It was foolish to see her here.
She looked exactly like my mother—the same sharp eyes, the same cruel curve of the lips. But I would never call that woman mother. She had taken everything from me. My father. My home. My innocence.
So what was Carla doing here?
Had she heard of my capture and come to pour salt upon my burning wounds? To gloat? To laugh at my downfall?
"Aurelia, I am so happy to see you."
I sat in silence, hopeless. Did I even have the strength to stand? My legs felt heavy as stone. My whole body ached. I was losing too much blood.
"Do you miss me, Aurelia?" Carla's voice was soft, almost pleading. "I cannot pass these gates, but I brought medicine and bandages for your wound."
"And of what good is that?" I spat, my voice weak but venomous. "Have you come—or were you sent by that witch to laugh at me? Has your mother sent you here to watch me fail?"
"What is wrong with you, Aurelia?" Carla dropped the basket, her hands trembling. "I suffered to see you. Do you know how many dark creatures I lay with today just to get past the gates? Seven. It was painful and degrading, and I—"
"I never asked for that!" I screamed, the effort tearing at my throat. "You are a whore! What difference does it make if you spread your legs for others? Your maidenhead is already lost!"
Carla's face twisted—hurt, then anger, then cold fury.
"Really?" she said, her voice sharp as a blade. "You are always like this. Foolish. Stupid and Dumb."
I ignored her, pressing my hand against my bleeding neck. The wound was deep. The blood would not stop.
Carla watched me for a long moment. Then she sighed, kneeling beside the cage.
"I did not come here to fight with you, Aurelia. I came to save your life."
She reached through the bars, a small vial of dark liquid in her hand that she barely passed because of the cage I was put in.
"Drink this. It will stop the bleeding."
I stared at the vial.
"Why?" I whispered. "Why would you help me?"
Carla's eyes softened—just for a moment.
"Because you are my sister," she said. "And despite everything... I still love you."
"I care not for you," I said, my voice cold as the grave. "So do not call me your sister. Get out of here. My only sister is dead."
"Aurelia? You think mother hates us..."
"No," I cut her off before she could speak another word. "She hates me."
"Mother loved us," Carla said, her voice tight with frustration. "In her own way, of course. The dark creatures had taken over the whole kingdom. She had to think fast. If humans cannot fight them, we join them. You are just too stupid to see it. How could you even try to kill THE LORD TENEBRARUM?"
"At least I have done something," I snarled. "What have you done?"
Calra's eyes flashed. "Aurelia... doing nothing is better than doing nonsense."
She threw the vial through the bars. It clattered against the stone floor beside me.
"If you like, treat yourself," she said, her voice cold now. "Or die. It is in your hands."
She turned and walked away—her footsteps fading into the darkness.
Treat yourself or die!
The words rang triple in my ear.
Die....yes I want too.... I'm too weak.
So stupid...if only Flavia was here....she was the brain box.
Is death not better than the useless life I live....
If only the heavens ma...may....may hear... just take me.... take me home.
Please.... I laid there....my body loosing warmth slowly..
I closed my eyes pretending to be dead.
....
TENEBRARUM POV...
My hands tore through the scattered scrolls like claws through flesh. Parchment ripped. Ink spilled. The mess meant nothing to me. Nothing meant anything when I was surrounded by incompetence.
How many messages?
How many demands?
CAN THE PALACE FUNCTION WITHOUT ME?
I slammed my fist against the table. The wood cracked. Good. Let it break. Let everything break.
I cannot take this....
"Master..." a voice whimpered from the doorway.
I did not turn. "What is it, fool?"
"My lord... I... I—"
"I what?"
The servant trembled violently, his knees knocking together like stones in a river. "Sir... you are not called to the palace for the war between the—"
"Then what was I called for?" I spun, my golden eyes burning into his soul. He flinched bowing immediately as if I had struck him. Oh his trying to escape not turning to stone.
"Our king..." he bowed so low his forehead scraped the floor. "Your father is dying. You must take your place as king. You need—"
"I know what I need!" I roared, my voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "To tolerate those bloated dukes! Those fat merchant lords! Those countesses with their painted faces and their wheedling daughters! The useless elders of this kingdom who have never lifted a sword in their miserable lives!"
"My lord, those are the patterns to follow—"
"Patterns?" I laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "I will stay here. When Mortifer finally chokes on his last breath, I shall take my place. Who can challenge me? My brothers?" I sat back, my fingers tracing the maps before me. "I will kill them. I will gut them like pigs and hang their entrails from the palace gates."
The servant whimpered. "Sir, shall I leave—"
"Are you a fool? If you have no use, LEAVE!"
He fled.
I closed my eyes, forcing the rage to settle. Humans are growing stronger. The new king is bold. If only my father would die faster and let a true king rule.
"Sir?"
I did not open my eyes. "Vasile?"
"Master... your mistress Cornelia is at the door."
"Don't let her—"
The door swung open.
She entered like a shadow given flesh. Her black robe clung to her body like a second skin. Thin. Translucent. I could see the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the dark triangle between her thighs.
