Tamed by a tyrant

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Blood Pact**

The morning after the fire, the sky broke open with rain.

As if the heavens themselves were mourning what was coming.

But it wasn't mourning.

It was warning.

Because the war wasn't just coming.

It had already begun.

* * *

Lorenzo stood at the tower window, staring out at the smoke-stained grounds.

"They're getting bolder," he said.

I joined him, resting my hand lightly on the windowsill.

"They're desperate," I replied. "And when desperate men taste fear, they become reckless."

"We need to move faster," he said.

I nodded.

But we couldn't just strike blindly.

We needed leverage.

And that meant making a blood pact.

Not the symbolic kind—

An actual, binding vow.

A pact that couldn't be broken without consequence.

* * *

The Veiled Order had records of it.

A ritual used by Queen Ivelyn when the loyalty of her council was tested.

Not everyone survived it.

But those who did… became more than loyal.

They became bound.

Bound by truth. By flame. By blood.

Elira retrieved the scroll from Odric's vault.

It was fragile. Faded.

But readable.

> "Blood spilled in sacred truth shall not betray.

> Those who bind their names in fire shall serve until death or deliverance.

> The vow cannot be broken—only burned."

It was perfect.

Terrifying.

But perfect.

* * *

We summoned seven.

Seven names chosen carefully:

- Elira, my sword.

- Lorenzo, my shadow and light.

- General Kai, the iron strategist.

- Odric, keeper of forgotten truths.

- Dame Lira, head of the East Watch.

- Varn, a scribe who once served the Queen Mother—and defected.

- And me.

Seven—one for each of the Seven Thrones.

Each representing a corner of the realm.

Each holding secrets.

Each dangerous in their own right.

* * *

The ritual took place in the Hall of Silence.

No guards.

No scribes.

Just us—and fire.

A single bowl carved from obsidian sat in the center.

Around it, a ring of salt, ash, and seven drops of blood—one from each of us.

The air was thick.

Sacred.

"Say your name," I said, voice steady.

One by one, they did.

When it was my turn, I didn't hesitate.

"I am Zara. Born of truth. Queen by fire. I vow myself to this circle. Until death… or deliverance."

The bowl pulsed red.

And the fire within it roared to life.

Bright. Blinding.

But no one flinched.

We had all made our choice.

* * *

Afterward, silence stretched between us.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

We had bound our lives to each other.

And there was no undoing it.

* * *

Lorenzo was the first to speak—hours later, when we were alone.

"That was not a vow," he said quietly. "That was a sentence."

"It was both," I replied. "And I'll carry it if it means surviving what's coming."

He stepped closer.

"What if I fall?"

I looked him dead in the eyes.

"Then I'll burn with you."

* * *

Word of the ritual spread—though we never confirmed it.

And that was more powerful than truth.

Rumor gave us edge.

No one knew who was bound by blood now.

No one knew if the person standing beside them was part of my inner circle.

And the uncertainty became a weapon.

* * *

The attacks slowed.

But that only meant the enemy was waiting for something bigger.

So we went hunting.

We sent scouts through the tunnel beneath the dungeons.

Out into the hills.

To the snow-covered woods where the last Firebound monks had lived.

And in one of the ruins…

We found something.

A flag.

Burned. Faded.

But unmistakable.

The symbol of the Cleansing Flame—painted in blood.

And beside it?

A crown.

Shattered.

Half-melted.

Just like the one from my mother's dream.

* * *

"They're recreating the past," I whispered. "They want to finish what they started with Ivelyn."

Elira nodded grimly.

"But they forgot one thing."

I turned to her.

"What?"

"We're not her."

* * *

That night, I couldn't sleep.

So I went to Thalia's tower.

She was at the window, sketching fire with charcoal.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked before I even spoke.

I nodded.

"It's like the war is breathing against our necks."

She held up her sketch.

It wasn't fire.

It was a throne—engulfed in flame, yes—but still standing.

"You're the only one who can sit on it," she said.

"I don't want to."

"But you must."

* * *

She was right.

Again.

The crown wasn't just mine by name anymore.

It was mine by sacrifice.

By blood.

By every body buried to protect me.

So I stood.

I turned away from the tower window.

And I whispered:

"Then let them come."

* * *

At dawn, we received a message.

Delivered by hawk. No seal.

Just one sentence:

> "Meet us at the old stone bridge by twilight, alone—or the girl burns."

Thalia.

They had found her.

Or so they believed.

But I wasn't going to walk into a trap.

I was going to set one.

* * *

We made our move quietly.

Elira posed as Thalia.

Veiled.

Chained.

Lorenzo and I took the high ground.

Kai's men waited in the forest shadows.

The bridge was old. Cracked. Moss-covered.

And on the other side stood five hooded figures.

The leader stepped forward.

"You brought the heir."

I didn't respond.

He pulled back his hood.

And my breath caught.

It was Lord Marren.

One of the nobles who'd sworn loyalty to me after my council speech.

He smiled.

"The old blood must die. That is the pact."

I stepped forward.

"Then die for it."

And I gave the signal.

Arrows flew.

Swords clashed.

And fire rose from the bridge's base—lit by Thalia's pendant from the tower above.

It was an illusion, yes.

But fire doesn't care about tricks.

It burns all the same.

* * *

The Cleansing Flame lost their high priest that night.

And we lost our silence.

Because now the court knew:

This was not politics.

This was not ambition.

This was war.

* * *

As I stood over Marren's body, Elira beside me, I realized something:

The blood pact hadn't just bound us to each other.

It had bound us to vengeance.

And vengeance always collects.

Sooner or later.

And I was ready.