The courtyard was drenched in the pale light of a waning moon, the mist curling like ghostly fingers over the cold stone. Rosalie moved with deliberate care, yet beneath her composed exterior, an unfamiliar sense of unease prickled at her awareness. She did not know it, but shadows stalked her with a precision born of lethal intent. Every step she took carried her unknowingly closer to the knife-edge of fate.
Simon followed her, invisible, a specter borne of loyalty, survival, and despair. His heart was a battlefield; every beat tore between love and duty, attachment and obligation, desire and inevitability. The orders he had received weighed on him like chains of iron: eliminate the target. And yet, the target—the woman whose presence had shaken him to his very core—was the one he loved.
He closed the distance, careful, silent, every muscle coiled with tension. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Rosalie paused beside the fountain, a place she had often found solace in her fleeting moments of peace. Her thoughts wandered, unbidden, to her daughter. Aurore… my sweet Aurore. The image of her child's innocent face surfaced, a delicate memory of laughter and soft curiosity. She had protected her from the darkness of their world, guided her through danger, and yet now, the cruel truth pressed against her: she would never watch Aurore grow. She would never see the woman she might become.
A low sound—a footstep on stone—made her heart tighten. She scanned the courtyard, the shadows playing tricks on her vision. Is someone there? she thought. Why does the night feel so heavy? But she saw nothing. She had always been cautious, always aware, yet tonight, she felt a strange vulnerability she could not name.
Simon's shadow detached itself from the wall. He stepped forward, and in the dim light, his presence was undeniable. "Rosalie…" His voice was low, almost a whisper, strained with tension, unspoken feelings, and lethal intent.
Rosalie's gaze locked on him, confusion flickering into recognition. "Simon?" Her voice trembled slightly, not with fear, but with the unsteady weight of instinctual trust colliding with apprehension. "What… what are you doing here?"
His hands tightened around the hilt of the dagger, the cold metal grounding him to the impossible reality. "I… I was sent to…" His words faltered, a crack in his armor of professionalism. "I was sent to finish this."
Rosalie's brow furrowed, a mixture of disbelief and rising dread twisting her features. "Finish… what? Simon, I don't understand." Her instincts screamed at her, the subtle signals of danger her training had always taught her to heed, yet the recognition of him made it unbearable.
Simon's eyes burned with emotion he could not voice: rage at the orders, grief at what he must do, and a love that would never allow reprieve. "I… I have no choice. I can't—"
Rosalie's hand shot out, almost instinctively, as if to stop him physically, yet knowing in her heart that it would be meaningless. "No. You… you can't. You—please… please don't." Her voice was ragged, almost breaking, the sorrow bleeding through every syllable.
He hesitated, the moment stretching, taut as a drawn bow. He saw the delicate curve of her shoulders, the strength in her posture despite the vulnerability in her eyes. His mind screamed against the orders; his heart rebelled, yet the weight of survival, the fear of the king's wrath, pressed down mercilessly.
"I… I have to, Rosalie," he choked out, the dagger trembling in his grip. "I… I'm sorry."
Tears welled in her eyes, blinding, hot with rage and heartbreak. "Sorry? Do you even understand what that word means? Do you know what you're taking from me?" Her voice rose, bitter and jagged, carrying every ounce of love, every trace of fury, every sorrow she had kept hidden. "You're killing me… and I don't even have a chance to fight for my daughter… for Aurore! Do you even think about her, about what I'm leaving behind?"
Simon's throat tightened; every instinct screamed to stop, to run, to flee from the impossibility of what he was about to do. But the orders were absolute, and survival was an unforgiving master. "I… I'm thinking of her. I'm thinking of her every second. But if I disobey, it's not just me you'll lose. I can't… I can't—"
Rosalie's gaze hardened, rage mingled with despair. "Can't? Can't what? Live with the consequences? Live with me dead?" Her hands clenched, shaking, yet her voice did not falter. "You've seen what he does, Simon! You've seen what happens to those who disobey. Do you think you'll survive if you choose me over him?"
He shook his head, the internal struggle tearing him apart. "I… I don't know. I… I… wish… I could… I—" Words failed him. The dagger's edge caught the faint moonlight, gleaming like a fragment of inevitability.
Rosalie closed her eyes, her mind turning to her daughter once more. Aurore… forgive me. Her voice was barely audible, a whisper of regret and love. I'm sorry I brought you into this world. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe. I wanted so much for you… a normal life. And I couldn't even protect myself.
Her eyes opened, fierce and defiant. "If this is the world we're born into, then let it be me who suffers. But know this, Simon… I forgive you. I forgive you for being forced to choose between survival and mercy. I understand now… I understand the cruelty of this life we inherited."
Simon's hands shook uncontrollably. The dagger wavered, his breathing ragged. "Rosalie… I—"
"Do it," she whispered, her voice paradoxically serene, though laced with heartbreak. "Do it. End me… and remember that I loved… I love you. And I forgive you. Please… protect her. Protect Aurore."
His vision blurred with tears. The duality of love and duty became unbearable. He hesitated, the seconds stretching into eternity. Rosalie stepped closer, not in fear, but in acceptance, her gaze steady, her presence commanding. "Make it quick… if you must. But promise me… promise me she will live. Promise me my daughter will see the sun, that she will know love, even if I cannot give it to her."
The dagger fell. The act was swift, unavoidable, a violent punctuation to years of preparation, longing, and despair. Rosalie's hand reached toward his chest as she collapsed, her breath shallow, her gaze fixed on him, and in that moment, every thought she had of her daughter, of her regrets, of her love, passed silently through her mind.
Simon caught her, his body trembling, every fiber of him shattered. Her eyes closed, a faint, serene smile touching her lips as the life he had destroyed departed. I forgive him. I forgive him… I love him… Her final thoughts lingered on Aurore, on hope, and on the cruel world she had chosen to leave behind.
He lowered her gently to the cold stones, the tears streaming freely now, mingling rage, grief, and helplessness. "I… I will protect her. I swear it. I swear, Rosalie, your daughter will live, and she will never know the horror of this night… not fully. I swear it."
The courtyard was silent except for the distant echo of the wind. The fog thickened, wrapping around the tragedy like a mournful shroud. Simon knelt there, his body trembling, his soul broken, holding the woman he loved and had destroyed, every word of her forgiveness cutting through him like shards of ice.
And as the first light of dawn touched the horizon, he whispered over her still form, his voice breaking:
"I… I will make it right. I will make her life… better. I swear… I swear."
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End of Chapter Question (psychological cliffhanger):
"Can love survive when it has demanded the ultimate betrayal?"
"Will the child ever understand the sacrifices that shaped her life before she could even see them?"