Chapter 14: Eclipse Trap

The days after her recovery passed like a dream wrapped in glass — fragile, glittering, and ready to shatter.

Queen Daphne smiled when the world watched, but beneath the jewels and silk, her heart was a battlefield.

She knew the truth now.

The poison had not been fate, nor chance, nor mistake.

It had been Rosa. The lost daughter. The beloved child who had wormed her way into the king’s heart — and was now tearing hers apart.

But knowledge is a cruel gift.

Daphne could not speak it.

Not yet.

For every time she looked into Zerach’s eyes, saw the relief that she still breathed, the fierce love that refused to fade, she could not bring herself to break him.

He had lived centuries in darkness. And now, in Rosa, he believed he had found a light he thought forever lost.

How could she be the one to snuff it out?

So Daphne played her role well.

She smiled. She dined. She kissed her husband’s brow and danced with him beneath the chandeliers when the court gathered to celebrate her recovery.

But when the candles dimmed, and the palace fell into silence—she became the hunter once more.

Each night, she watched Rosa from afar.

At the library.

At the temple garden.

In the kitchens, where the girl would linger longer than necessary.

Daphne noticed the little things — the way Rosa’s eyes sharpened when she thought no one saw, how her fingers brushed the edge of a vial hidden beneath her sleeve, how she seemed to appear in places she shouldn’t be able to reach.

The queen began to collect whispers.

She bribed a few guards with gold.

A maid loyal to her brought reports of hidden meetings and strange deliveries in the dead of night.

And one evening, Daphne discovered the truth that made her blood run cold.

There was another letter — hidden beneath Rosa’s pillow. It was sealed in black wax, its crest unfamiliar.

The message was short, but heavy.

“The queen still breathes. You must finish what was begun before the eclipse.”

The letter trembled in Daphne’s hand. Eclipse. That was only five days away.

She hid the letter quickly and forced her breath to steady. If she accused Rosa without proof, Zerach would never forgive her. She needed to catch her in the act.

But she was not the only one watching.

From the shadows of the doorway, Rosa stood silently, her eyes glinting like a serpent’s.

She had seen the queen enter her room. She had seen the letter in Daphne’s hand.

She smiled to herself.

“So… my dear

The moon waned thinner each night, and with every passing hour, the tension within the palace grew heavier—like the air before a storm.

The eclipse was coming.

Five days.

Five days before the heavens darkened and the world would hold its breath.

To the courtiers, the event was a marvel—a celestial wonder.

To Daphne, it was a warning.

To Rosa, it was a deadline.

And to Zerach, it was the one thing he didn’t yet understand he should fear.

The queen’s chamber had become a place of restless nights and unspoken plans.

Each evening, after the palace fell silent, Daphne would slip from her bed and unroll the parchment she had hidden beneath the floorboards. On it was a list — every servant who entered her room, every guard who patrolled the west wing, every path Rosa took through the halls.

She was building her map of truth.

But truth was a fragile thing, easily shattered by love.

When Zerach held her, when he whispered her name as though it were prayer, Daphne almost forgot the shadows at her door. Almost.

Almost was never enough.

One night, she called for Mira, her most trusted maid — the only one who had served her before the coronation.

“Mira,” she said softly, “I need you to watch the head maid. Do not be seen. Do not speak of this to anyone—not even the king. If you are caught, say nothing.”

Mira bowed deeply, her loyalty shining through her fear. “Yes, my queen.”

It was the first move in Daphne’s silent war.

That same night, in the hidden chamber beneath the palace, Rosa stood before a black altar carved with ancient runes. The candlelight wavered over her face, softening the fury that burned behind her eyes.

A figure in dark robes knelt before her. “My lady, the queen lives. Do we strike again?”

“No,” Rosa said, her voice quiet but dangerous. “Not yet. The poison was a message, not a blade. Fear is more powerful when it grows.”

The figure hesitated. “But why her? She has done nothing—”

Rosa’s hand struck the table with sudden force, the candle trembling. “She breathes where my mother should have lived!”

Her voice cracked. The mask of calm shattered, revealing the truth that burned beneath her beauty.

“My mother,” she whispered, “was the king’s first love. Before the throne, before the wars. He swore to her a life beyond pain. But when the humans rebelled, he abandoned her—left her to die with a curse in her womb. I was that curse.”

Tears glistened in her eyes, but they did not soften her rage.

“For seventeen years, she suffered alone. Until the night she died, she whispered his name—not in love, but in agony. I buried her with my hands.” Her voice dropped, trembling. “So when he calls me daughter, I smile. But I remember what he stole. His crown. His kingdom. His mercy. Now I will take what he cherishes most.”

