Tamed by a tyrant

**Chapter Eighteen: A Kingdom Reborn**

The sky bled gold the morning they were executed.

No trumpets.

No crowds.

No ceremony.

Just a blade, a stone courtyard, and silence.

I didn't attend.

Neither did Lorenzo.

It wasn't cowardice—it was strategy. Let the kingdom whisper. Let the nobles tremble. We had already passed the sentence. We didn't need to savor the result.

But I felt it.

I felt it in the stillness of the palace corridors.

In the way the guards averted their eyes.

In the way the birds did not sing.

The rot had been cut.

Now came the harder part—planting something new.

* * *

By midmorning, we convened the council.

The old council chamber—once ruled by men who lined their pockets and whispered behind silk fans—was empty.

In its place, a new table.

Built by Lorenzo's own order. Polished mahogany. Round, not long. No place for hierarchies. Only voices.

Six new members.

Three noble-born. Three common.

All loyal. All proven.

"These are your orders," Lorenzo said, standing at the head of the table. "We don't want obedience. We want results. If you can't bring both, leave now."

No one moved.

Good.

I sat beside him—not as ornament. Not as shadow.

But as a ruler.

Every decree bore both our names. Every edict was passed with my seal beside his.

Together, we built the new foundation.

The old kingdom ruled with fear.

Ours would rule with fire.

* * *

Reforms began immediately.

Trade routes reopened under tighter security. Guards in the city were retrained and rotated. All royal scribes were subjected to background reviews. Two were quietly dismissed.

We began rebuilding the outer villages first—places long neglected by the throne.

Food was sent.

Doctors too.

And soldiers—not to intimidate, but to protect.

I insisted on handwritten letters addressed to each village elder, signed by me personally.

Elira nearly fainted when I gave her the stack.

"You plan to write all of these?"

"Yes."

"Do you know how many villages there are?"

"Yes."

She didn't argue further.

She just brought more ink.

* * *

The people responded.

Slowly, at first.

Cautiously.

But they responded.

By the end of the week, a dozen messages had arrived from towns across the kingdom—gratitude, confusion, hope.

And one child's letter.

It read:

> "Dear Queen Zara. I don't know if you're real. But if you are, thank you for the doctor. My sister was sick. She's better now. My mom says you're a red flame. I think that means you're strong."

I folded it carefully and placed it in my drawer.

That letter mattered more to me than any royal decree.

Because it meant they were watching.

And maybe, just maybe… believing.

* * *

Lorenzo was everywhere.

Inspecting the palace guards. Overseeing council meetings. Riding to the border once a week to handle lingering rebel threats himself.

He came back one evening, boots muddy, arms bruised, lips cracked.

I was reading in the solar when he entered. He didn't say a word—just collapsed into the chair beside me, eyes closed, chest rising and falling like he'd carried the weight of the entire realm on his back.

"Hard day?" I asked.

He opened one eye. "I had to arrest a commander."

"Yours?"

He nodded. "He took bribes. Smuggled iron into enemy hands."

"What did you do?"

"Told him he's lucky he has a family. Exiled him instead of execution."

I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You're becoming merciful."

"I'm becoming tired."

I smiled. "You're becoming a king."

* * *

That night, we didn't speak of power.

We didn't speak of politics.

We bathed in silence.

I soaked in lavender water. He sat nearby, sharpening his sword.

Every now and then, our eyes met.

No words.

Just understanding.

When I rose, he helped wrap the robe around me, kissed my shoulder, and whispered, "You've made this palace holy again."

And in that moment, I felt… powerful.

Not because I ruled.

But because I healed.

* * *

The Queen Mother hadn't spoken to us since the executions.

Not a word.

She still dined in her wing. Still wore emeralds. Still kept her spies close. But she knew her throne beneath the throne had been shattered.

One afternoon, she summoned me.

Her parlor was as cold as ever—silver mirrors, sharp furniture, everything immaculate.

She didn't offer tea.

Just a seat.

I took it.

"You think you've won," she said.

"I think I've survived."

"For now."

"What do you want, Mother?"

She flinched at the word.

"You may have charmed my son. But remember who taught him how to survive."

I leaned in. "You taught him fear. I taught him love. Which do you think he'll choose now?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line.

"You've declared yourself queen of ash and thorns."

"No. I've declared myself queen of what's left. And what will come."

She stared at me.

Then said, "Enjoy your crown, little girl. It gets heavier with time."

"I plan to grow stronger."

And I left.

That would be the last time she summoned me.

* * *

Later that week, Lorenzo returned from the western province with news.

"The last rebel outpost is gone," he said. "We found the blacksmith who forged the Circle's coins. Burned the mint."

"Did you kill him?"

"No," he said. "We made him melt down every coin himself. He cried. Then we let him go."

"Why?"

"He had a daughter. She was watching."

I paused. "You're changing."

He wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"So are you."

I closed my eyes and let his warmth seep into my spine.

"I want this," I whispered.

"What?"

"This kingdom. This peace. Us."

He kissed my neck.

"Then we'll keep building it. Together."

* * *

By month's end, the nobles had fallen in line.

Some out of loyalty.

Most out of fear.

The people had begun writing more letters. Farmers sent baskets. Children sent drawings.

And every time Lorenzo received one, he smiled.

A real smile.

Not the prince's mask.

But Lorenzo.

My Lorenzo.

* * *

One night, after a particularly long council meeting, we returned to our chambers. I collapsed onto the bed, groaning.

"Being queen is exhausting."

He chuckled. "Try being prince and soldier and judge."

I turned onto my side, propping my head on my hand.

"You missed one."

"Oh?"

"Husband."

He laughed. "Ah, yes. That one's hard."

I leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep.

"Then let's make it easier."

That night, we didn't just sleep.

We dreamed.

Together.

Of towers that no longer hid secrets.

Of halls that rang with laughter.

Of children.

Of peace.

And as the stars blinked overhead, I whispered,

"We've made it this far. Let's never go back."

Lorenzo's voice was soft.

"Never."