Chapter 58 – Shadows Stir
Somewhere, two days earlier…
The chamber was dim, lit only by the orange flicker of braziers set into the carved stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of burning resin and something coppery—blood, faint but unmistakable. Upon a throne-like chair of blackened iron lounged a man whose presence seemed to darken the very air.
His voice was slow and amused.
"So… that useless waste actually awakened?" His fingers drummed lazily on the armrest, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "Hmph. I don't need her anymore. To think Ocean's bloodline flowed so strongly through the mother, yet I wasted time chasing the daughter… tch." He exhaled through his nose. "If I had known the mother carried such potential, I would never have bothered with that pathetic girl."
A shadowy figure—head bowed, draped in servant's garb—spoke softly, respectful to the point of trembling.
"My lord… a second bloodline source may serve as insurance. Even the weaker branches have value, should the first fail."
The man leaned forward, eyes gleaming with an unnatural hunger. "Mmm… you're right. Another thread of bloodline to weave into mine… it never hurts to have extra."
"Where did the signal come from?"
"The borderlands, my lord. Between Iridale and the Aurith kingdom. A small, nameless village—Velkarth."
"Velkarth?" The man scoffed, rolling the name on his tongue like spoiled wine. "Never heard of it. Did she run so far? Hiding in a forgotten hole and trembling like a rat?" He chuckled low in his throat. "Amusing."
His gaze sharpened suddenly. "Where is my third child, Veynar?"
The servant hesitated. "…My lord, Prince Veynar is your fourth child."
A flicker of irritation crossed his face, then faded into mocking laughter. "Ah… yes. I forgot about that worthless second-born girl. Tch. Elves… females are always said to be stronger, yet every female I take proves weaker than the last. Is it their fault? Or am I simply too powerful for them to endure?" His teeth bared in a grin—half humor, half cruelty.
He waved his hand dismissively. "Tell Veynar of this girl. He's had been… interested, hasn't he? Then let him play. Anything he wants—break her, ruin her—so long as she breathes. Her bloodline must remain intact."
The servant bowed deeply. "I will deliver your command to Prince Veynar at once."
"Good." His tongue flicked over his lips as though savoring a taste yet to come. "Now… the blue-haired one. Her blood sings like thunder. Is she ready for another infusion tonight?"
The servant swallowed. "My lord, forgive me… but if we attempt another extraction so soon, her body will fail. She has not yet recovered. Three days at least are needed, or she will die."
For a moment, silence. Then the man leaned back in his chair, laughter rumbling.
"Fine, fine. I still have use for that bitch. Inform me the moment she's strong enough to bleed again." His gaze burned with predatory hunger, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Her suffering makes the taste all the sweeter."
The servant bowed until his forehead nearly touched the floor, then retreated into the shadows.
Alone, the man lounged once more, the flicker of firelight glinting off his smile. He looked less like a ruler upon a throne and more like a beast waiting to feed.
---
The servant hurried down the long corridor, boots clicking against polished black stone. He reached a tall door carved with twisting vines and knocked sharply, bowing his head.
"Who disturbs me?" came a lazy, muffled voice from within.
"My prince, Lord Thalmyr has sent a message… to be delivered directly to you."
There was a pause, followed by the rustling of sheets. The door opened a fraction, then wider, revealing Prince Veynar.
He was tall, lean, and elegant in form, with sharp features framed by long green hair that fell in untamed strands about his shoulders. His ears, longer than most elves, twitched slightly as he studied the servant. His emerald eyes gleamed unnaturally bright, carrying both intelligence and a dangerous hunger. His pale, fair complexion glowed in the torchlight, though his attire was anything but regal—only a loose night-robe hung across his shoulders, carelessly tied.
Behind him, on the grand bed of silk and furs, a maid lay sprawled half-naked, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath, flushed and disheveled.
Veynar's lips curved into an amused smirk. "Father sent me a message? Hah. Now that is rare." He stepped into the doorway, stretching like a cat, then fixed the servant with a sharp look. "Speak. What does he want?"
The servant lowered his gaze respectfully. "My lord has instructed the prince to bring back Liraen Vaerune. She was last traced to a village named Velkarth, on the borders of Iridale and Aurith."
At the sound of the name, Veynar froze. His expression sharpened, then twisted into something darker. His eyes lit up.
"Lirael…" he whispered, almost tasting the word. A ripple of lust crossed his features. "That bitch… If only Father had allowed me my way before, she would never have escaped. Do you know how long I've hungered to—" He cut himself off, exhaling through a slow, shuddering laugh. His lips parted in something close to reverence, but twisted with desire. "Mmm. How I miss her struggles."
The servant swallowed but continued dutifully. "This time, my lord has given his blessing. You may do as you please with her… on the condition she is kept alive."
Veynar's grin widened into a feral sneer, his sharp canines flashing in the torchlight. L
"Alive? Oh, she'll live. I'll make sure of that. Broken, but breathing. I'll savor every scream and shudder… Father was right to give her to me." He licked his lips slowly, as though already savoring the memory of what was to come.
He straightened suddenly, the air around him charged with dangerous energy. "Gather the scouts. Prepare a fast unit. Velkarth will be nothing more than a trap she's walked into." His eyes glowed with hunger. "And this time… she won't run."
The servant bowed deeply, relief and dread mingling on his face. "At once, my prince."
As the servant departed, Veynar glanced back at the panting maid on his bed, his grin cruel. "Did you hear that? Seems my entertainment is about to improve. But worry not…" His voice dripped like poisoned honey. "…I'll still find use for you until then."
The maid shivered, pulling the sheets tighter, while Veynar's laughter echoed down the corridor long after the door slammed shut.
---
Present day… Velkarth Village.
The quiet bustle of the marketplace filled the air—vendors calling out prices, the smell of baked bread mingling with the sharper tang of tanned leather, children weaving between stalls with laughter on their lips. Ethan walked confidently through the crowd, a small pouch of coins clinking at his belt, his expression set with smug determination.
Beside him, Lirael hurried to match his pace, her silver-blue hair catching the sunlight and eyes narrowed in exasperation.
"Et–M-master!" she hissed, careful not to expose her relation with Ethan, tugging at his sleeve as he stopped to hand over coin to a cloth merchant. "Why are you wasting so much on these… these unnecessary expenses!?"
He turned toward her with a grin that was equal parts mischief and pride, slipping the folded cloth into her arms before she could protest further.
"Unnecessary? No, no…" Ethan wagged a finger playfully, leaning closer so only she could hear. "This is all for my newly appointed maid."
Lirael's cheeks colored faintly, though she quickly masked it with a glare. "Maid…?"
"Yes," Ethan said, smugness dripping from every syllable. "You know, it's one of my fantasies to have this fulfilled. A proper maid, dressed to serve me, attending to my whims." His eyes sparkled with teasing delight as he straightened. "And you, my dear Lirael, need to comply. Because—" He tapped the golden collar around her neck, the faint runes glinting in the light. "—you are now my possession."
The words hung in the air, playful yet edged with something that made her heart stumble for a beat. She clenched the cloth against her chest, glaring harder, but her voice came out softer than intended.
"You… smug bastard."
Ethan only chuckled, enjoying her fluster far too much as he guided her toward the next stall.