Thud!
My head struck stone, and the world swallowed me whole—a plunge into silent, suffocating darkness.
---
I opened my eyes slowly.
The air here was thick—heavy with dust and the ghostly tang of ancient webs. How long had I been unconscious? An hour? A day? I could not guess. Time moved differently in this cursed place, stretching and shrinking like a serpent coiling and uncoiling.
But the smell... gods, the smell. Pungent. Rotten. Like old blood and wet earth and something I dared not name.
Then—something touched me.
"AHHHHHHHH!"
My scream tore through the gloom, ragged and wild.
It was a spider. Fat. Hairy. Legs like twitching needles. It scurried across my arm, and I flung it away with a shudder that rattled my very bones.
Pathetic, I told myself. I am strong. With a sword in hand, I could carve through an entire legion. With proper training, I could bring empires to their knees. But insects? Insects were my undoing.
I remembered, with a sharp pang, how Flavia would laugh at me—her voice like honey and silver, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You would face a demon without flinching, yet a beetle makes you weep? You are so strange, sister."
She was a queen, my Flavia. Even in death, she reigned over my memory.
---
"You are most strange."
The voice came from behind me—dry, mocking, utterly unimpressed.
I spun around. A woman stood in the shadows, arms crossed, one eyebrow arched in disdain. Her hair was dark as river stones, and her eyes held the cold gleam of someone who had seen too much to be surprised by anything.
"Are you insane?" she continued. "Who are you communicating with? A spider?"
"Stay away from me, you dark creature!" I snarled, scrambling to my feet. Dust clung to my robes, my hair, my skin. I must have looked like a ghost risen from a tomb.
The woman snorted. "Before you continue running your mouth, you should know—that is the scroll." She pointed a lazy finger toward the corner, where a weathered parchment lay curled like a sleeping serpent. "Frankly, I am shocked your head is still attached to your neck. You talk far too rudely for someone in a cage."
I followed her gaze.
The scroll.
Tenebrarum's words.
My path forward—or my doom.
My hand closed around it before I could think. The parchment was cold and rough, like the skin of a serpent.
---
I unrolled the papyrus with trembling hands. The ink was rust-red, dried in uneven strokes—as if written in haste, or in blood.
---
I. Thou shalt not speak unless spoken to.
II. Thou shalt remain within thy chambers... unless bidden to leave.
III. Thou shalt serve thy lord upon his bed... until he is satisfied... until he speaks the end. For he is merciful enough to grant thee practice with lesser dark ones... to keep thy body fit for his use.
---
My stomach churned. The letters swam before my eyes.
Serve him upon his bed.
Until he is satisfied.
Satisfied... he'll be satisfied when I end him!
My nails bit into the papyrus, piercing the brittle edge.
Merciful. He even dared to call himself merciful.
---
IV. Thou shalt obey every command thy lord gives.
Obey.
I stared at the scroll for a long, silent moment.
Then I laughed—a sound like breaking glass, like a blade scraping stone.
It echoed off the vaulted ceiling, startling the spiders into the shadows.
Obey?
Serve?
Silence?
No.
I turned to the creature lurking in the doorway.
"I will not perform any of these tasks," I declared, my voice ringing off the stone walls. "Tell your master his jesting has grown tired. I will do no such thing!"
The healer's lips curled—not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "You do not wish to tell him that... unless you have a death wish? Beneath that beautiful face of his lies a heart ruthless and wicked."
"And I do not think your lord would wish to hear that his slave—locked in the room for dogs—dares call her master wicked?"
The creature blinked. Then, slowly, a laugh escaped her throat—dry and brittle as dead leaves crumbling underfoot.
"Room for dogs?" she repeated, her hollow eyes narrowing. "This is a valetudinarium. A place for healers. For those who mend flesh and bone."
I turned slowly, taking in my surroundings for the first time.
Herbs hung from the rafters in drying bundles—lavender, rosemary, something dark and bitter I could not name. Clay jars lined the shelves, their contents a mystery of powders and tinctures. Mortars and pestles sat upon worn tables, stained with the ghosts of crushed roots and ground minerals. The air, once pungent with dust and decay, now carried the faint bitterness of medicinal roots.
This master must be insane.
