Chapter 46 – Blood in the Walls
Zara awoke to a scream.
It wasn't near—it echoed faintly from somewhere deep within the palace, muffled by thick stone and distance, but it was unmistakable. A sound of pain. Of death.
She shot up from the bed, her heart hammering as the darkness closed around her. The fire in the chamber had burned low, casting flickering shadows that twisted against the walls like restless spirits. She reached for the small dagger Lucien had forced her to sleep beside every night since the attack.
Another scream.
Closer this time.
Zara threw on a cloak over her nightdress and crept toward the door just as it burst open.
Lucien stood there, shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest, sword in hand, eyes blazing.
"Get behind me," he ordered.
"What's happening?"
"They've breached the outer corridor."
Her breath caught. "The Hand?"
Lucien nodded once, his jaw clenched. "They've made it past the guards."
Zara didn't hesitate. She moved behind him, but not blindly. She gripped her dagger tightly, her knuckles white. Two weeks of training weren't enough to make her a warrior, but fear sharpened instinct. And tonight, her survival depended on both.
Lucien moved fast, leading her down the dark hallway. Every corner was a threat. The air smelled of blood and smoke. The distant clang of steel-on-steel echoed through the stone.
They weren't alone.
A guard stumbled out from the shadows, blood pouring from his neck, gasping, "They're—"
An arrow thudded into his chest before he could finish.
Lucien pulled Zara into a side chamber, slamming the heavy door shut behind them. It was the armory. Walls of blades and armor surrounded them, glinting dully in the firelight.
He tossed her a curved short sword.
"Forget the dagger. You need reach."
She nodded, too breathless to argue.
Lucien moved to the secret passage at the back of the room. Zara had seen it once before—a narrow tunnel carved through the walls centuries ago, meant for royal escape.
But this time, Lucien wasn't using it to flee.
He was using it to fight from the shadows.
---
They emerged into the eastern wing.
Chaos had consumed the palace. Guards fought masked intruders, steel clanged against steel, blood pooled on the marble. Flames licked the drapes. Screams rang from every direction.
Lucien cut down an attacker with one clean strike, his blade moving like lightning. Another lunged from the side—Zara screamed a warning, and Lucien ducked just in time to avoid the blade. He spun, drove his sword backward into the man's stomach.
Zara had no time to process it.
Another man—taller, broader—charged at her with a dagger.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She raised her sword, but her hands shook.
He slashed.
She blocked—barely. The blade sliced across her upper arm, burning with pain. She screamed but didn't fall.
Lucien roared from across the hallway and launched toward her attacker like a shadow made of rage. He tackled the man to the ground, and there was nothing graceful about what followed—only violence, brutal and merciless. When he stood, the man didn't move again.
"You're bleeding," Lucien said, turning to her.
"It's nothing."
"It's not nothing," he growled.
"Then don't let them touch me again."
A flicker of something passed in his eyes—fear, pride, and fury all in one.
Then: "Come."
---
They reached the throne room by morning.
It was barricaded.
Queen Yelena stood inside, flanked by a half-dozen soldiers. Her face was smeared with ash, her dress torn at the hem. But her spine was still straight.
"About time," she muttered as Lucien shoved the heavy door shut behind them.
Zara scanned the room. Dead bodies littered the marble. Guards. Nobles. Even two maids.
Lucien's voice was ice. "How far did they get?"
"Far enough. The West Hall fell. So did the Temple wing. I had the council locked in the wine cellar for their own safety."
Zara blinked. "You saved them?"
Yelena raised a brow. "Can't gut traitors until we confirm who they are."
Lucien didn't smile. He strode toward the throne, dragging a chair across the floor for Zara to sit.
"You're injured."
"I'm fine," she whispered.
He crouched in front of her, tearing the sleeve of her gown open and checking the wound. His hands were gentle, his eyes sharp.
"It'll scar," he said.
"Good. Let them see it."
His lips twitched—just barely. Then he stood and turned back to the door.
"They'll come again. Stronger next time."
Yelena joined him. "Then we make the first move."
---
That evening, the survivors gathered in the Grand Hall.
Dozens of nobles. The wounded. The frightened. The angry.
Lucien stood at the top of the steps, his shirt still stained with blood, his sword at his side.
Zara stood beside him, pale but unbroken.
"You all swore loyalty to this crown," Lucien began, his voice carrying like thunder. "But some of you let snakes slither through our walls."
Silence.
"The rebels entered this palace because they were invited. Marked doors. Unlocked corridors. Missing guards. This was no accident. This was betrayal."
Gasps. Murmurs.
Zara watched the crowd like a hawk, her eyes scanning for twitching fingers, shifting feet, guilty expressions.
She saw one.
Lord Merek. He flinched at Lucien's words, a flash of sweat glistening on his brow.
Lucien saw it too.
"Step forward," he commanded.
Merek froze.
Lucien descended the stairs like a storm.
"I said—step forward."
When Merek didn't move, Lucien drew his sword.
The crowd parted.
Merek dropped to his knees. "Please—please, I was forced—they threatened my family—"
Lucien looked down at him. "And you chose your own safety over your kingdom's."
"No—no, I—"
Lucien didn't let him finish. The blade came down swift and final.
The nobles screamed. Some ran. Some collapsed. Zara didn't move.
She couldn't.
Because in that moment, she understood something terrifying.
This was what ruling meant.
It wasn't love or mercy.
It was blood.
---
That night, as she sat beside Lucien in the silence of their private chamber, she didn't speak. He didn't either.
He cleaned her wound again, wrapped it carefully, and kissed the inside of her wrist without a word.
Then he lay beside her in bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.
Zara turned on her side, watching his face.
"Did you always know it would come to this?" she asked softly.
Lucien didn't look at her. "I always hoped it wouldn't."
She reached for his hand beneath the sheets.
For the first time, he let her take it without pulling away.
And in the silence, surrounded by ghosts and fire and broken trust, they clung to each other.
Two survivors.
Two rulers.
Two blades drawn in the dark.