Chapter 11: Rosa’s first strike

aphne had tried—tried to quiet her heart, tried to silence the whispering doubts. Rosa was Zerach’s daughter, his blood, a child lost and now returned. To question her was to question the very joy in her husband’s eyes, and Daphne could not bring herself to tarnish that fragile happiness.

But peace did not come.

Every day she noticed something. Rosa’s quiet presence in the halls at hours when no one else walked. Her hands always too close to the king’s arm, her eyes always watching. Once, Daphne swore she saw Rosa slip a note into her sleeve when she thought no one was looking. Another time, she caught her speaking in hushed tones to a cloaked servant before they vanished down the stairwell.

And yet—each time Daphne turned toward Zerach, her lips parted to speak, her courage faltered. How could she bring this to him? What words could she use? Your daughter unsettles me. I think she hides something.

No. If she was wrong, she would become the cruel wedge that split father and child apart. If she was right… then what monster would she be unleashing into their lives?

So she said nothing. She carried the silence like a blade hidden beneath silk. She smiled, she played the devoted queen, but in secret she began her own quiet watch. She would observe Rosa carefully. She would find the truth with her own eyes, her own hands.

But the truth came to her sooner than she expected.

Slowly For Daphne, the weight of suspicion faded beneath the glow of her husband’s love his attention towards her .

That evening, the palace was hushed, its great halls emptied of noise, and a rare quiet cloaked their chamber. Candles burned low, their flames painting the walls with soft gold. Daphne stood at the balcony, her hair spilling in a cascade of gold beneath the moonlight, when strong arms slid around her waist.

Zerach pressed his lips to her shoulder, his voice a low rumble against her skin.

“You stand too far from me, little queen.”

She smiled faintly, leaning into his chest. “And yet, you always find me.”

He turned her gently, dark eyes burning with a hunger that was more than desire. “Always,” he promised.

Their mouths met slowly, deeply—like a vow sealed in silence. His kiss was tender, reverent, as though he were relearning her, tracing each curve of her lips with patience that set her trembling. When his hands framed her face, she let out a soft sigh, and he carried her to the bed as though she were something sacred.

The sheets whispered around them. His breath warmed her skin.

“You are the only fire I cannot tame,” he murmured, his horned shadow stretching across the wall.

She arched beneath him, her fingers clutching his shoulders. “Then do not tame me. Burn with me.”

His laugh was low, rough, melting into another kiss that devoured the space between them. Their bodies tangled, rising and falling like flame and storm, their voices breaking the silence with gasps and soft cries.

Time slipped away in that embrace. They loved each other with a hunger that was defiance and devotion all at once, their passion lingering long into the night until exhaustion claimed them both.

When the first light crept into the chamber, Daphne lay curled against his chest, listening to the steady thunder of his heart.

“Do you know what I fear most?” she whispered.

His hand brushed through her hair. “What, my queen?”

“Losing you.”

He stilled, then pressed his lips to her brow. “Then we are the same, for I would set fire to kingdoms before I let you slip from me.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes drifting closed. For the first time in weeks, she believed peace might last.

But peace is fragile.

The next morning, as Daphne strolled through the gardens, humming softly to herself, the world shifted. A sudden tremor seized her chest. Her breath caught.

She coughed once—then again, harder. A spatter of crimson stained her hand.

Terror shot through her veins as blood poured from her mouth, her nose, even her eyes. The flowers around her blurred, the garden spinning. She staggered, grasping the stone bench for support.

“Help—” her voice broke into a rasp. “Help me!”

Servants screamed. Guards rushed.

And then Zerach’s roar cut through the morning like thunder.

By the time he reached her, Daphne’s gown was streaked with red, her body trembling violently. His arms caught her before she collapsed.

“No! No, not you,” he growled, his voice ragged with a fear none had ever heard from the Horned King. “Bring the healer! Now!”

In the infirmary, chaos reigned. Healers forced bitter herbs past her lips, binding her as her body convulsed. Zerach stood like a storm at the door, refusing to move, his dark eyes fixed on her fragile form.

At last, the chief physician emerged, his face grave.

“She lives—for now. But only because she was brought early. Another hour, and she would not have survived.”

Zerach’s voice dropped like iron. “What happened?”

The physician’s next words silenced the room.

“The queen has been poisoned.”

The news spread like wildfire.

By nightfall, the entire palace had been summoned to the throne hall. Guards lined the walls, servants stood pale and trembling, and Zerach sat upon his throne with fury burning in his eyes. His queen’s seat stood empty beside him, a hollow reminder of what nearly had been lost.

“Someone sought my queen’s death,” Zerach thundered. “And I will know who.”

Behind him stood Rosa, her gaze downcast, her voice soft when she spoke. “I was with you, Father. In the gardens until the morning bell.”

The king gave a single nod.

Then his gaze swept over Daphne’s twelve maids, their faces pale in the firelight.

“Which of you served her?”

Maria stepped forward, trembling. “I did, my lord. I—I carried her tray this morning.”

Whispers surged. Zerach’s eyes narrowed. “You poisoned her.”

Maria collapsed to her knees, weeping. “Never! I swear it! I would never harm the queen!”

But voices rose against her.

“She always speaks ill of the queen,” one maid said.

“Yes,” added another. “She said she hates serving a human—that no human should rule us.”

Maria sobbed harder. “I said foolish things, but I am no murderer!” Her eyes darted desperately around the hall. “I saw someone—someone in black, with a mask—just after I left the queen’s chambers—”

“Enough.” Rosa’s voice rang sharp. She stepped forward, her tone cold. “Do not twist lies to save yourself. Guards, take her!”

Maria screamed as the guards dragged her away.

“Beat her until she confesses,” Rosa commanded.

And though Maria’s cries echoed down the corridors, Zerach said nothing. His silence was heavier than steel.

And Daphne, pale and trembling in the healer’s bed, never heard them at all.

But in the shadows of the palace, whispers coiled, sharp and deadly, waiting for the next strike.