**Chapter Twenty: Embers in the Palace**
Returning to the palace should have felt like triumph.
No war.
No blood spilled.
A crisis averted.
But power doesn't rest.
It resents peace. It claws at silence. It hunts stillness like a wolf.
And in the palace—beneath the polished floors, behind the golden banners and carefully curated smiles—new embers were already sparking.
* * *
She was waiting.
The Queen Mother.
Draped in green silk like always, she stood just outside the throne room, back straight, hands clasped behind her.
"You returned," she said softly.
"No thanks to you," Lorenzo replied.
She smiled—thin and cruel. "There's more than one way to bleed a kingdom."
Then her gaze shifted to me.
"You think diplomacy is power. That mercy is strength."
"I know it is," I said calmly.
"No. It's weakness. And it always costs more than you think."
* * *
The council met that night.
Lorenzo and I sat at the head, flanked by the six chosen advisors. Elira stood behind me, silent but alert.
There was tension.
Even the loyalists fidgeted.
Because while we were gone, a letter had arrived. Anonymous. Delivered by a maid who found it under her pillow.
Its contents?
A claim that the Thorn Circle wasn't dead.
That a second conspiracy lived—buried deep in the palace, within the guards, within the council, even the kitchens.
The letter named no names.
It simply said:
> "You've burned the leaves. But not the roots."
Lorenzo read it aloud.
Then, without a word, tossed it into the fire.
But its damage was done.
Doubt had returned.
* * *
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat by the window, staring out at the moonlit city.
The rooftops glimmered with frost. Lanterns flickered in the courtyards. All seemed calm.
But the letter repeated in my head like a curse.
**You've burned the leaves. But not the roots.**
Was it true?
Was something still festering?
Or was it meant to divide us?
Lorenzo joined me after a while. He didn't speak. Just sat and handed me a mug of hot cider.
We watched the sky together.
Eventually, he said, "Do you believe it?"
"I don't know."
"If there is a second Circle…"
"We'll find them."
He nodded slowly.
Then he turned to me, voice low.
"What if it's someone close?"
I looked at him.
"I won't flinch," I said. "No matter who it is."
He held my hand.
Neither of us blinked.
* * *
The next day, we began an internal investigation.
Quiet.
Careful.
The council wasn't told. The Queen Mother wasn't warned.
Only three people knew: me, Lorenzo, and Elira.
We started in the places most overlooked—the servants' hallways, the armory ledgers, the royal pigeon towers. Every message in and out of the palace was reviewed. Every delivery cross-checked.
And we found it.
A pattern.
Small. Subtle.
A missing jar of blue ink here. A misfiled parchment there. But one name came up over and over:
**Sir Harwin.**
Captain of the second night guard.
Loyal to the crown for seven years. Twice awarded for bravery. Served under Lorenzo's father. Trusted.
But beneath the surface… there were cracks.
He'd been stationed near every prior attack. His shifts always overlapped when messages went missing. He approved the maid who found the anonymous letter.
And worst of all?
He had trained most of the current royal guard.
* * *
We didn't arrest him.
Not yet.
Instead, Lorenzo gave him a new assignment.
Guard the treasury.
It was a trap.
We staged a fake shipment of gold and documents.
And that night, we watched from the hidden passage behind the vault.
Sir Harwin arrived early.
Too early.
He stood beside the vault, arms crossed, waiting.
And when the messenger approached with the sealed chest, Harwin didn't inspect it.
He nodded.
Let it pass.
Lorenzo stepped from the shadows.
Sword drawn.
"Captain."
Harwin froze.
His eyes darted.
Then he ran.
He didn't make it far.
* * *
The trial was swift.
But it wasn't public.
We wanted truth—not performance.
Harwin confessed.
But not to the Queen Mother.
Not to the court.
To me.
In the garden. Where he once walked beside me with pride.
"I believed in your husband," he said. "But not in you."
"Because I wasn't born noble?"
"Because you made him soft."
"I made him human."
He shook his head. "The Circle knew weakness would follow your rise. We just had to wait."
"Then why not kill me?"
"Because your fall would be sweeter if it came from within."
He smiled.
And I ordered him executed the next morning.
No blade. No spectacle.
Just silence.
* * *
Lorenzo didn't speak much that day.
He stood at the window, arms crossed, eyes hard.
"They're watching," he said.
"Let them."
"They'll come again."
"Let them try."
He turned to me.
"We're still bleeding."
I stepped into his arms.
"Then we'll heal faster."
* * *
That night, the court dined as usual.
Roasted lamb. Music. Wine.
But everything felt different.
Sharper. More aware.
Every servant knew eyes were watching. Every noble checked their words. The Queen Mother, for once, didn't speak.
Only observed.
* * *
Later, when the hall emptied, I stood in the candlelight and looked at the throne.
So much blood had been spilled for that seat.
So many secrets buried beneath its legs.
I wasn't naive.
I knew more letters would come.
More knives.
More whispers.
But I also knew this:
I was no longer the timid bride who bowed in silence.
I was the queen who faced armies.
The woman who walked into danger alone.
The flame that refused to die.
And I would not burn quietly.
Not now.
Not ever.