The cloaked one bowed low. “And the eclipse?”

Rosa’s lips curved into a cold smile. “The eclipse marks the thinning of the veil. When the light dies, so will she. The poison was only the beginning—her soul will be mine before dawn touches the next sun.”

In the royal chamber, Zerach traced circles along Daphne’s back as they lay together beneath the heavy drapes of night. His touch was gentle, but his silence was heavy.

“You’ve been distant,” he murmured. “Even now, you drift from me.”

She turned, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “You feel it too, don’t you? The quiet. The change in the air.”

He studied her, his dark eyes unreadable. “You’re afraid.”

“Shouldn’t I be?” she whispered. “Someone in this palace tried to kill me. And whoever it was still walks free.”

He drew her closer, his voice rough against her skin. “I will find them, Daphne. I swear it. Even if the devil himself hid them in my shadow.”

Her throat tightened.

But what if the devil wears your daughter’s face?

She wanted to tell him—needed to tell him—but her courage faltered again. Instead, she leaned into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

But even as she spoke the words, she knew a lie had taken root between them.

Two nights before the eclipse, Daphne set her plan in motion.

The palace was to host a grand banquet in honor of the coming celestial event. Every noble, servant, and soldier would attend. Every eye would be upon the royal family.

And she would use that to her advantage.

Daphne instructed Mira to prepare two identical chalices—one for the king, one for herself. But only hers would bear a tiny scratch at the base. The queen herself would pour the wine before the court.

Then, she would leave the chalices unattended—knowing Rosa would not resist the chance.

If Rosa tampered with the drink, it would be seen by all.

If she didn’t… then perhaps Daphne’s mind was only haunted by fear.

Either way, she would know.

But Rosa had already guessed her plan.

That morning, she found Mira sneaking through the west corridor. The girl barely had time to cry out before two guards seized her. Rosa smiled kindly, her eyes like honeyed glass.

“Mira,” she said sweetly, “why were you watching me?”

The maid trembled. “I—I was only following orders—”

“From the queen?” Rosa asked softly.

Mira hesitated. That was her mistake.

Rosa’s expression didn’t change. She reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from the maid’s face as her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Such loyalty deserves reward.”

By sunrise, Mira had vanished.

Her room stood empty. Her clothes folded neatly upon the bed.

The great hall glowed with firelight and gold. Musicians played, courtiers laughed, and the king sat proud beside his queen. Outside, the moon began its slow dance across the sun, shadows deepening by the moment.

Rosa stood behind them, serene, her beauty ethereal beneath the darkening sky.

When the time came, Daphne rose, her hands steady as she poured the wine. She placed one cup before her husband, one before herself—and waited.

She saw it then—a flicker in Rosa’s eyes, the faintest movement of her hand as she leaned close to the tray.

It was barely visible. A whisper of powder from her sleeve to the rim of Daphne’s cup.

Daphne’s pulse thundered.

Her hand closed around the cup—but instead of drinking, she turned sharply and hurled it to the marble floor.

The crimson wine splashed across the tiles like blood.

The hall fell silent.

Zerach rose instantly. “What is this?”

Daphne’s voice trembled, but it was clear. “Your Majesty—your daughter tried to poison me again!”

Gasps rippled through the court. Rosa froze, her mask of innocence unbroken.

“Father,” she whispered, stepping forward. “You know I would never—”

“Enough!” Zerach roared. The air trembled with his fury. “Rosa, tell me the truth!”

But Rosa only smiled—a slow, tragic smile that made the room colder.

“The truth?” she said softly. “You wouldn’t bear it.”

Her hand lifted, and the black crest upon her ring flared crimson.

Then the sky went dark.

The eclipse reached its peak. The hall was drowned in shadow.

Screams rose as torches died, their flames devoured by unseen wind.

And in the chaos, Rosa’s voice rang clear and bitter.

“Seventeen years, Father. Seventeen years I watched her suffer while you wore your crown in peace! Now feel what she felt!”

Zerach’s power surged, horns glinting with lightless flame. “Rosa—stop!”

But she only laughed, her beauty twisted with grief and rage. “You gave me life, and I curse you for it!”

The shadows rose like smoke around her, swallowing her form until only her voice remained.

“You took my mother’s soul, Father. Now I’ll take your queen’s.”

And then, she was gone.

Silence fell.

The eclipse still raged above, but inside the palace, all eyes turned to the queen—pale, trembling, clutching her heart.

For on her lips was the faint taste of poison.