/-Unknown pov-/
"I'll die at this rate," Queen Isolde croaked, her eyes rolling back as unwanted pleasure sparked through her limbs. Her tits were scraping against the soft fabric of her torn nightgown. It made her nipples harden with each deep thrust.
No. She didn't want this.
But when King Aldrich saw that pleasure, despite her resistance, had begun to chase through her slit, he reached down and rolled the stiff nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger.
A strangled scream burst from Queen Isolde's throat as the pleasure crashed through her. King Aldrich grunted, his hips jerking in uneven thrusts as he spilled himself inside her.
King Aldrich heaved. He only pulled back when his cock softened inside her. Then he leaned close to her ear.
"Don't ever cross me like that again," he said.
Queen Isolde kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling.
After a long silence, Aldrich muttered, "I'm going to see Kaelynn tomorrow."
Her eyes snapped towards him.
King Aldrich saw her reaction and sighed. His anger had faded now so he moved beside her and gently pulled her into his arms.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "You know I don't mean to hurt you. You're my queen… my heart, Isolde."
He stroked her hair, whispering soft things in her ear.
Sweet things.
Queen Isolde nodded slowly.
For hours, she waited quietly with eyes wide open. Immediately the King's breathing grew deeper, she leaned over him and placed her hand under his nose.
He was fast asleep.
Queen Isolde slid her arm from under his and slowly sat up in bed. She touched the bruises on her thighs and winced, but she bit her lip to keep herself from making noise.
"Bastard." She cursed silently. Then she stood on shaky legs and limped towards the door.
Unfortunately, Queen Isolde forgot to shut the door behind her.
King Aldrich's eyes snapped open.
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/-Kaelynn's pov-/
No one remembered the last time a bird landed on the spires of Veldera.
Veldera stood tall with cold towers and stone gargoyles, built to touch the Creator—but underneath, it groaned.
They called it the Last Great City, the Heart of the Veil, the Crown of the Creator built on holy ground.
I didn't know who started that lie, but it was one they loved to repeat in Castle Court—especially when the nobles wanted to feel important.
I had lived in Veldera all my life, and if there was anything I'd learned, it was this:
Veldera wasn't built on holy ground. It was built on bones. Cracked skulls. Dried veins and forgotten names. It was just a dying kingdom pretending it wasn't already rotting from the inside out.
I was born on the night of the Blood Eclipse—the same night the Veil cracked for the second time in a century. The first time since my grandfather, King Alias, sacrificed his firstborn daughter to the Creator.
The midwives, sent by the Pale Lady, ordered Queen Isolde to bury me before dawn. She said I would bring ruin to the realm.
But Queen Isolde didn't obey. Instead, she killed every last one of them to buy their silence, assigned three courtiers to raise me in secret, and told the court I was dead.
Locked away for twenty-three years, the only escape I ever knew was gravity.
Blood splattered. Skull opened. Vultures ready to feast.
Yet that fateful day… I woke to the sound of my door creaking open.
"...Princess, the King is dead."
At first, I thought I was dreaming. I stared at the window, expecting their voices to fade. But they didn't.
The words just hung there in the air, and that was when I turned.
Evangra. Nephroma. Syrr.
The three of them always stood together like they shared one spine. They were Queen Isolde's chosen, and trusted courtiers assigned to me the day I was born. More eyes and ears than caretakers.
Their job wasn't to care for me. It was to watch me. To report anything unusual.
Which, in my case, meant everything.
They were always dressed in deep grey, always carried the scent of burnt incense, and always spoke like they were rehearsing for a sermon.
"Did you hear us?" they asked in unison.
"Yes," I said, pushing myself up slowly. "I heard you."
My fingers started twitching. I looked down at the bruises on my hands. Some had faded into a sickly yellow-green, but others were still fresh. Without thinking, I dug my nails into the fresh scab around my knuckles. It tore easily, with blood just beneath the surface.
I kept peeling.
It hurt, but at least it gave me something to focus on.
My eyes watered. I hadn't planned for that.
No. I hadn't wanted him to die. But the more I thought about it, the more the tears streamed down my cheeks.
I was never a pretty crier.
The women just stood there like statues, watching me bawl ugly and loud. The kind of crying I hadn't done since I was a child.
Snot trailed down my nose, right into my mouth, and I licked it all in.
Nephroma let out a sigh. "She needs to be made ready."
"For the First Recognition and Memorial," Evangra added without looking at me.
"Evangra, it's your turn to tend to her. You know what to do," Syrr said flatly.
I blinked through my tears. "Wait… what? Why would I be part of that?"
Did they forget I was supposed to be dead to the world?
Syrr's voice tightened. "It's tradition."
"And Queen Isolde permits it," Nephroma added with a stiff nod.
Immediately, the temperature in the room dropped colder than usual.
No, no, no… It wasn't just the wind slipping through the thin walls of my bedroom. It was just the mention of my mother that made my whole body tense.
I could see her cold blue eyes and thin mouth in my mind. I hadn't seen her in years, but somehow she still made every decision for me.
I glanced down at my wounds.