The Royal Scapegoat

The past stings

The dark blemish on the silk drew every eye in the hall. A low hum of conversation vibrated through the air as the court leaned in, their curiosity only peaked on the astrocity before them. The Queen whispered urgently to the King, her eyes darting toward the newlyweds with a look that flickered between suspicion and relief.

Finally, the Queen clapped her hands, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. "It is finished," she declared. "The bloodlines are bound. An heir is promised."

The King nodded, signaling the guards to remove the linens. He turned to Roy, whose irritation was becoming impossible to mask. "You have performed your duty well, my son."

"Are we done then?" Roy asked, his voice flat. "May I go?"

"The traditions must be fully satisfied," the King replied. "You must present yourselves to the village, then journey to Soora to finalize the rites. Only then will your time be your own."

Roy leaned toward his mother, his voice a desperate rasp. "I’ve given you what you wanted. Don’t force me into more hypocritical acts. How long will I fake smiles just to please royalty?”

"It is the way of our people, Roy," she countered.

"The carriage is waiting. Do not insult the kingdom by acting like an ungrateful child. Your people are waiting to greet you and your bride.”

Roy’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the velvet arms of his throne. A low, muffled groan of frustration escaped him. Daley reached out, her fingers hovering near his arm in a gesture of comfort. They touched and he flinched as if burned. "Don't touch me," he hissed.

"Roy, stop," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"You’re jeopardizing the plan. If you keep this up, I can’t help you. Just endure this—for Rachel’s sake."

His eyes flashed with a cold, hard light. "So I’m to tolerate your presence for her? Every time I look at you, Daley, I see the girl who called me a murderer before I was old enough to know what the word meant."

Daley’s chest tightened, the air leaving her lungs. "I didn't—"

"I’m finished talking," he snapped, standing abruptly and leaving her in his wake.

***

The journey through the countryside passed in a tomb-like silence. But the moment the carriage door opened in the village, the cold, resentful man vanished. In his place stood a charismatic leader, warm and effortless. He moved through the crowds with genuine grace, laughing with the elders and sitting in the dirt to play with the children.

Watching him, Daley felt a wave of profound guilt. Roy was, at his core, a good man—perhaps even a great one. He treated the vulnerable with a tenderness she had never known he possessed. She had spent years treating him like a monster, yet here he was, a beacon of light for his people. A single tear traced a path down her cheek as she realized she was mourning the man she had spent a lifetime pushing away.

When the sun set, Roy directed the driver to take Daley back to the palace. He flagged down a separate transport for himself.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Don't wait up," he said curtly. "I’ll return when I’m ready."

***

Back at the palace, Daley endured hours of the Queen’s interrogations. She felt like a total fraud; she was legally his wife, yet she knew nothing of the man’s soul. His likes, his dislikes, his dreams, his strengths, his weakness…nothing of that sort.

"Come, dear," the Queen said eventually, leading her toward a private study. "Marima has arrived."

Inside, a woman draped in ink-black silks and etched with ancient markings studied Daley. Her eyes bore into Daley’s soul with an intensity that felt like Daley was being judged. Daley felt herself despise what was going on.

"What do the omens say?" the Queen asked. "Will there be an heir?"

"She carries a shadow," Marima rasped, her voice sounding like dry leaves skittering across stone. "A darkness from years ago dims her light. I cannot see the path clearly because of what she has done... or what the world believes she has done."

Daley’s heart hammered against her ribs. Marima stepped forward and seized Daley’s hands. "You are drowning in a sea of regret, child. You are not a villain; your soul is simply fractured by a guilt that does not belong to you."

Daley tried to recoil, but the Seer’s grip was tough. Daley was hooked in a situation she couldn’t escape.

"You didn't do it, Daley Yan. You are not responsible for your father’s end. Someone else carries that blood."

Daley froze, her eyes widening. "What? Someone else... killed him?"

"The truth is a slow-moving tide, Princess," Marima smiled, revealing decaying teeth. "For now, know that a gift approaches. A hope in the complete darkness."

"Is Roy not gift enough?" the Queen interrupted. "Tell me of the child!"

"The heir will come," Marima prophesied, "but not in the manner you imagine." She turned back to Daley, whispering, "Apologize to your husband. Stop thinking, and start feeling." She touched Daley’s stomach gently. "And guard yourself. The future will be tough for you."

***

While Daley was being haunted by prophecies, Roy was in the library of an old scholar, his exhaustion forgotten as he looked through old books he fancied.

"My Prince," the scholar sighed, "You shouldn’t have come."

"I apologize, my friend. The wedding rites were... demanding."

"Ah, the new Princess," the scholar said, retrieving a heavy file. "Are these the property transfers for her?"

"No," Roy said, a genuine smile breaking through his fatigue. "They are for Rachel. I want to present her with a kingdom of her own the moment we are finally free to wed."

"Rachel Yan," the philosopher noted. "You truly would give her the world, wouldn't you?"

"A woman who has supported me through my darkest years deserves nothing less," Roy said. "I am willing to give her everything I own."

"You have always been too generous for your own safety, Roy," the scholar laughed. "You'll give away your crown piece by piece just to see her smile."

"If it makes her happy, it’s worth the cost."

***

Daley was pacing the porch when the moon reached its peak up in the sky. The night air was biting, and eventually, her exhaustion won out. She leaned her head against a stone pillar and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Roy returned on foot, clutching the documents for Rachel. He stopped short when he saw Daley slumped against the cold stone. He frowned—he had told her he would be late. Why was she waiting out here like a common servant?

"Wake up, nuisance," he muttered, nudging her shoulder. She didn't stir.

He studied her for a long moment. Part of him wanted to leave her there as a penance for the years of pain she’d caused him. But his sense of duty wouldn’t let him oblige. He set his papers aside and gathered her into his arms.

She felt surprisingly light, her head lolling against his shoulder. He carried her into the suite, his muscles tensed as he looked down at her sleeping face. In the stillness of the night, the anger he usually carried felt heavy and exhausting. He laid her gently on the bed and leaned over to adjust the pillows.

As his hand brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, Daley’s eyes fluttered open. She let out a sharp gasp, her heart leaping. Before she could make a sound, Roy pressed his hand softly over her mouth.

His gaze locked onto hers. The air in the room suddenly turned thick and electric. His eyes dropped from her startled gaze to her lips, and for the first time in ten years, the hatred in his eyes was replaced by a look that was far more dangerous.