**Chapter 92 – The Foreign Court**
The journey to the Eastern Kingdom took three days, and Zara had barely slept for more than a few hours each night. Even within the heavily guarded royal carriage, she felt vulnerable—unseen threats lurked behind every tree and shadowed path. Yet it was not the danger of the road that kept her awake. It was the uncertainty of what awaited her at the court of the Eastern royals.
By the time the guards announced they had reached the gates of the Jade Palace, Zara's hands were trembling in her lap. She adjusted the deep blue velvet gown she had been given—its embroidery in gold threads mimicked the crest of the Western empire. The small circlet atop her head was a silent proclamation: *This is not just any woman. This is the prince's bride.*
She inhaled deeply as the palace gates creaked open. The Eastern court was unlike anything she had seen. Ornate buildings with curved rooftops gleamed under the sun, flanked by carefully pruned gardens filled with flowers she didn't know the names of. Guards in red and silver armor stood like statues, unmoving, their eyes forward. Musicians played soft, melodic tunes nearby, yet none of it could distract her from the watching eyes.
Nobles had already gathered. Some came forward out of curiosity. Others stared with veiled hostility.
The steward of the palace approached. He was a tall man with skin like burnished copper and eyes lined with black kohl. He bowed with precise elegance. "Welcome, Princess of the West. His Majesty awaits you in the Grand Pavilion."
Princess.
The title still felt foreign in her ears.
Zara stepped down from the carriage, flanked by the two guards who had accompanied her. She tried not to flinch as every eye followed her ascent into the palace.
She was led through winding halls and golden archways until they reached a grand open pavilion surrounded by water on all sides. There, reclining on a cushioned throne, was Emperor Ryun—so young she almost didn't believe it. He couldn't have been more than thirty, with sharp cheekbones, long dark hair tied back in an intricate knot, and a robe so elaborate it shimmered like a storm.
His eyes flicked over her as she approached, and then he gave a small, bemused smile.
"So, this is the bride of the Tyrant."
The words sent a chill through her, but she kept her expression neutral and lowered herself in a graceful bow, just as she had practiced.
"Your Majesty," she said clearly, her voice carrying across the pavilion, "I come bearing peace and an open hand."
The Emperor laughed—a rich, smooth sound. "Then I'll offer a seat and a cup of wine. Let us see if that hand is steady."
She was led to a seat beside him, lower than his throne but still of honor. An attendant poured wine into a delicate silver cup, and she accepted it with steady fingers, despite her hammering heart.
"Tell me," Ryun said as he sipped his drink lazily, "why did your husband send you instead of a warrior or a politician?"
Zara hesitated, then met his gaze. "Because I am both a sign of goodwill and a warning."
"A warning?" Ryun's brows rose.
"I am his wife. If I am treated well, it means your kingdom respects his house. If I am harmed... you know how he responds to threats."
Ryun leaned back, lips curling. "Ah... so the Tyrant plays a clever game."
She smiled tightly. "He always does."
The Emperor studied her in silence for a moment, then gestured toward the gathering of Eastern nobles behind him.
"You must attend the feast tonight. Our people will want to see the woman who dared ride into our gates bearing the name of Maeven."
Zara inclined her head. "Of course."
***
The feast was held in the Moonlit Courtyard—a breathtaking venue filled with floating lanterns, pools of lotus blossoms, and rows of silken cushions. Dancers twirled in the center, their veils flashing like fireflies in the torchlight.
Zara sat at the Emperor's left side, in full view of everyone. Conversations hushed around her. A few curious nobles approached to ask polite questions, most with hidden motives. Others made thinly veiled jabs about the brutality of her husband.
"Does the Tyrant beat you like he beats his enemies?" one woman in red silk asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Zara sipped her tea calmly. "No. He doesn't waste effort on those who are already loyal."
The woman blinked, caught off-guard by the reply.
She was quickly learning how to speak the language of power—not just with words, but with presence. Her spine straight, her tone unwavering, her eyes steady.
She was no longer the trembling girl dragged to the altar.
Still, her performance was not without cracks. After the fourth noble questioned her about her marriage, Zara felt the stirrings of something dark inside her—anger, shame, exhaustion.
So she excused herself, stepping away from the main court to the quiet of the lotus pool.
The air was cooler there. Lanterns floated on the surface of the water, casting golden ripples.
She knelt by the edge, letting the silence settle over her like a balm.
But she was not alone for long.
"Impressive."
She turned. Emperor Ryun had followed her, his arms folded, an amused glint in his eyes.
"You carry yourself well for someone thrown into the lion's den."
Zara stood slowly. "I've learned to stop flinching."
He walked closer. "I can see why Maeven keeps you. You're not what I expected."
"And you're not as terrifying as the tales say," she replied boldly.
That made him laugh again.
"You're brave, Princess. And sharp. I like that."
He stopped a few paces away. "If you were mine, I'd treat you better than a weapon."
Her blood ran cold. "But I'm not yours."
"Not yet," he said softly.
Zara's fingers curled into fists.
"Maeven wouldn't send you here unless there was something at stake," Ryun went on. "He either trusts you absolutely… or he's using you as bait."
"I don't know what you're trying to do," she said, keeping her voice steady, "but I know who I belong to."
"And yet," he whispered, stepping closer, "I wonder how long you'll keep saying that if your prince fails to retrieve you."
Zara narrowed her eyes. "I don't break that easily."
Ryun smiled, then turned away. "We shall see. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Princess."
***
When Zara returned to her guest chambers, her thoughts were a storm. Ryun's words echoed in her head—taunting, probing, planting seeds of doubt. Would Maeven truly come for her if danger struck? Or was this a test to see how far she would go for him?
She wanted to believe in the growing bond between them. But the prince's heart was a fortress—one she was still trying to understand.
As she prepared for bed, she found a scroll slipped beneath her pillow.
It was written in Maeven's hand.
> *Zara,*
> *The Eastern court is full of masks. Speak carefully. Trust no one. I've eyes within their walls. Your loyalty is not unnoticed.*
> *Return to me in strength, or not at all.*
> — *Maeven*
Her hands trembled as she clutched the parchment.
So he *had* been watching.
Her lips parted in a slow breath, and something inside her—something fragile and uncertain—solidified.
She would not fail him.
And she would not fail herself.