Chapter 12 :Daphnes suspicion grew stronger

The palace no longer slept.

Since the night of the poisoning, silence had become a stranger. Footsteps echoed through corridors at every hour; guards doubled their posts; whispers followed every passing shadow. The Horned King’s fury still hung over the halls like smoke after fire.

But in the east wing, behind layers of silk curtains and guards’ spears, the queen of the realm lay in fragile recovery.

Daphne’s breaths were shallow, each one a fragile thread binding her to life. The poison had left her weak, her once-golden skin pale as parchment. Yet her mind—sharp, restless, unyielding—refused to rest.

She remembered every detail. The sudden pain. The taste of iron. The panic in Zerach’s eyes.

And Rosa’s voice.

Beat her until she confesses.

That tone—calm, commanding, almost eager—echoed in her head. A daughter’s concern should have sounded softer, shouldn’t it? Yet Rosa’s words had been like a blade drawn too swiftly.

Daphne turned her head on the pillow, watching the flames dance in the brazier. The firelight glinted against a small golden cup on her bedside table—the same one she had drunk from before collapsing in the gardens.

Her stomach twisted.

The poison had come from her table… her meal… her servants.

But what if that wasn’t the whole truth?

⸻

Zerach had barely left her side since her collapse. His face was shadowed with exhaustion, his once-proud eyes now edged with something desperate. He had questioned every guard, every maid, every healer. He had shattered a table with his bare hands when Maria refused to confess.

“Someone will answer for this,” he vowed, pacing her chamber as she drifted in and out of consciousness. “No one touches you again—not without my permission.”

“Zerach…” Her voice was faint, a breath against the wind. “You must rest.”

He stopped, his gaze softening as he turned toward her. “Rest?” His smile was tight, broken. “How can I rest when I nearly lost you?”

She reached for him weakly, her fingers brushing his wrist. “You did not lose me.”

“No,” he whispered, pressing her hand to his lips. “And I never will.”

He stayed beside her that night, holding her hand until sleep claimed him. Daphne watched his face in the dim light—the lines of worry carved deep, the weight of kingship heavy upon him.

And behind him, at the door, stood Rosa.

Silent. Watchful. Her expression unreadable.

⸻

Days passed. Daphne grew stronger, though her steps were still slow and her stomach often twisted with sickness. The palace returned to its rhythm, but something invisible had changed. Smiles seemed rehearsed. Every shadow seemed longer.

Zerach busied himself with the council and investigations, trusting Rosa to “see to the queen’s comfort.” Rosa was always there—helping her walk, bringing her food, arranging her pillows. And yet, every act of kindness felt too perfect, too practiced.

Daphne smiled in return, but her heart was ice.

She’s always here. Always close. Watching.

⸻

One night, unable to sleep, Daphne rose quietly and wrapped herself in a cloak. The moonlight poured through the corridors, silvering the marble floors. Her feet made no sound as she made her way toward the western wing—the old servants’ quarters that now served as the palace prison.

Two guards bowed hastily when she appeared.

“My queen—you shouldn’t—”

“Let me through,” Daphne said softly. “It’s only a moment.”

The men hesitated, then obeyed.

The cell was dim, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone. Maria sat slumped against the wall, her face bruised, her hands bound. When she looked up, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Y-Your Majesty…”

Daphne knelt slowly beside her, heart breaking at the sight. “Maria… I came to ask you something.”

Tears streaked the maid’s face. “I didn’t do it, my queen. I swear—I didn’t.”

“I believe you,” Daphne whispered. “Tell me what you saw. That morning. Before they took you.”

Maria trembled. “I carried your tray, as always. When I left your chamber, I saw… someone. Dressed in black, with a silver clasp at the shoulder. They were slipping out the side door. I thought it strange, but before I could speak—”

Her voice broke.

“Lady Rosa came. She looked angry. She told me to go back to the kitchens and never speak of what I saw.”

Daphne’s pulse quickened. “She said that?”

Maria nodded, eyes wild. “Please, my queen, I swear on my life—I saw her with the same silver clasp when she came to the kitchens later.”

⸻

By the time Daphne returned to her chamber, her hands were shaking. Rosa had been there that morning. Rosa had silenced Maria.

But why?

And why did she sense that Zerach, blinded by affection, would refuse to see it?

She sat by the fire, staring into the flames until her thoughts blurred. She wanted to tell him—to fall into his arms and confess her fears—but her voice faltered before it could form.

If she accused Rosa and was wrong, she would destroy Zerach’s newfound peace. The bond between father and daughter, so new and fragile, would crumble. And he would look at her not as his queen, but as the woman who could not love his child.

No… not yet. Not until she was certain.

So she smiled at Rosa the next morning when the girl came to bring her tea. She spoke softly, her tone steady.

But her eyes… her eyes watched.

⸻

That night, when the palace slept, Daphne stood again at her balcony, wrapped in moonlight. Zerach’s arms came around her, his breath warm at her neck.

“You should be resting,” he murmured. “Your strength still wanes.”

“I rest better when you’re near,” she whispered, leaning back against him. Her voice trembled, her smile fragile. “I just wish peace would stay.”

He turned her in his arms, tilting her chin until their eyes met. “Then we will make it stay.”

He kissed her—soft, slow, the world melting away around them. For a moment, all doubts vanished. He was her world, her storm, her salvation.

But as his hands traced her waist and her lips parted beneath his, her eyes fluttered open—and she froze.

A shadow moved across the balcony.

Watching.

Still.

Silent.

Her breath caught, but when she blinked, it was gone.

Zerach drew back, concern furrowing his brow. “Daphne? What’s wrong?”

She forced a smile, masking the shiver in her voice. “Nothing… just the wind.”

He studied her for a heartbeat longer, then kissed her again. “Then let it blow. Tonight belongs to us.”

But even as his lips claimed hers, her thoughts lingered beyond the glass doors—on the place where a shadow had stood watching.

And somewhere in the darkness of the courtyard below, a faint whisper echoed—

Too soft to be heard.

Too real to be ignored.