Meanwhile, Zahrah recovered faster than anyone had expected. With the help of cybernetic implants and the support of her loved ones, she was able to stand and walk again, though still aided by supports. Her spirit, however, stood stronger than steel.
With all the evidence and the truth behind her lineage, she sent a message to the King—her cousin brother—revealing who she truly was: the daughter of Prince Amiri and Princess Selina, the rightful heir, Princess Dahlia.
The royal family arrived in haste, overwhelmed by shock and awe. When they laid eyes on her, it was as if they had seen a ghost.
"You look exactly like Selina," the Queen whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.
But Zahrah—Princess Dahlia—stood firm, her gaze unshaken. With no hesitation in her voice, she asked,
"Where were you when my mother, Selina, was being tortured? When she was injected with unknown drugs? When she was paralyzed and dying? Where was your voice then?"
The room fell into stunned silence.
"You knew. You all knew what was happening to her," she continued, voice sharp and trembling with emotion. "And yet not one of you stood up. Not one of you protected her. Why? Was it because she was a commoner? Or was it because you feared losing your power you all loved and righteousness?"
The King—her cousin brother—tried to speak, but she cut him off.
"Where was your royalty then? Where was your loyalty? You preach honor and nobility, but you let my mother die alone—abandoned, broken, discarded like she was nothing. Were you all after the throne this whole time? Tell me—where was your humanity?"
Her words hit like thunder in the hall, leaving echoes in every heart present. The truth no longer sat in shadows. It stood tall—facing the ones who had turned their backs.
Zahrah—no, Queen Dahlia—stood before the royal family with an unshakable presence. The strength in her eyes was no longer that of a broken girl seeking belonging, but of a sovereign born from fire, truth, and pain.
She turned to her lawyer and said calmly but firmly,
"Write this down exactly as I say. Every word."
The lawyer nodded, pen ready, hands slightly trembling from the weight of the moment.
Looking directly into the eyes of her cousin brother—the King—and the entire royal family, she declared:
"I, not as your princess, but as your Queen Dahlia, order you to immediately transfer all the wealth my late mother, Crown Princess Selina, and my late father, Crown Prince Amiri, left behind—every coin, every asset, every inheritance—to me."
Gasps echoed through the hall, but she did not flinch.
"And I decree this: I will give all that wealth away—not to your treasury, not to your allies—but to the poor, the needy, the orphanages, and the war-torn victims around the world.
No one—not even the royal family—shall ever touch that wealth again."
A heavy silence fell. Even the King lowered his gaze, ashamed.
"Let it be known," she added, voice rising like a rising tide,
"I am not here to sit on a throne built on lies and cowardice.
I, Dahlia, rightful heir and daughter of Crown Prince Amiri and Crown Princess Selina, hereby relinquish my claim to the throne, and the title of princess and queen."
Tears welled in the eyes of her lawyer, and even her companions—Celina, her coworkers, her friends—watched in awe.
"But this is not the end of my service to my people. Once I am fully recovered, I request to be enlisted in the Royal Army. I will not rule from above—I will stand on the ground, fight, protect, and serve.
Not as royalty… but as a warrior who knows pain, and chooses love."
No one could speak.
Queen or not—Dahlia had become something far greater: a symbol of justice, strength, and unbreakable will.
The silence was suffocating after Dahlia's royal decree. No one spoke. No one moved.
But Dahlia was not finished.
She stood tall—part scarred, part rebuilt, wholly unbroken—and looked them all in the eyes: the King, the Queen Mother, the council, the cousins, the nobles… the entire royal family.
Her voice, steady and cutting, broke through the heavy air.
"As for all of you," she began, her gaze piercing each one of them.
"You didn't care when my mother was suffering—when she was beaten, drugged, and left to rot in silence.
You knew what was happening. And you chose to stay quiet.
You turned your eyes away while your own blood—my father, your elder brother, your uncle—was poisoned and erased like he never existed."
She stepped forward.
"So I ask you: what right do I have to trust any of you now?"
No answer.
Only the weight of exposed shame.
"You leave me no choice," she continued, voice rising, steady as steel.
"Stay on that damn throne you all cling to like it's divine.
After all, it's just a throne—just a piece of wood carved by greed and polished by betrayal."
She took a breath, placing her hand on her chest.
"I don't need it.
My father gave it up because he knew what this family had become.
And now I give it up too—not in weakness, but in power.
Because I carry something you've long since buried beneath your crowns"
Her hand tightened.
"Humanity.
The kind that lifts others up… not steps on them to stay in power."
She turned away from the throne, from the legacy they wanted her to claim.
And in that moment, it was clear—she was more royal than any of them had ever been.