Tamed by a tyrant

**Chapter Fifteen: The Whisper Before War**

Lorenzo's return changed everything.

Not just for me—but for them. The nobles. The guards. The silent spies. The Queen Mother. Even the Thorn Circle. Their game was one of silence and shadows, but now, the prince was no longer a distant player. He was here, flesh and blood, anger and steel.

And he had returned not with ceremony—but with fury.

We spent the next two days in quiet preparation. Not for a celebration. Not for peace.

But for war.

The first step was a list.

He had it locked inside his personal study—a parchment etched with names collected from months of whisper networks and investigations. Names of suspected traitors. Some were servants. Some were advisors. Some wore silk. Others wielded steel.

"They won't all be guilty," I said, scanning the list.

"No," Lorenzo agreed. "But enough of them are. And the rest… they've chosen the wrong side."

I looked at the names again.

I recognized some.

People who had smiled at me in the corridors. Poured my tea. Pinned my hair.

And yet, behind their courtesy had been eyes that watched too closely. Hands that lingered too long near doors. Words too measured to be innocent.

I swallowed.

"They need to be exposed."

"They will be," Lorenzo said. "At the Harvest Banquet."

My brows furrowed. "That's five days away."

He nodded. "Which gives us five days to set the stage."

* * *

The Harvest Banquet was the grandest event of the season—where nobles from every corner of the realm arrived in ornate carriages to celebrate the turning of the season. They came in gold-threaded robes and gemstone crowns, with embroidered stories stitched into their sleeves.

It was, for many, the most dazzling night of the year.

This year, it would become a noose.

We made a plan.

One that involved three things: surveillance, performance, and betrayal.

"I need to appear uncertain," I said.

Lorenzo looked up from the map he'd been marking. "You've done that already."

I smiled faintly. "No. I mean publicly. If they believe I'm still wrestling with loyalty, they'll try harder to win me. They'll expose more."

He considered that.

"You want to bait them."

"I want to make them impatient."

He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "Fine. But if you go too far—"

"I won't. I know how to dance with snakes."

He looked at me then—not like a prince. Not like a husband. But like a man watching a wildfire and realizing he no longer needed to shield it.

He only needed to let it burn.

* * *

The first message came that night.

Not on parchment. But through a voice in the dark.

Elira had left my room briefly to fetch something. When she returned, her face was pale, her fingers trembling.

"Someone was in the passage," she said. "He said only one thing before disappearing."

"What?"

She swallowed.

"He said, 'The Queen Mother feeds you pearls, but we offer daggers. Choose, or bleed with her.'"

I didn't speak.

Not right away.

I walked to the candle beside my bed, extinguished it with my fingers, and stood in the dark.

They were growing bolder.

And desperate.

Good.

* * *

The next day, I walked the corridors like I had the week Lorenzo left.

Quiet.

Alone.

Unprotected.

And I let my expressions shift—uncertain, withdrawn, unreadable.

The spies saw me. The whispers circled again.

By sunset, a note arrived under my chamber door.

> "The storm is nearly here. When it breaks, will you be buried under the Queen's crown, or rise with us?"

I showed it to Lorenzo.

He read it twice, then burned it without a word.

* * *

Three days to the banquet.

We held a secret meeting with the six guards still loyal to the prince above all else. They entered in pairs through the servant halls, cloaked and silent.

Each man pledged the same thing: to obey no orders but Lorenzo's. To speak to no one outside this room. And to act on signal alone.

I looked into their faces.

Some were older. Grizzled. Weathered by battle. Others were younger, but sharp-eyed.

They would be our shield in the chaos.

But even shields could crack.

* * *

Two days to the banquet.

The Queen Mother made her move.

She summoned me not to her usual parlor—but to the Grand Salon, where sunlight streamed through gilded windows and every movement echoed across polished marble.

"I hear my son returned," she said, eyes glittering.

"You must be very proud."

She sipped wine. "I hear he returned… changed."

"He's grown," I replied.

"Have you?"

"I had to."

She leaned forward. "You've been busy, Princess. Watching. Listening. Making friends in corners you should not enter."

I didn't flinch. "The Circle is in your court. I'd be a fool to close my eyes."

Her smile thinned. "And what are you now? A fool or a traitor?"

"I'm your son's wife."

"And if he falls?"

"Then I'll rise."

The goblet cracked in her grip.

I didn't move.

She stared at me for a long moment—then stood, smoothed her gown, and said, "Wear something red to the banquet."

"Why?"

"So the blood won't show."

* * *

The night before the banquet, I couldn't sleep.

Neither could Lorenzo.

We sat in silence near the hearth, a single candle flickering between us.

"I dreamt of Alric," he said suddenly.

My breath caught.

"I was a child. He was in the garden. Laughing. Then someone screamed, and the dream turned black."

I reached for his hand.

"You remember him?"

"I remember missing him. Even before I understood what missing was."

I squeezed his fingers.

"They won't get away with it," I whispered. "Not your mother. Not the Circle. Not anyone who spilled royal blood and called it mercy."

He nodded slowly.

Then looked at me.

"When the time comes, don't hesitate."

"I won't."

* * *

The morning of the banquet arrived with golden sun and sweet wind.

But beneath the surface—steel.

Guards posted at every archway. Whispered orders relayed through hand signals. Every servant inspected. Every hallway watched.

Elira dressed me in crimson silk. Not the soft kind, but deep, almost black, edged with tiny gold thorns stitched across the waist and shoulders.

"You look like a warning," she whispered.

"Good."

I pinned my hair high, slid a dagger into my bodice, and walked out to meet fate.

The palace was already filled.

Nobles drank from crystal flutes, their laughter too loud, too light. Courtiers gossiped about fashion, politics, rainfall. All pretending they weren't standing in the mouth of a lion.

I caught glances. The Queen Mother in emerald. Her gaze icy. Maldrin in a tailored suit, speaking softly to Delane. Everin stood near the musicians, expression unreadable.

And Lorenzo?

He was already moving.

Every step he took shifted something invisible. A few guests leaned toward him. Others leaned away.

Then the music changed.

And the banquet truly began.