"That is what your master said," I replied, forcing a cruel smile to my lips. "So you must be the dog, yes? Where are the other hounds?"
Her face changed—a flicker of wounded pride, quickly smothered. Her knobby fingers twitched at her sides, clenching into fists before she forced them still.
I understood now.
There were two kinds of dark creatures. The ones who could transform—beast-like, powerful, their bodies becoming weapons of claw and fang. And the ones like her.
The healers. Lesser and rail. Without their arts, they were as helpless as any mortal.
Unless she were a Supreme Healer—but she did not have the bearing of one.
Just like me.
The only difference was her gift. And if that gift were ever consumed, stripped away...
She would be useless.
Like I am but not for long.
"I will not do this with you, mortal," she hissed, turning her back and retreating deeper into the chamber. Her shoulders were hunched, her steps quick and uneven. A wounded creature retreating to lick its wounds.
I watched her go. And I smiled—a cold, slow smile that curled through me like smoke.
Yes. This was exactly what I needed. A soul who knew the sting of hatred. A creature who understood what it meant to be less than nothing.
And she must know more about Tenebrarum. She had to.
I ran after her.
---
I burst into a wider chamber—a vaulted hall filled with the soft glow of oil lamps and the bitter scent of herbs. Nearly a dozen healers stood among their mortars and bundles of dried roots, their heads snapping toward me as I entered.
"What happened, Octavia? You look pale," one woman said, her eyes raking over me with open contempt. "Is it because King Tenebrarum brought this whore to our—"
She stopped, staring at me.
I imagined slicing her tongue from her mouth. But I held still. She would spit more poison yet. Let her.
"Just let me be," Octavia muttered, moving to her station.
"No," another voice cut in. "Do you know what Tenebrarum called us?"
"Tenebrarum?" a healer chuckled, shaking his head. "You dare call the king by his name?"
"The King Mortifer is not yet dead!" a woman shrieked, her voice cracking with indignation. "He is still crowned!"
But Octavia was not finished. Her voice rose, trembling with fury:
"Dogs. He called us dogs."
I watched the room shift. Faces hardened. Jaws tightened. Hands stilled over their work.
This was going somewhere.
"How could he call us that?" a man demanded, slamming his fist on the table. "We gave our power—our lives—to heal and protect this household! And this is what we receive?"
"He is not even legitimate," another spat, her voice dripping with venom. "He does not deserve the title of crown prince, let alone king."
"Do not say that about our lord!" a young healer cried, her eyes wide with fear.
"Your lord, not mine."
The room erupted into argument—voices clashing like swords, accusations flying like arrows. I stood at the edge, watching, waiting. They knew more about that beast than I did. I could feel it.
But I could not stay silent.
"ENOUGH!"
My voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Everyone fell silent. Twelve pairs of eyes turned to me—some curious, some hostile, some weary.
I drew myself up, my chains clinking softly.
"I will kill Tenebrarum."
Silence.
Then—laughter. Loud, raucous, mocking.
"Young lady," one healer wheezed, choking on his drink, "you arrived at this estate yesterday—and you speak of killing Tenebrarum?"
"You think I am insane?" I said, my voice low and steady. "You think I am mad? I can end this misery for all of you. I will kill him."
Another healer snorted. "You are amusing, I will give you that. But no one—no one—can kill Tenebrarum Mortifer."
"I have promised to kill him. And I will."
"Promised?" A man stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "And what do you think can kill him? Spears? Knives? Swords? He turns people to stone with a glance!"
"I am purple-eyed," I said, lifting my chin. "That curse does not touch me."
The room stirred. Murmurs rippled through the healers like wind through wheat.
"It does not matter," the man pressed. "What do you plan to kill him with?"
I met his gaze.
"Poison."
The room erupted again—but this time, it was not laughter. It was doubt. Skepticism. Pity.
"That is impossible," a woman said flatly. "He has five royal tasters before any food touches his lips. And can poison even kill him? He is ancient. He is powerful."
"I can get close to him," I said, my voice hardening. "I can trick him into taking it. I will play my part well. I will make him trust me."
A healer—a man with sharp eyes and a knowing smirk—stepped forward. His name, I had heard the others call him Valerius. "That will not work."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand.
"Not because of tasters," he said. "Because poison cannot kill him. He does not die."
