25: IS IT TRUE?

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Backtracking a little, Zara felt her world tilt, the words hung in the air like a curse.

"Rumors have it that you possess powers of your own, Your Majesty."

Her body went cold, but she forced herself to remain still. To breathe. To keep her expression calm.

Then, she laughed.

It was a rich, amused sound, echoing through the grand hall as though the accusation was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. The courtiers watching shifted uneasily, Some chuckled nervously, unsure whether to believe her reaction.

"Powers?" she repeated, arching a brow. "Now that is an interesting rumor. If only it were true. Imagine how much easier it would be to change things around here."

The man before her did not laugh. He simply watched her, his smirk unreadable.

Zara held his gaze, her heart thudding against her ribs. Did he know? Truly know? Or was this a trap?

With slow, deliberate ease, she leaned back in her throne. "Baseless gossip," she added, waving a dismissive hand. "I've heard worse."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, the murmurs began, whispers snaking through the room like a gathering storm.

The man inclined his head. "Of course, Your Majesty. Just a rumor."

Zara held his gaze until he finally turned and left.

But even as he disappeared into the crowd, she felt the weight of the stares around her. The suspicion. The uncertainty.

The whispers had begun.

And she had no idea how to stop them.

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Days passed, and the kingdom buzzed with talk of the queen's supposed powers. Zara pretended not to notice, but the weight of it pressed against her like an unseen force.

Erythian was her only refuge.

He had fully recovered now, his strength returning more and more each day. They spent their afternoons walking the palace gardens, the sun warm against their skin. The nights were filled with quiet moments, and whispers of things neither of them had the courage to say out loud.

One evening, as they walked beneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, Erythian reached up and cut a small flower from a branch. He turned to her, twirling the delicate petals between his fingers.

"For you," he murmured.

Zara took it, her heart stuttering. "You always do this."

"What?"

"Make me forget."

He stepped closer. "Forget what?"

Everything. The war, the whispers, The past.

She didn't answer. Instead, she reached for his hand. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of wielding a sword, but when they closed around hers, they were impossibly gentle.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world disappeared.

The way he looked at her, like she was something sacred, something worthy of being held, it made her breathless. Every time their skin brushed, it was like something unseen sparked between them.

A feeling that neither of them could deny.

But the deeper they fell into each other, the more she knew, this was war.

Not the kind fought with swords and bloodshed.

But the kind that tore at the heart.

Because she was choosing him. And in doing so, she was declaring war on Alaric.

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The wedding preparations moved swiftly. The palace was a whirlwind of activity, tailors, florists, servants rushing to ensure the upcoming ceremony would be grand enough to quiet any doubts about the union.

But no amount of gold-draped halls or silk-stitched gowns could silence the whispers growing louder with each passing day.

The queen has secrets.

The queen has lied to us.

The queen… has powers.

Zara felt the shift. In the way the servants averted their gazes. In the way the council members spoke to her with careful, measured words.

They were watching her.

Testing her.

Waiting for her to make a mistake.

And still, in the middle of it all, was Erythian, Steady and Unwavering.

Late one evening, after a long day of council meetings and wedding preparations, she found him waiting for her in her chambers.

He sat on the edge of her bed, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hair slightly tousled. He looked at her the moment she stepped inside, his gaze softening.

"You're exhausted," he said.

Zara sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. "It's… a lot" she said "and you shouldn't be in here Lord Erythian, what would people think of us?" She added

He rose completely ignored all that she had said, and walked towards her "Come here."

She hesitated, but then his hands were on her shoulders, guiding her gently to sit before him. His fingers found the knots of tension in her back, working carefully, slowly, with a tenderness that unraveled her.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

"Erythian…"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you" her soft voice echoed.

His hands stilled. "Always." Erythian's expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. "I know who you are. I know the weight you carry. And I am here for you." He added.

Her throat tightened.

Slowly, his fingers traced along her jaw. "You don't have to fight alone anymore."

Something in her shattered.

And before she could process the moment, he closed the distance between them.

The kiss was slow and deep.

And when he pulled her against him, she let herself believe for just that moment that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to be alone.

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But peace was fleeting.

The rumors spread like wildfire, whispers turning to accusations.

People began watching her with a different kind of fear, the kind that could turn dangerous.

One evening, a shadow moved across her balcony with. Hard thud.

Zara turned with her pulse spiking.

And there, standing in the moonlight, was Alaric, Her breath caught.

"Is it true?" Alaric Asked Lysandra with such strong resolve

She felt everything inside her go still, Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Alaric took a step forward, his dark eyes searching hers. "Tell me."

She clenched her fists. "Tell you what?"

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. "That you've lied"

Her heart pounded.

Alaric had always been intense. Always been a force that demanded, even when she had none to give.

"ARE THE RUMORS TRUE?!" He asks again while he moved closer to her.

She was still.