Vasile bowed and retreated, leaving us alone.
She knew when to come.
She always knew.
"My lord."
"I have work to do."
She crossed the room slowly—deliberately. Her hips swayed with every step. Her bare feet made no sound on the marble floor. She reached me, and her fingers found my mask.
"I said I am—"
Her lips found my neck. She kissed the tender skin beneath my jaw, her tongue tracing the line of my throat.
She had no respect.
I would discipline her for this.
"My lord," she breathed against my skin, her hand sliding beneath my tunic, "I want something from you."
I grabbed her wrist. Squeezed. Hard.
She gasped—a sharp, broken sound. But her eyes did not widen with pain. They glowed with hunger.
"What do you want?" I forced her jaw up, my fingers digging into her flesh. "Speak."
"My lord... I want you to forgive the new human. The one in the dungeon."
"Forgive her?" I tilted my head. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I think you will enjoy her." Her lips scattered across mine, soft and demanding.
"I will punish you if you do not leave now."
"Forgive me, my lord, but I just discovered something." She settled onto my thigh, her legs parting, her wet heat pressing against my leg through the thin fabric. Her lips trailed down my jaw, my neck. "She is the daughter of Lucretia. The great human whore."
I went still.
Her mouth found my ear. "You know... I tasted her mother once. She was perfect on the bed. She could take a clit like no other. She would scream and beg and thank me for every inch. She also knows to be great for cocks."
"You come here to scream to me how worthless your old life was?"
"I wanted freedom," she said, her voice softening. "My father is a duke. You granted me that, and I am grateful. But you promised me everything I desired. I want her, my lord. I want her to lick my clit until I scream. I want to feel her tongue inside me. I want to ride her face until she drowns in my pleasure. I hope she is as skilled as her mother."
Something stirred in my chest. Thinking of this ...Lucretia...is known to have great skills.
"Vasile."
I did not shout. I simply spoke his name. And he appeared in the doorway, eyes closed, head bowed kissing the floor.
"Release the slave."
"Master, we have many slaves—"
"The one in the dungeon."
He ran. I could hear his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
I picked up my mask and placed it back over my face. The cold metal against my skin grounded me.
"And if that is all..." I touched her skin—soft, delicate, warm. "Leave."
"My lord, I have a gift for you."
Her hands found the clasp of her robe. The fabric slid from her shoulders.
It pooled at her feet.
She stood before me, naked. Pale skin glowing in the candlelight. Her breasts were small, perfectly shaped—each nipple a dark peak, hard and eager. Her waist curved inward, her hips flared wide. Her belly was flat, smooth. And between her thighs—the dark curls were gone. She had cleared the field. They were bare, pink and wet.
She was beautiful.
I felt the stir of desire. My instinct awakened.
"I have a whole kingdom ahead of me," I said, my voice low. "To be king, I must remain... focused."
"Ahead of you, my lord?" She stepped closer, her body brushing against mine. "I am before you. One inch away. And I will kneel for you. No matter how sweet you are."
Sweet.
I am no sweet. In all my thousands of encounters, I have been called many things. Please, don't kill me. No, I am dying. Some lay silent in terror. Some die before I reach my peak. Mistakes happen. Some turn to stone.
So no. I am not sweet young lady.
"If that is what you claim to want," I said, my voice flat as stone, "then fine. I shall gift you."
I grabbed her hair. Twisted it in my fist. I snapped her head against the table.
She screamed.
I didn't care.
I dropped my trousers. My cock sprang free—hard, thick, demanding.
I did not wait. I gave her no time to prepare. I thrust inside her with one brutal motion.
"AHHHHHHH!"
Her scream filled the chamber. Her body arched against the table, her fingers clawing at the wood. I could feel her tightness around me, her wet heat, her desperate clenching.
In. Out. In. Out.
I fucked her like she was nothing. She is obviously nothing.
Our skin slapped together—wet, raw, relentless. The sound echoed off the walls. Her breasts bounced with every thrust. Her head thrashed, her cries filling the air.
She screamed and screamed.
But I felt nothing.
No pleasure. Only the mechanical motion of a man fulfilling a task.
I was not moved.
I stopped. I pulled out. I dragged her from the table by her hair, her face scraping against the stone floor.
"I am sorry! I am sorry, my lord! I did not plan to disappoint you! I—"
"Get. Out."
"Yes, my lord. I shall practice. I shall prove my love for you—"
She grabbed her robe and fled.
I stood alone, my body still hard, my mind cold.
Love.
Is there such a thing?
Love is a story. A lie whispered to make fools believe. It is nothing but pain and frustration dressed in silk. I have heard it from thousands of women. But love is like a breeze—it comes with seasons. And seasons always end.
I turned back to my papers.
But her words lingered.
Daughter of Lucretia.
The great human whore.
And her daughter was now in my dungeon.
Perhaps I should see what she could do. What she could offer.
---
Vasile returned, breathless.
"Master, the slave has been brought to your chambers, as you commanded."
I did not look up.
"Good."
I would make her serve me.
And if she failed—
I would make her scream.
---
To be continued...