No.
No, he has to die.
"He will," I whispered. "He must."
"Unless..." the healer murmured, his eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Unless he is in his peak period."
"And what," I said, stepping closer, "is a 'peak period'?"
The room fell silent. Healers exchanged glances. Some looked away. Others smirked.
"You do not know what a peak period is," a woman with sharp features and a cruel smile—Silvia—laughed, "and you wish to kill him?"
I ignored her, my eyes fixed on Valerius. He looked like he had more to offer than jokes.
"A peak period," he said slowly, "is reached by any dark creature—except healers, who are cursed to never feel its pull. It is the moment when a creature reaches its highest level of power. Their strength multiplies. Their senses sharpen. Their very essence becomes a weapon."
"So they lose their power?" I asked, confused.
"No, fool," Silvia snapped. "They are stronger—more powerful than ever. But at that moment... they can be hurt. Weapons can pierce them. Poison can take them. Anything that can kill a dark creature will do so, if they are caught in their peak period."
My heart raced. "And how does one reach this... peak period?"
Valerius's smile turned sharp.
"On a bed. When they are completely satisfied. But few can satisfy him—and fewer still can bring him to that stage."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
On a bed.
Satisfy him.
My stomach churned. I felt the blood drain from my face. I imagined his hands on me—cold, pale, those long fingers that had snapped my finger so easily. I imagined him above me, his red eyes watching me with that cold, indifferent gaze as he took what he wanted. I imagined the weight of him, the heat of him, the violation of it all.
His scent—ash and iron and something ancient—filled my nostrils. His breath on my neck. The sound of his voice, low and cruel, whispering in my ear.
Serve thy lord upon his bed. Until he is satisfied.
My skin crawled. My breath came shallow. My hands shook, and I could not stop them.
I could not. I would not. Lay with that monster? Let him touch me? Use me?
No.
"No," I said aloud, my voice trembling despite myself. The word came out weak, broken. I hated how small I sounded.
Valerius shook his head slowly. "You do not understand. It is not simply a matter of lying with him. He is ancient. He has had centuries of experience. He is not easily pleased. Many have tried to bring him to his peak—and all have failed."
Silvia stepped forward, her arms crossed, her eyes cold. "The pleasure must be genuine. He can sense falsehood. If you are pretending, if you are merely going through the motions, he will know. And he will not reach his peak."
Marcus, another healer, nodded grimly. He was a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his brow to his jaw. "You would have to truly... surrender. To want it. To crave it. That is the only way."
"And you are mortal," Valerius added, his voice flat. "He has taken countless mortals to his bed. None have succeeded. The one who came closest was a woman named Catherine—she lasted three months. She gave herself fully, body and soul. And still, he did not peak."
"Then what happened to her?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Valerius's eyes darkened. "He grew bored. He turned her to stone. She stands in the great hall now, her face frozen in an expression of perfect ecstasy."
The room fell silent.
I stared at him. Flavia's face swam before my eyes. Her small, brave smile. The way she had stood on that auction block and spoken truth to power. My father's ashes. The way he had knelt before me, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes full of pride.
"You are my warrior. I bet on the breaker of Tenebrarum."
I had sworn on their blood. I had sworn on my blood.
I would not break that oath.
Even if it meant surrendering my body to the beast. Even if it meant losing myself to win this war.
Even if it meant becoming Catherine—frozen in stone, a monument to a monster's boredom.
I lifted my head. My voice was barely a whisper.
"Then I will do it."
The room went silent. All eyes were on me.
"I will lie with him. I will bring him to his peak. And I will kill him."
The words came out hollow, like they belonged to someone else. I felt cold. I felt dead. But beneath the cold, something else burned—rage, determination, a fire that would not be extinguished.
"Tell me everything," I said, my voice flat as stone. "Every secret. Every weakness. Every way to bring him to his knees."
Valerius studied me for a long moment. His eyes searched mine.
"You would truly give yourself to him—body, soul, and blood?"
I met his gaze. The fear was still there, coiling in my stomach, tightening around my throat. But beneath it, something else burned. Rage. Determination. Hatred.
"I would give anything," I said, "to see him dead."
He studied me for a long moment.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Then sit, girl. We have much to discuss."
---
To be continued...