beside her, eyes glassy. "Are you sure?"
Zara nodded. "I have to go. If I stay here doing nothing… I'll lose my mind."
"I'll write to you," Lydia whispered. "Every day."
Zara smiled. "And I'll write back."
The carriage was drawn by four white steeds, escorted by soldiers in black and crimson armor. As it began to move through the gate, Zara didn't look back.
She was done being the bride that waited behind the veil.
She would be the woman who stood beside the prince—even if it meant facing fire and steel.
---
End of Chapter 94