I listened to everything they told me.
I have nothing left to lose.
If I play my game well, I will win.
If the root of a tree is destroyed, how will the leaves survive? If I kill him, I can raise an army with the human king and end this curse for good. I can burn this estate to ash and scatter its remains to the four winds.
But first—I think you should hear his beginning. You may say it is not useful, but I must tell you how deep his root runs, so that I may cut it clean.
---
King Mortifer. Tenebrarum's dear father.
After his marriage, travelled to war—and they claim he met an angel. But I would call that angel Lucifer. For only the devil could birth such a cursed child into this world.
She and Mortifer lay together, and from their union came a forbidden child—just as the old stories said, when dark creatures were first born from fallen angels who found interest in mortal women. The heavens sent her to destroy the dark creatures entirely, to erase the mistake that should never have been made. But she fell in love with Mortifer instead. And from that love, this curse was born.
She died when Tenebrarum was young.
Now I know why his heart is like stone.
But never worry.
I will drag it out of his chest and make him useless.
---
Silence settled over the chamber. The healers watched me, waiting for my reaction.
I gave them none... what should I say?
Flavia.
I saw her face—small, brave, defiant. I heard her voice: "Aurelia... we can escape."
Her hope.
A tear escaped before I could stop it. It traced a cold path down my cheek, catching the lamplight like a tiny, fragile jewel. I hated it. I hated myself for letting it fall.
I wiped it away quickly, roughly, as if it had burned me. My palm came away damp. I pressed my fingers into my palm, willing the weakness to stop.
Flavia would not want this.
She would want me to fight. She would want me to rise. She would want me to carve Tenebrarum's heart from his chest and lay it at her grave. She would want me to tell the world I am not weak.
I straightened my spine. I lifted my chin.
"Tell me more," I said, I don't know what I'm saying but my lip could not close. "Tell me everything you know about that monster."
But the healers did not speak. They watched me like I was insane... like they pitied me!
Pity?
I did not need their pity. I needed their knowledge. I needed their weapons.
I opened my mouth to demand answers—when the memory struck again.
---
"Aurelia, we have to go!" Flavia wept, tugging at me. Her small fingers were cold against my arm, her eyes wide with terror.
I gripped her arms, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes were hollow.
"Listen to me," I said. "I swear by Father's shade, by all the gods, I will get you out. But you must go to her. Now."
I saw the struggle—the last flare of her spirit, then the dreadful, sinking surrender. She gave a tiny, broken nod.
She walked to the carriage.
She walked to her death.
I sent her there.
---
The memory played behind my eyes like a living nightmare. I could still feel her arm beneath my fingers. I could still hear her voice—small, trembling, trusting me.
I can't even trust myself.
"I swear by Father's shade, by all the gods, I will get you out."
I had sworn. I had promised. And I had sent her back to our mother's clutches.
It was my fault. All of it. My plan. My promise. My failure.
If I had not made that vow, if I had not let her go, she would still be alive. She would still be breathing. She would still be here, her small hand in mine, her laughter filling the silence.
I killed her.
The thought was a blade twisting in my chest. My eyes burned.
I blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. The pain grounded me.
F
I stood in the silence of my own thoughts, steadying my breath.
I would make them pay. Every last one of them.
---
Then I heard the door twist.
A guard entered—tall, clad in plain black, his face as expressionless as the stone walls behind him.
"Our lord, in his merciful kindness, has chosen to forgive you. He has set a private room for you where you shall be tended to well and fed, for you are too lean for his taste. After that, you shall join him in his private dinner—designed for just you and him. This way, my lady."
So soon?
Yes. Yes.
I forced my face into a mask of gratitude, bowing low. "I will be extremely grateful. I will serve the lord with all my heart."
I moved toward the door—one step, then two—when the guard's hand shot out. He grabbed my broken finger and twisted.
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
The scream tore from my throat, raw and ragged. Tears flooded my eyes, blurring the world into a haze of pain and fire.
The guard released me. I cradled my hand, sobbing, waiting for the agony to consume me—
But it did not.
Slowly, the pain ebbed. My finger straightened. The bone mended. The flesh knit itself together as if it had never been broken.
"Your finger is healed," the guard said, his voice dripping with mockery, "as ordered by the master."
I stared at my hand, my tears still wet on my cheeks.
How?
"Don't be amazed," the guard continued, a cruel smile curling his lips. "We still have power—unlike these ones who have lost everything. Or should I say the dogs, just as the master says?"
He laughed, glancing at the healers who had helped me.
"I am grateful," I said, my voice steady despite the fire in my chest. "Lead the way."
---
The guard turned and walked.
I followed.
---
"This is your chamber."
After a long march through winding corridors, we halted before an arched door carved with vines and blooming roses. The guard pushed it open and stepped aside.
I entered.
By the gods...
This... this is beautiful.
My breath caught in my throat. The chamber was not vast, but it was fair—walls painted in soft cream, a bed draped in linen white as fresh snow, a small hearth where flames danced and crackled. A vase of fresh lilies sat upon the windowsill, their petals still wet with morning dew.
It reminded me of home.
When Father still drew breath, my room had been much the same. Not so grand, perhaps, but warm. Safe. A place where I could rest my head and dream of brighter days.
Memories flooded me like a rising tide.
---
I was small again—perhaps six summers old. The room was newly painted, the air thick with the scent of wood and fresh linen.
"Father! I love it!" I had flung my arms about his neck, pressing my face into his shoulder. He smelled of leather and oak and the faint sweetness of wine.
He laughed—a warm, rumbling sound I had not heard in years. "Oh, my brave little one. You deserve all the finest things."
He had lifted me onto his shoulders, and together we had thrown wide the window. The garden sprawled below—a riot of roses and lavender, of fountains and trimmed hedges. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson.
"One day," he had said, "you shall have a garden even more splendid than this. And I shall sit beside you and watch you tend it."
That day never came.
---
I blinked.
The memory dissolved, leaving only the cold ache of absence.
I turned to the guards.
"Open the windows," I commanded.
They rushed to obey, throwing wide the shutters. I hurried to the sill, my heart pounding with foolish hope—perhaps there would be a garden. Perhaps there would be flowers. Perhaps—
There was nothing.
Only an endless, empty sky, and a drop so sheer that the ground below was swallowed by shadow. No garden. No home.
To leap from this height would be to embrace certain death.
What was I thinking?
This place would never be like home. It would never be anything but a gilded cage.
---
"My lady," one of the guards said, bowing stiffly. "We shall leave you to them. They will attend to you and prepare you for the dinner."
I turned.
Three women stood in the doorway, each bearing a basin of steaming water. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes downcast.
I was to be bathed. Adorned. Made beautiful for the beast.
I'll be his beauty. And he'll be the beast.
For tonight.
"My lady the water is ready...it time to get cleased. Our master commanded certain ways you should be washed..."
"I'm ready."
---
To be continued...