WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book One: The Unblooded Lamb
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CONTENT WARNING: This series contains explicit sexual violence, human sacrifice, psychological torture, murder of innocent characters (including children and family members), ritualistic killing, and extreme horror. No character is safe. Read at your own risk.
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Chapter Twenty: The Confrontation
Year 8 – Eleven Months After the Fourteenth Sacrifice
The castle was holding its breath.
Not literally—people still breathed, still moved, still went about their daily routines. But the spirit of the place had frozen. Every interaction was strained. Every conversation was careful. Every glance was loaded with meaning that no one dared to speak aloud.
The servants had started leaving offerings.
Not to the gods—to the princess.
A piece of bread here. A cup of milk there. Small things, left in the corridors where she walked, as if to appease something they could not name.
Liora accepted these offerings without comment.
She did not need them. The dark fed her now, more than bread or milk ever could. But she appreciated the gesture.
They know, she thought. Not what I am. Not yet. But they know I am dangerous.
And they are trying to buy my mercy.
Fools.
There was no mercy in her.
There never had been.
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Darian – The Plan
Darian had stopped sleeping.
He lay in his bed each night, staring at the ceiling, running through possibilities. What could he do? Who could he tell? How could he stop her?
His journal was full now. Names. Dates. Observations. The symbols in the cellar. The smell of smoke in the mornings. The way the princess looked at people—like they were things.
He had proof.
Not proof that would hold up in a court—the symbols meant nothing to anyone who hadn't seen what he had seen. But proof in his own mind.
Certainty.
And certainty, he had decided, was enough.
He was going to confront her.
Not in public—that would give her time to prepare, to lie, to twist the truth. In private. In the library, where they had played as children. Where she might be caught off guard.
He would ask her directly.
What are you doing in the cellar?
Who are you killing?
What have you become?
And he would watch her eyes.
The eyes never lied.
Not even hers.
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Liora – The Awareness
She knew Darian was planning something.
She could feel it. The way he looked at her. The way he avoided her. The way he jumped when she entered a room.
He's going to confront me, she thought.
Soon.
Probably today.
Probably in the library.
She was not afraid.
She was curious.
What would he say? What would he accuse her of? What would he do when she denied everything?
Would he scream? Would he cry? Would he run to their mother?
It didn't matter.
None of it mattered.
She was fourteen sacrifices in. The dark was part of her. No one could stop her.
But she would have to be careful.
Darian was not stupid. He would not come without some kind of plan. Some kind of evidence. Some kind of trap.
She would need to be ready.
Not to fight—fighting would reveal too much.
To deflect.
To deny.
To smile.
The mask had never failed her before.
It would not fail her now.
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The Library – Afternoon
Darian found her in the library, as he had known he would.
She was sitting by the fireplace, reading a book of fairy tales. Her dress was white. Her hair was braided. Her face was soft and sweet and completely ordinary.
She's pretending, he thought.
She's always pretending.
He closed the door behind him.
Liora looked up.
"Darian. What a surprise."
"We need to talk."
She set down her book. She folded her hands in her lap. She tilted her head.
"About what?"
"About the cellar."
For a moment—just a moment—he saw something flicker in her eyes. Something cold. Something old.
Then it was gone.
"The cellar?" she said. "I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do. I've seen you go there at night. I've seen you lead people there. People who never come back."
Liora looked at him for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
"Darian, I'm eight years old. What could I possibly be doing in a cellar?"
"I don't know. But I know you're doing something. I've seen the symbols on the floor. The darkness in the stones. The smell."
She stood up.
She walked toward him.
He did not back away.
"The symbols," she said, "are old. Older than the castle. Older than our family. I didn't put them there."
"Then who did?"
"I don't know. But I'm trying to find out."
Darian shook his head.
"I don't believe you."
"That's your choice."
She walked past him, toward the door.
"Liora."
She stopped.
"I'm going to stop you," he said. "Whatever you're doing. Whatever you've become. I'm going to stop you."
She turned.
She smiled.
"No," she said. "You're not."
She left.
Darian stood in the library, his heart pounding, his hands shaking.
She admitted it, he thought. Not in words. But in her eyes.
She admitted everything.
He had to tell someone.
Anyone.
Before it was too late.
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Queen Elara – The Accusation
Darian went to his mother that evening.
He found her in her chambers, alone, staring out the window at the setting sun.
"Mother."
She turned.
"Darian. What is it?"
