Chapter 16 : Rosa confrontation with Daphne

At sunrise, Zerach left for the council chambers.

Daphne rose soon after, her heart heavy but resolute.

She would no longer remain silent.

She would find proof.

She would uncover the truth — even if it broke her.

And as she dressed, she noticed something strange: a faint stain on her vanity mirror, the shape of a handprint, dark as dried blood.

When she wiped it away, she saw something carved beneath it — faint, almost invisible under the glass:

“She will burn what you love to keep you warm.”

Daphne’s pulse froze.

The wind howled softly through the open window, carrying a distant whisper — Rosa’s laughter.

And in that moment, Daphne knew:

The poison had been only the beginning.

For days, Rosa played the role of the dutiful daughter.

She smiled when spoken to, bowed with perfect grace, and served the Queen as though her soul had finally found peace. Her words were soft, her gestures practiced — and the court whispered of healing, of forgiveness reborn between blood.

To all who watched, it seemed the palace might finally know calm again.

Even Daphne allowed herself to breathe easier, thinking perhaps Rosa had truly repented.

When Zerach suggested she forgive the girl once more — to “make peace and let the past rest” — Daphne agreed. Her heart, still tender and yearning to believe in goodness, welcomed Rosa back within the marble halls of her chamber.

That night, the queen awaited Rosa alone. The fire was low, the scent of lavender soft in the air. The storm outside beat gently on the balcony, a lullaby for uneasy hearts.

The door creaked open. Rosa entered quietly, her dress trailing shadows behind her.

“Come, Rosa,” Daphne said gently, setting down a silver goblet. “You asked to see me?”

Rosa bowed her head, silent for a long moment. Her hands trembled slightly, clasped before her as though she were still a child.

“I came,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “to ask forgiveness.”

Daphne smiled — weary, but sincere. “Then ask it, and let the past die. The king wishes it, and so do I.”

For a heartbeat, Rosa’s lips curved faintly — not in sorrow, but in mockery.

A strange, sharp laugh escaped her mouth, breaking the stillness like shattered glass.

Daphne blinked, startled. “What—what is it?”

Rosa straightened, her eyes gleaming under the dim light. “Forgiveness?” she echoed. “You truly think that’s why I came?”

The air thickened.

“I came,” she said, stepping closer, “to watch you squirm. To see you smile, believing your little act of mercy could cleanse the filth you built your throne upon.”

Daphne rose from her seat, heart pounding. “Rosa—what are you saying?”

Rosa’s smile widened — cruel, cold, unflinching.

“He left my mother to suffer,” she said, each word deliberate and venomous. “He let her rot in silence while you sat upon her place. You took her man, her crown, her peace — and you expect me to clap my hands and call you Queen?”

The words struck like blows.

Daphne’s throat tightened. “Your mother—Fatima?”

“Ah, so you remember her.” Rosa’s laughter was sharp and wild. “You remember the woman who loved him before you came, the woman he abandoned for the shine of your golden crown.”

“That isn’t true,” Daphne said, voice trembling. “Zerach made his choices long before—”

“DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!” Rosa roared, and the wind from the balcony flared the candles to near darkness. “You will not cleanse what you stole with soft words!”

Her breath came fast, her eyes alive with years of stored rage. “He left my mother to die, and you—” she pointed a shaking finger at Daphne “—you took her place beside him, wore her jewels, slept in her bed, ruled from her throne. And now you think a few kind gestures will make it right?”

Daphne backed a step away, the firelight flickering over her pale face. “I did not know,” she whispered. “I swear, I never meant to take—”

Rosa cut her off with a bitter, humorless laugh. “Never meant to take? Then how easily you did it! How easily you smiled beside the man whose broken promises killed her!”

Her voice softened suddenly, a low, dangerous murmur:

“You took everything. Her name. Her peace. Her love. And you want my forgiveness?”

She stepped closer until Daphne could feel the heat of her breath. “No, Queen,” she hissed. “I came for something else entirely.”

“What do you want from me?” Daphne whispered.

Rosa’s eyes burned with a light that was not madness — but purpose. “I want to destroy the peace you’ve built. To watch it crumble until you understand what it means to live with nothing.”

Her voice cracked with a mixture of fury and grief.

“I am Rosa — daughter of Fatima! And I will not rest until every good thing in this palace turns to dust.”

Daphne stood frozen, unable to speak.

“My mother never taught me to be weak,” Rosa continued, voice breaking into something fierce and unholy. “She taught me patience. She taught me to survive. She taught me to finish what others began. And I swear to her grave — I will not stop until you feel every drop of her suffering.”

Daphne’s lips parted, trembling. “Rosa… please…”

But Rosa was already turning away, her laughter echoing against the marble like a curse.

“Save your pleas for the ghosts,” she said. “You’ll need them soon.”

The door slammed behind her, and the sound echoed long after she was gone.

For several seconds, Daphne could not move. Her hands shook so violently the goblet toppled, spilling dark wine like blood across the stone.

She stared after the door, heart racing, breath shallow. The truth sank in slow, cold waves — this wasn’t envy. It wasn’t madness. It was revenge.

And it was already here, in her palace, wearing a daughter’s face.

Daphne clutched her chest, the sound of Rosa’s laughter still haunting the air.

She had thought it was over.

She had thought forgiveness was enough.

But now she knew.

It was only the beginning.