📍 Chapter 67 – Beneath the Throne
The palace had never felt colder.
Zara sat alone in the High Council chamber, the flames from the hearth dancing against her skin. She wasn't trembling — not from the cold — but from the heaviness of everything she carried.
Not just the child.
But the truth.
The list sat on the table in front of her, open for the fifth time since she returned.
It felt like a death note.
Rowen. Venra. Leva. Even Tavi.
All marked.
Even the baby inside her — unnamed but hunted.
The Raven had declared war in ink before the first sword had even swung.
Zara leaned back in the grand chair that once belonged to the Queen Mother. Her eyes scanned the ceiling.
She never liked this room.
It was too grand, too arrogant. Everything polished and sharp — like the people who used to sit here. A room meant to intimidate. To remind everyone who held the power.
But Zara didn't want people to fear the throne.
She wanted them to believe in it.
Even if it cost her everything.
---
Leva arrived quietly, her braid still damp from her early morning drills with the royal guard.
"You haven't slept," she said.
Zara gave a small, tired smile. "Neither have you."
Leva walked toward the table, stopping only when she saw the list again.
"Any new names?"
Zara shook her head. "But the ink's barely dry. I'm sure more will be added."
Leva sat beside her. "They're going to move soon. The Raven doesn't play slow."
"I know," Zara said.
"Are you ready?"
Zara looked down at her swollen belly, now unmistakable beneath her robe.
"No," she said softly. "But I'm willing."
Leva tilted her head. "That's enough for me."
---
The first sign of trouble came not in steel or blood…
…but silence.
By midday, two palace couriers went missing.
By sunset, a fire broke out near the stables.
And by nightfall, an entire line of messages meant for the northern allies never arrived.
Zaire slammed his fist on the war room table. "They're here."
"No," Zara said calmly. "They're inside."
Tavi burst in moments later. "The scribe wing has been emptied. Every scroll sent to Graymoor was intercepted and replaced."
Zara stood.
"Summon Lord Venra. Lord Rulin. I want everyone in this palace who still claims loyalty to this crown in the Great Hall tonight."
Zaire hesitated. "What are you planning?"
Zara's eyes burned like coals.
"Something the Queen never dared."
---
The Great Hall filled slowly.
Nobles. Servants. Soldiers. Even children too young to understand the fear that lingered in the room like smoke.
Zara stood at the front — not on the throne, but beneath it.
She faced them not from power, but from their level.
Zaire and Leva stood on either side of her.
"I'm not going to give you another speech," she began.
The room quieted.
"I'm not going to promise that we'll win. Or that no blood will be spilled. Or that loyalty will keep you safe."
She looked each face in the eye.
"I'm here to tell you that this throne means nothing if the people standing beneath it are too afraid to raise their heads."
Gasps fluttered through the room.
Some expected hope. Others, fire.
Zara gave them both.
"The Raven is coming. They want to return this palace to shadows and poison. They want to kill my child. They want to erase what we've begun."
She raised her voice.
"I won't let them."
She turned to Lord Venra, then to Leva, then to the gathered servants.
"But I can't stop them alone."
She took one slow breath.
"So I'm stepping down from the throne—"
Murmurs rippled.
"—so I can walk beside you when the storm hits."
Zaire stepped forward. "You're not abdicating—"
"No," Zara said. "I'm reclaiming the crown from beneath, not above."
She raised her hand, and two guards opened the eastern gates.
Soldiers stepped in — not in armor, but in plain tunics. Farmers. Midwives. Couriers. Women. Men. The ones Zara had trained quietly behind the palace walls these past weeks.
"My army," she said. "Not born from bloodlines… but belief."
The room froze.
Then Lord Rulin stood slowly.
"Then I, too, step from my seat," he said. "If it means I fight beside you."
Leva followed. "And I."
Tavi stepped forward. "And I."
Dozens more moved. Some with hesitation. Others with conviction.
The palace that had once followed only crowns…
…was now following a **woman** who had none.
---
Later that night, Zara stood on the eastern tower, looking down at the training yard below. Rain fell again, soft and steady. Her child stirred inside her — restless, aware.
Zaire joined her.
"You could've just ruled," he said. "You had the power."
She nodded. "But I needed to be more than a ruler."
Zaire didn't ask what.
He already knew.
*A symbol. A mother. A storm in human skin.*
---
Just before dawn, a single arrow landed in the training yard.
Wrapped in black cloth.
Leva retrieved it and opened the message tied to its shaft.
Zara read the words silently.
> "Your throne is made of ash.
> Your belly carries the end of your line.
> The war begins tomorrow."
She folded the parchment slowly.
And whispered to herself:
"Then let them see what kind of mother rises from the ashes."
---
The war had begun.
Not with horns.
But with **a heartbeat**.