Semua Bab REVENGE AFTER REBIRTH-THE LORD'S FORSAKEN BRIBE: Bab 121 - Bab 130

The first letter came folded in white silk, sealed with the crown’s own insignia.At least, that’s what it looked like.I broke the seal with careful fingers. The wax was still warm. The words inside sharp, deliberate, venom disguised as grace made my blood turn cold.“Our Queen was not chosen by blood, nor by faith. She was born of witchcraft and vengeance, and those who kneel to her kneel to a ghost that killed her own kin.”It was signed in my name.The council chamber erupted when I read it aloud.“Forgery!” Lord Miriel shouted. “It bears the royal seal!”“Then someone forged that too,” I said quietly.But the others had already begun arguing, their fear louder than their reason. The letter was spreading copies of it pinned to tavern doors, whispered in markets, and even preached from some pulpits.“They’re calling you the ‘Queen of Shadows,’” one councilor muttered.Cassian would have laughed at that. I didn’t.I’d faced armies before, but words were different. They didn’t break

The march began under a bruised sky.Dust rose in pale ribbons behind us, curling around the hooves of restless horses. The road south stretched wide and cracked, a wound healed over too many times. My army moved quietly. Not the noise of glory, but the rhythm of endurance.I rode at the front, the royal standard fluttering behind. Men called it the “Crown’s march,” though there was little of a crown left to show. We had melted the last of the palace gold to forge new weapons, and even the banners had been stitched from repurposed silk. Everything about us was reborn patched and scarred.Cassian’s horse had once ridden beside mine. Now the space was empty, and I could almost hear him teasing me about how I gripped the reins too tightly.The road wound through farmland. Burnt fields lay like graves, charred stalks pointing to a sky that refused to rain. Yet some people still came out to watch us pass thin faces, cautious eyes. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t curse either. Th

The wind carried the smell before we saw it.Smoke. Not campfire smoke, but the thick, oily kind that clings to your throat and never leaves.The plains that stretched between the capital and Calen’s Hollow had once been wheat fields gold seas waving under the sun. But now, they were blackened ribs of earth, still glowing red where the fire hadn’t finished eating.Darven reined in beside me, his armor dusted gray. “They burned their own crops,” he said, disbelief rough in his voice. “Why?”“To starve us,” I said quietly. “If the crown can’t feed its people, it loses them.”He spat into the ash. “They’d rather die hungry than live loyal.”I didn’t answer. I watched the smoke twist into the sky like a warning.Somewhere beyond that haze, the Prophet’s forces waited not soldiers in formation, but zealots in circles, chanting prayers that turned men into weapons.This was no war of kingdoms anymore. It was a war of belief.We set camp by the river where the air was cleaner. The soldi

The palace was never truly silent.Even at night, it breathed.The wind whispered through the cracked arches; the lamps hummed softly against the marble walls.But since the coronation, the silence had changed.It was heavier now watchful, deliberate.I felt it most in the council chamber.Every meeting was a dance of masks polished smiles, careful phrases, eyes that lingered too long.The serpent was dead, yes.But her shadow lived here, in men who learned to smile like her.Cassian’s letter arrived three nights after the coronation.No seal. No signature. Only one line written in his distinct, sharp hand:The serpent’s grave lies beneath your throne.My heart slammed once, then steadied.He was alive and close.But his words carried weight I didn’t yet understand.That morning, the council gathered again.The room smelled faintly of wine and wax luxury layered over rot.Miriel opened the meeting with his usual charm.“My Queen,” he said, bowing low, “the northern merchants have with

A letter arrived two days after we left Velmir.No messenger’s seal. No escort. Just a folded scrap of parchment delivered by a boy too young to understand what he carried.I knew that handwriting before I even unfolded it.Damien’s.The ink was smudged, the edges torn.It wasn’t the letter of a man at peace it was the letter of a man trying to outrun himself.“Serina,If this reaches you, it means I have already failed to face you in person. Perhaps I feared what I would see in your eyes. Perhaps I feared I wouldn’t survive it.I once thought love meant possession. To keep something safe, I had to hold it tight enough that nothing could take it from me. You were my proof. My obsession. My ruin.When Aria came to me, she didn’t need to poison me with lies. I was already poisoned by pride. I let her twist my fear into faith, until I believed every word she said about you.And when they took you to the square… I stood there. Watching. Believing I was saving the kingdom from your wrath.