"I need to tell you something. About Liora."
The queen's face tightened.
"What about her?"
"She's hurting people. She's been hurting people for months. Maybe longer."
The queen stared at him.
"Darian, that's a terrible thing to say about your sister."
"I know it is. But it's true. I've seen her. I've followed her. She leads people to the old cellar, and they don't come out."
The queen's hands began to shake.
"You have proof of this?"
"I have my eyes. I have my memory. I have the symbols in the cellar—"
"Symbols?"
"Burned into the floor. Old symbols. Dark symbols. She's doing something down there. Something magic."
The queen was silent for a long moment.
Then she said, "You're tired. You haven't been sleeping. You're imagining things."
"I'm not imagining—"
"Enough."
Her voice was sharp.
"I will not hear my son accuse his sister of such terrible things without proof. Real proof. Not dreams and symbols and feelings."
Darian stared at her.
"Mother—"
"Enough," she said again. "Go to bed. Get some rest. We'll speak of this no more."
Darian stood in the doorway, his heart pounding.
She doesn't believe me, he thought.
She doesn't want to believe me.
No one ever wants to believe.
He turned and left.
He did not go to bed.
He went to the library.
He had a journal to write.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Darian had confronted her.
Their mother had refused to listen.
Predictable, she thought. People always believe the mask. They want to believe the mask. The truth is too terrible.
She was safe.
For now.
But Darian would not stop. He would keep watching. Keep following. Keep gathering evidence.
Eventually, he would find something he could use.
Unless—
She stopped the thought.
No. Not yet. Killing him would raise too many questions.
But I need to do something.
I need to distract him.
Give him something else to think about.
She thought for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
Perfect, she thought.
He wants to protect people.
I'll give him someone to protect.
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The Fifteenth Victim
She chose carefully.
A young woman. A servant in the castle, new to her position, unfamiliar with the rhythms and routines of the place. Her name was Elara—another coincidence, another echo.
She was vulnerable.
And she worked in the east wing.
Near the cellar.
Liora approached her in the corridor, late at night, when the other servants had gone to bed.
"Elara?"
The young woman turned.
"Your Highness?"
"I need your help."
"Of course. What can I do?"
"There's something in the old cellar," Liora said, widening her eyes. "Something that scares me. I heard noises. Scratching. Whispers."
Elara frowned.
"The old cellar? I've been told to stay away from there."
"I know. But I'm scared. And you're so brave. I thought maybe you could come with me. Just to see what it is."
Elara hesitated.
"I don't know—"
"I'll pay you," Liora said. "Gold. Enough to send to your family."
She held up a silver coin.
Elara looked at the coin. Looked at the child. Looked at the coin again.
"All right," she said. "But just a quick look."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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The Fifteenth Cellar
The same door. The same key. The same stairs.
Elara walked down.
Liora closed the door.
The lock clicked.
"Your Highness?" Elara called up. "What's going on?"
Liora did not answer.
"YOUR HIGHNESS?"
Silence.
She heard the young woman moving down there. Footsteps. A curse. A gasp.
"LET ME OUT!"
Liora sat on the top step and waited.
Patience.
Always patience.
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The Fifteenth Ritual
She waited only an hour.
Elara was young, but she was not a fighter. Her screams were desperate, not furious. Her pounding was frantic, not strong.
By the time Liora descended the stairs, the woman was already weeping.
"Please," Elara said. "I have a family. They need me."
Liora set down her lantern.
She opened her book.
"Then you shouldn't have followed a stranger into a cellar."
"Please—"
She was faster.
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The Power – Fifteen
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Fifteen sacrifices. Fifteen souls. Fifteen streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They came faster now. More eagerly. They wrapped around her arms, her throat, her face. She could feel them inside her, in her lungs, in her stomach, in her mind.
More, they whispered. We need more.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A servant. Young. Vulnerable. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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Darian – The Morning
Darian heard about the disappearance at breakfast.
Another servant. Another woman. Another name added to the list in his head.
Fifteen, he thought.
Fifteen people.
And no one is doing anything.
He looked at his sister.
She was eating porridge. Smiling at their mother. Pretending to be normal.
I know what you are, he thought.
I know what you've done.
And I will stop you.
I swear it.
Liora looked up.
She met his eyes.
She smiled.
Darian looked away.
He ate his breakfast.
He kept his mouth shut.
But he did not stop watching.
Neither did she.
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End of Chapter Twenty