📍 Chapter 54 – The Midnight Trap
The castle was quieter at midnight than Zara had ever known.
Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath, as if watching.
She stood before the arched door of the East Wing tower, clutching the mysterious note in her hand. The green wax seal had long been cracked, but the words on the scroll echoed inside her like a warning.
**"Meet me in the East Wing tower at midnight. Alone."**
No name. No sign.
Zaire hadn't sent it. She was sure of that.
But something told her to come anyway.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was foolishness.
But in a palace built on secrets, silence was sometimes the loudest scream.
Zara glanced behind her once, just to be sure no one had followed her. Then, she pushed open the old door. It creaked on its hinges, and the cold breath of stone wrapped around her skin as she stepped inside.
The tower was narrow, the staircase winding tightly as it climbed. Her slippers made the faintest tap on each stone step as she ascended, heart hammering against her ribs.
Halfway up, she paused.
A shadow moved above.
She blinked—but it was gone.
"Hello?" she whispered.
No answer.
She continued.
At the top of the stairs, the narrow corridor opened into a small chamber. Moonlight spilled in through an arched window, casting silver shadows across the dusty floor.
And in the center of the room stood a cloaked figure.
Zara froze.
She couldn't see their face. Only the faint glint of something metallic at their side.
The voice that spoke was male. Soft, but unkind.
"You came alone. Braver than I thought."
Zara swallowed. "Who are you?"
The man took a slow step forward, but the moonlight still didn't reveal his face.
"A friend," he said. "Or an enemy, depending on what you choose next."
She stiffened. "What do you want from me?"
He lifted a scroll and held it out. "You will take this. And you will deliver it to the Prince during the next council meeting. Without opening it. Without asking questions."
Zara didn't move.
"What's inside?"
"Nothing for you to worry about."
She narrowed her eyes. "You ask me to betray him."
"I ask you to deliver a message," he replied. "What it does, or does not, cause—that is not your burden."
Zara stepped back. "No. I don't trust you."
The figure didn't flinch. "Then you are choosing him over your life."
She stared. "What?"
"You think you're safe because he favors you now?" the man said coldly. "Do you know how many queens this palace has buried quietly? How many alliances have turned overnight? He cannot protect you forever. And he won't try once you become inconvenient."
Zara's throat tightened.
"You'll do as you're told," he said, placing the scroll on the windowsill. "Or you'll learn what real betrayal feels like."
Then, without another word, the man vanished down the staircase.
She didn't follow.
She stood frozen, her heart thudding like a drum, her palms slick with sweat. The scroll lay untouched by the window, the moonlight catching its silver ribbon.
Zara stared at it for a long time before picking it up. She held it with trembling hands.
It was sealed.
But the weight of it felt heavier than paper.
---
When she returned to her chamber, the candles were still lit. She hadn't been gone more than fifteen minutes, but it felt like a year had passed.
She placed the scroll in the drawer of her writing desk, locked it, and sat on the edge of her bed.
Her mind was a storm.
Was it a trap for her?
Or for Zaire?
Was she meant to be caught holding it?
Or to suffer the consequences of delivering it?
---
By morning, her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. She hadn't told anyone—not her maids, not the guards, and certainly not Zaire.
But as the sun rose and she stepped into the hall to prepare for the council meeting, she found him waiting for her.
Zaire leaned against the wall, dressed in deep gray robes embroidered with silver, a rare softness in his eyes.
"You didn't sleep," he said.
She shook her head.
He stepped forward. "Something happened."
Zara opened her mouth to speak… and stopped.
"I'm just tired," she said instead.
Zaire didn't press. But his gaze lingered a moment too long.
---
The council meeting that day was tense.
A new report had arrived—someone had leaked patrol routes to a rebel group outside the western borders. Three royal scouts were missing. Possibly dead.
Zaire's jaw was tight the entire session.
Zara sat quietly beside him, hands in her lap. Her gaze flicked occasionally toward the scroll in her sleeve, tucked into the inner pocket of her gown.
She hadn't brought it intending to deliver it.
But something inside her kept it close.
And then, as the room argued about retaliation, the double doors at the back creaked open.
The Queen entered.
Late. Dressed in mourning black.
The room stood.
She didn't smile.
"I heard we have traitors among us," she said slowly, eyes sweeping the room like a blade.
Zara felt her breath catch.
The Queen's gaze stopped on her.
"I wonder… how far their reach has grown."
---
After the meeting, Zaire dismissed the council quickly and pulled Zara aside into a smaller chamber across the hall.
"What's going on?" he asked.
She hesitated.
"Zara," he said firmly, "don't lie to me."
She took a breath… and pulled the scroll from her gown.
Zaire's eyes darkened immediately.
"Who gave you this?"
"I don't know," she said. "They wore a cloak. They said I had to deliver it to you without question."
"Did you read it?"
"No. I didn't open it."
He took it from her slowly, inspected the seal, and stared at it for several seconds before finally tearing it open.
As his eyes scanned the contents, his face turned to stone.
Zara watched his hands clench.
"It's a threat," he said, voice low. "Encoded. But I know who sent it."
"Who?"
Zaire's gaze lifted, and the cold fury in his eyes nearly made her step back.
"My cousin. The one they said died in the rebellion two years ago. He's alive."
Zara's heart skipped. "Then this is a warning?"
"It's a promise." Zaire's voice was flat. "He's coming."
---
That night, Zara didn't sleep again.
But this time, she wasn't afraid for herself.
She was afraid for what her presence had pulled into the palace.
She had crossed a line now. There was no turning back.