Roselle’s POV
“Mama?”
I slowly turned around.
A little girl stood a few steps away from me.
She stared at me with deep sorrow in her eyes, and I could see how frightened she was.
She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.
Her small hands were clasped tightly in front of her as she looked at me.
There was something about the way she looked at me that made my chest tighten.
She didn’t only look sad.
She looked confused.
And afraid.
For several seconds, neither of us said anything.
Then she suddenly ran toward me.
“Mama!”
Before I could react, she wrapped her small arms around my waist.
I froze.
My entire body stiffened.
I had faced enemy soldiers charging toward me without flinching.
I had stood before thousands of armed men and given orders without hesitation.
But this?
A tiny child hugging me?
I had no idea what to do.
My hands remained at my sides as I stared down at her.
She buried her face against me, and my heart raced at my own awkwardness.
“Mama, I missed you,” she said in a teary voice.
From the way she held onto me, I could feel how frightened she was.
My heart tightened.
I slowly looked at Eva.
She was watching us with a soft expression on her face, as though she expected me to know exactly what to do.
I looked back at the little girl.
“Mama?” Her voice was so small that I almost felt guilty for not answering immediately.
I swallowed.
“Yes?”
The word came out awkwardly, but I prayed she hadn’t noticed.
The little girl lifted her head and stared at me for a while, almost as if she was trying to hold onto me with her eyes.
“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” she suddenly asked.
Something inside me shifted.
I didn’t know this child.
At least, not consciously.
Yet hearing those words made something ache inside my chest.
I had no intention of taking my own life like her mother had.
But even if I had considered it, I didn’t think I would have been able to go through with it after looking into this child’s face.
How could anyone willingly leave behind a child who looked at them with such fear?
“No,” I answered before I could stop myself.
The little girl’s eyes immediately brightened.
“Promise?”
I hesitated.
I had made countless promises throughout my life.
Promises to my soldiers.
Promises to the King.
Promises to myself.
But I had never promised a child anything.
Still, when I looked into her frightened eyes, I found myself raising my hand and gently placing it on her head.
“I promise.”
The moment I said those words, a sharp pain suddenly struck my head.
I gasped.
Memories flashed through my mind.
Memories of Roselle and this little girl.
I saw them together.
The memories came one after another, flooding my mind before disappearing just as quickly.
I blinked several times.
My breathing had become uneven.
I looked down at the child again.
My daughter.
That was what the memories were telling me.
She was Roselle’s daughter.
And now my daughter.
I didn’t know her name yet.
I didn’t know what she liked, what frightened her, or what made her laugh.
But somehow, my body remembered her.
And perhaps that was why holding her suddenly felt less strange.
I slowly wrapped my arms around her.
She immediately hugged me tighter.
I stared over her head at the coffin in the center of the room.
Her father was lying inside it.
The thought suddenly hit me with a force I wasn’t prepared for.
This child had lost her father.
And now she was holding onto the only parent she had left.
I tightened my arms around her.
I had no idea what kind of mother Roselle had been, but one thing was clear from the memories I had just seen.
She had loved this child deeply.
And that only made one question more difficult to answer.
If Roselle truly loved her daughter, then what had pushed her to the point where she decided to end her own life?
How could she have been willing to leave this little girl behind to face the world without her?
I couldn’t understand it.
Not yet.
There were too many questions and far too few answers.
But there was one thing I knew for certain.
Whatever had happened to Roselle, whatever had driven her to that point, I was not her anymore.
And I would not allow anyone to hurt this child.
“Mama,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Is Papa sleeping?.”
I looked toward the coffin.
“Yes,” I said quietly.
“Why won’t he wake up?” she asked.
I didn’t know how to answer.
On the battlefield, there were questions that didn’t need answers.
A dead soldier was dead, there was nothing anyone could do to change that.
But this was different.
This was a child who didn’t understand what death meant.
I looked down at her innocent face before slowly squatting to bring myself to her eye level.
“Your father won’t wake up again.” I said.
Her little face fell.
“Never?”
I swallowed.
“Never.”
She lowered her head against my chest.
A few seconds later, I felt something warm against my dress.
She was crying.
I gently stroked her hair.
I had never been good with comforting words.
My soldiers had always known that.
I could give them orders.
I could lead them into battle.
I could motivate them when fear began to take hold of them.
But comforting a crying child?
That was a completely different battlefield.
So I simply held her.
Her continuous tears brought me great discomfort, especially knowing that I was the one who had caused them.
But I knew she needed to hear the truth.
Eventually, her crying softened.
I looked around the room again.
Nobody was speaking.
But everyone was watching us.
Some looked sympathetic.
Others looked uncomfortable.
And a few seemed almost uninterested.
That caught my attention.
Why?
If this was truly a grieving family, shouldn’t they all be mourning?
Instead, they were watching one another.
My instincts immediately returned.
I looked at the men around the room, paying attention to their expressions and movements.
Then I looked down at my daughter.
She had stopped crying, but her small hands were still tightly gripping my dress.
Suddenly, a terrifying thought crossed my mind.
What if Roselle hadn’t only been afraid because her husband was dead?
What if she had been afraid because of what would happen afterward?
I lowered my voice.
“Are you afraid?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she looked toward the other side of the room.
I followed her gaze.
An older man stood there.
He was dressed entirely in black, with a stern expression on his face.
The moment our eyes met, he quickly looked away.
Interesting.
I filed that away in my mind.
Someone approached us.
“Mrs. DeLuca.”
I turned.
It was the same man who had greeted me earlier.
His eyes briefly moved toward the child before returning to me.
“Your daughter should be taken somewhere else. She doesn’t need to be here for what comes next.”
My eyes narrowed.
“What comes next?”
He hesitated for a moment.
Then he answered.
“The Belladonna Family.”