Chapter 44 - A New Kind of Weapon
They returned to the castle under heavy guard.
Lucien had doubled the number of men in their convoy, placing Zara in the center of the formation like a queen in a battlefield—not to be admired, but to be defended at all costs.
Word of the attack hadn't yet spread, but whispers always found their way through stone and silk. By the time they reached the gates, the nobility was already watching from balconies, curious and calculating.
Zara sat upright on her horse, her chin high, her bruises hidden beneath a dark cloak. Her hands trembled beneath the fabric, but her eyes—her eyes didn't falter.
The girl who had once been dragged into this palace like a lamb was gone.
She had seen blood now. She had survived a blade.
And her fear had begun to burn into something sharper.
---
Inside the royal chamber, servants scattered as Lucien barked orders.
"Seal every corridor. No one leaves. No one enters unless I say."
Zara stood beside him, quiet but present. Every courtier who dared glance her way saw it—something had changed. Lucien stood slightly closer to her than before. His arm hovered near hers. He no longer looked through her.
He saw her.
And that changed everything.
---
Later, when they were alone, Zara finally spoke.
"Do you think it was your uncle?"
Lucien sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand through his hair. "He's the most likely. But I can't rule out the council. Or even the church. They all hate how I rule."
"And how you married me?"
Lucien looked up. "Especially that."
Zara's breath caught. "Then I should leave."
"No." His voice was firm, final. "You're not running. If you leave, they win. They'll say I've lost control. That the little dove flew from the wolf's den."
She looked down at her hands. "I don't want to be used as a pawn."
"Then stop being one."
She blinked at him.
"Let me train you," he said.
Zara's heart skipped. "What?"
"I'll teach you how to protect yourself. How to read people. How to lie when you need to. How to survive—like a queen, not a hostage."
Zara stepped forward, slowly. "You want to turn me into a weapon."
"I want you to stop bleeding every time someone pulls your strings."
Silence.
Then—Zara nodded.
"Teach me."
---
The training began at dawn.
Lucien didn't go easy on her.
He trained her like one of his men—with wooden blades and grueling drills. At first, Zara fell. She slipped. Her arms trembled. Her legs gave out.
But she never stopped.
Each morning she stood. Each night she practiced in secret.
And Lucien watched.
He never praised her. But he brought her better swords. Sharper knives. More difficult routines.
And in his silence, there was pride.
---
Two weeks later, Zara walked into the court hall in a black gown stitched with silver threads. Her hair was tied back, revealing the faint scar on her collarbone—the one from the arrow that missed by inches.
The nobles turned to look.
Not because she was beautiful. But because she looked like she no longer feared any of them.
Lucien watched her from his throne, his fingers resting against his mouth.
She met his eyes and didn't look away.
And in that moment, a message was sent to every watcher in the court:
**The tyrant had not tamed the girl.
He had created a queen.**