The Royal Scapegoat

Two Faced Witch

Roy’s gaze bounced between Daley and the dark blemish on the silk, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. He ran both hands through his hair, his composure completely distrusted.

"No... that’s impossible," he stammered, his voice a mere prove of horror. "Did we—? Was there—?"

Daley let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She leaned back against the bedpost, reaching for the water pitcher with a steady hand. How nice it was to enjoy his helplessness. "Oh, please," she scoffed, following the sound with a dismissive hiss. "You’d have to be a delusional fool to think I’d let you lay a finger on me. Imagine it that happened, I would never forgive myself.”

She took a slow, deliberate sip before continuing. "Nothing happened. I opened my own palm last night to satisfy your mother’s unrealistic expectations for the wedding linens. You can thank me later for that.”

She held up her hand, revealing a fresh bandage wrapped tightly around her palm.

"Between my own blood and a few fake blood Olive secured, your reputation is safe. You can stop trembling now."

Relief crashed over Roy like a physical wave, slowing the frantic racing of his heart. He straightened his collar, looking at her with a volatile mix of gratitude and simmering resentment. That was so close and would have led to an unrevokable disaster. Without a word of thanks, he turned and vanished from the apartment.

Daley didn't waste a second. She began stripping the bed just as Olive slipped through the door. "Is the evidence ready, My Lady?" the maid whispered.

"Take it," Daley commanded, thrusting the bundle of stained silk toward her. "Ensure the Queen sees it immediately. And Olive?" Daley seized the maid's wrist, her grip firm. "No one ever learns the truth of our first night. Do you understand?"

Olive met her gaze with unwavering seriousness. "My loyalty is yours, Princess."

***

Across the palace, Rachel stood by her window, watching the morning bustle with hollow eyes. She was lost in the past, remembering the childhood oaths she and Roy had whispered to each other. They had sworn to marry—a vow she never imagined the stars would break in favor of an ancient prophecy.

She turned to her room, drawing a comb through her hair with calculated, rhythmic strokes. As she combed, a smirk came on her lips and her eyes turned into a death stare. To Rachel, Roy was more than a man; he was the key to a magical vault. Magical vault of unlimited wealth.

Her aunt, Duchess Katherine, entered the room carrying a steaming cup of milk. "Still in mourning, my dear?"

"Mourning?" Rachel let out a sharp, brittle laugh. "Hardly, Aunt. Daley is merely the pawn who will deliver Roy into my hands. Everything is moving exactly as I intended."

Katherine smacked her lips, handing her the cup. "And poor Roy truly believes you are the one with the broken heart."

"Love is a luxury for the weak," Rachel replied, her eyes narrowing at her reflection. "I find his wealth far more fascinating than his heart. Since I was fifteen, I’ve envisioned his fortune wrapped around my fingers. Without his titles and estates, he is nothing. But together? Imagine governing Gora and Fory as a single, unstoppable empire. It would be a masterpiece of power."

"And your sister?" Katherine asked.

Rachel’s expression soured. "Daley? She stole our father’s life. She deserves nothing but the misery she’s created."

The Duchess shrugged. "I tried to love you both equally, Rachel, I truly did. But Daley has always been... difficult. You have always been my favorite."

"I’m the one people adore," Rachel smirked. "Daley is the outcast. A mere pity case. Roy just has to endure her until I find the right moment to—"

"Rachel!" The Queen’s voice cut through the room like a whip.

Rachel’s blood ran cold. In an instant, her face transformed into a mask of fragile innocence.

"Mother," she murmured.

"I will not tolerate such venom toward your sister," the Queen snapped. "If I hear you speak against her again, I will banish you to the northern provinces. Is that clear?"

Rachel bowed her head, squeezing a few practiced tears from her eyes. "I’m sorry, Mother. My heart is just... broken. Seeing Daley in my place, knowing what happened to Father... I feel so alone."

The Queen softened, pulling Rachel into an embrace. "I know it hurts, darling. But the prophecy is specific: the bloodline must continue through the firstborn to break the curse. Fate chose her to maintain the balance."

"Prophecies are open to interpretation," Rachel whispered into her mother’s shoulder.

"She is the eldest, Rachel. The heir is her burden to bear," the Queen insisted. "Accept it or not. If you and Roy are meant to be, the universe will find a way. For now, he belongs to your sister."

***

Hours later, Olive adjusted the last fold of Daley’s gown and stepped back. "You look radiant, My Lady."

"Good genes and better lighting," Daley replied dryly. "Time to play the part of the blissful bride again."

"I hope the Prince warms to you," Olive began tentatively. "You both—"

Daley pressed a finger to her lips. "Not a word about him. I was beginning to enjoy other blissful gist that doesn’t involve him.”

***

As they reached the throne room, Daley realized with a jolt that Roy was already seated. He hadn't waited for her. "He went in without me?" Daley whispered.

"It’s a deliberate insult," Olive admitted.

Daley exhaled, squared her shoulders, and entered. she bowed to the court and took her seat beside Roy. He didn't even turn his head to acknowledge her presence.

"Present the linens," the King commanded.

A guard stepped forward, unfurling the stained white sheet for the entire assembly to see. A collective gasp rippled through the hall. The Queen stood up abruptly, her face turning a ghastly shade of white.

"What is this?" the Queen whispered, her voice trembling with an emotion Daley couldn't quite identify.

Roy finally looked at the sheet, then at his mother, a look of profound confusion crossing his face. The "proof" was there, but the reaction of the court was not the celebration Daley had expected. It was pure, unadulterated horror.