Todos os capítulos de Betrothed to the devil himself : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

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

The days that followed blurred like mist on glass.To the rest of the palace, Queen Daphne had recovered. She smiled, spoke softly, and took slow walks through the gardens under watchful guards. The poison had not claimed her body—but it had left a deeper wound in her mind.Every sound now carried suspicion. Every glance was a possible lie.And at the center of it all stood Rosa.Rosa, with her sweet smiles and tender voice.Rosa, who had wept for her, sat by her bedside, and whispered prayers when she thought no one watched.Rosa, whose eyes sometimes lingered too long on Zerach… and whose hands never seemed entirely empty.Daphne had learned to hide her fear behind grace. She had learned to act.Each morning, she thanked Rosa for her care. Each evening, she let the girl braid her hair and hum lullabies from a past she didn’t remember. But her eyes—her quiet, careful eyes—missed nothing.The queen of the demons had become a hunter in her own palace.⸻That evening, when the court had

The hall still trembled from the echoes of Rosa’s final scream.The darkness of the eclipse bled through every stained-glass window, swallowing the gold and flame until the palace itself seemed to mourn.Zerach stood frozen, his chest rising and falling in shallow, disbelieving breaths.The word “daughter” still lingered on his tongue — bitter as ash.And then he heard it.A soft, broken gasp.He turned—Daphne collapsed.Blood ran scarlet down her lips, painting the white silk of her gown. Her eyes rolled back, her body trembling in his arms.“Daphne!” Zerach’s roar shattered the silence.He caught her before she struck the ground, cradling her close. His hands glowed faintly with magic, dark flames licking at his skin — the old power he had long forbidden himself to use.“Someone—get the royal physician! Now!”Guards scattered like frightened birds, but Zerach barely saw them. His entire world had narrowed to the dying woman in his arms.Her breath came in shallow gasps. Blood trick

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,

The palace had never known such silence.Not even during the war, not even when the fortress gates had burned—no, this silence was deeper. It was fear.By nightfall, every corridor glowed with torchlight. Guards marched with drawn blades. Servants knelt trembling in the great hall as the throne of the Horned King stood like a judgment seat over them all.At its foot, Zerach sat, his face carved from fury itself. His golden eyes—once bright with warmth—now burned like molten metal.The throne room doors shut with a thunderous echo. No one dared to breathe.Daphne’s chair beside him stood empty. Her absence screamed louder than any voice.“The queen was poisoned,” Zerach said, his voice deep, restrained, but deadly. “And until I know who dared it, none will leave this hall.”A murmur rippled through the gathered court—terrified whispers, gasps, prayers.Behind the king stood Rosa. Her head was bowed, her hands folded demurely. She wore white—a vision of innocence. To the untrained eye,