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 Seventeen: The Cracks in the Family
Year 8 – Eight Months After the Eleventh Sacrifice
The summer had reached its peak, but the castle remained cold.
Not the cold of winter—that would have been understandable. A different cold. A cold that came from inside. From the stones themselves. From the shadows in the corners. From the silence that fell whenever Princess Liora entered a room.
The servants had stopped whispering.
There was no point.
The whispers changed nothing. The fear changed nothing. The princess continued her routine—smiling, eating, praying—and the disappearances continued with her.
Eleven souls.
Eleven lives.
Eleven secrets buried in ash and shadow.
And no one—no one—had spoken a word of accusation.
Not because they didn't suspect.
Because they were afraid.
And fear, Liora had learned, was the most reliable ally she had.
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Liora – The Growing Power
She could feel the dark inside her now.
Not as a visitor. Not as a guest. As a resident. A permanent presence that had taken up residence in her blood, her bones, her very soul.
Eleven sacrifices had opened a door that could never be closed.
The dark was part of her.
She was part of the dark.
Forever.
She had learned to use it in small ways. A whisper of shadow here. A flicker of cold there. Nothing that would be noticed—nothing that would raise suspicion.
But she was learning.
Growing.
Preparing.
The old texts promised that after twenty sacrifices, she would be able to kill with a thought. After thirty, she would be able to control minds. After forty, she would be able to raise the dead.
After one hundred—
Immortality.
Invincibility.
Godhood.
She closed the book and looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror looked back.
But the girl was changing.
Her face was the same. Her body was the same. But something behind her eyes—something ancient—was waking up.
Soon, she thought.
Soon, everyone will know.
But by then, it will be too late.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
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Queen Elara – The Awakening
The queen had begun to notice.
Not the disappearances—she was too insulated from the servants' world for that. Not the cellar—she had never even heard of it. But her daughter.
Something was wrong with her daughter.
She couldn't name it. Couldn't describe it. But when Liora smiled at her across the breakfast table, the queen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
She's always been different, Elara thought. Quiet. Distant. Too mature for her age.
But this—
This is something else.
She watched Liora eat her porridge. Watched her smile at her brothers. Watched her fold her hands and bow her head during the morning prayer.
She's perfect, Elara thought.
Too perfect.
No child is that perfect.
She wanted to say something. To ask a question. To probe.
But she didn't.
Because what would she say? "Daughter, why do you frighten me?"
It was absurd.
Liora was eight years old.
She was a child.
She was innocent.
And yet—
The queen could not shake the feeling that something terrible was living in her house.
Something that wore her daughter's face.
Something that smiled with her daughter's mouth.
Something that was not her daughter at all.
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Prince Darian – The Observer
Darian had always been the quiet one.
Not shy—he was not afraid of people or crowds or the expectations of his station. But observant. He watched. He listened. He noticed things that others missed.
And he had noticed something about his youngest sister.
She was empty.
Not in the way of a child who had not yet learned to feel. In the way of a predator. A thing that wore emotions the way actors wore costumes—putting them on for a scene, then discarding them when the audience looked away.
He had seen her cry once.
It was at a funeral. A distant cousin, someone she had met twice. She had wept beautifully—soft tears, trembling lips, the perfect picture of grief.
But her eyes had been dry.
Dry.
He had watched her dab her cheeks with a handkerchief, and he had seen—just for a moment—the calculation behind the performance.
She's pretending, he had thought.
She's always pretending.
He did not know what she was hiding.
But he intended to find out.
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Liora – The Twelfth Victim
She chose a man this time.
A farmer from the outskirts of the town. His name was Bren. He was forty years old, broad-shouldered, calloused-handed. He came to the castle once a week to deliver vegetables to the kitchen.
No one would miss him.
Not immediately. The kitchen would notice the missing vegetables, but they would assume he had fallen ill or found a better customer. By the time anyone thought to look for him, his body would be ash.
He was perfect.
Liora approached him in the kitchen yard, where he was unloading his cart.
"Excuse me."
Bren looked up. Saw a child in a white dress. His face softened.
"Hello, little one. Are you lost?"
"I'm not lost. I'm Princess Liora."
His eyes widened. He bowed—awkwardly, not used to nobility.
"Your Highness. Forgive me. I didn't recognize you."
"That's all right. I have a question for you."
"Of course."
"Do you believe in ghosts?"
Bren frowned.
"Ghosts, Your Highness?"
"The castle has ghosts," she said, widening her eyes. "Old ones. I've seen them. In the cellar beneath the east wing. They whisper at night."
Bren shifted uncomfortably.
"I wouldn't know about that, Your Highness. I'm just a farmer."
"But you're brave. I can tell. Would you help me? Would you come to the cellar with me and see if the ghosts are real?"
Bren hesitated.
"I don't think—"
"I'll pay you," she said. "Gold. Enough to buy a new cart."
She held up a silver coin.
Bren looked at the coin. Looked at the child. Looked at the coin again.
"All right," he said. "But just a quick look."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Bren – The Cellar
The princess led him through the castle corridors.
Bren had never been inside the castle before. The kitchens, yes—the yard, the delivery entrance. But never the inside. The corridors were grander than he had imagined, hung with tapestries and lit with torches.
Fancy place, he thought.
Too fancy for the likes of me.
The princess stopped at a door. Old. Iron. Locked.
She produced a key.
"It's down here," she said. "The ghosts are in the cellar."
Bren looked at the door. Looked at the princess. Looked at the key in her small, pale hand.
"After you," he said.
The princess shook her head.
"I'm scared. You go first. I'll follow."
Bren hesitated.
Then he took the key.
He opened the door.
He walked down the steps.
He did not walk back up.
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Bren – The Realization
He heard the door close behind him.
He heard the lock click.
He turned around. The princess was not behind him.
"Princess?"
Silence.
"PRINCESS!"
He ran up the steps. Pounded on the door. His farmer's fists were strong, but the door was stronger.
"LET ME OUT!"
Silence.
He stood in the darkness, his heart pounding, his breath coming in gasps.
Why? he thought. Why would a child do this?
He did not understand.
He would never understand.
The darkness pressed against him.
The cold seeped into his bones.
And the princess did not open the door.
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Liora – The Twelfth Ritual
She waited two hours.
Bren was strong, but he was not a fighter. His screams were loud, his pounding was fierce, but he did not know how to break a door or fight in darkness.
By the time she descended the stairs, he was on his knees, praying.
"Please," he said. "I have a wife. Children. 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 – Twelve
The fire in her veins burned hotter.
Twelve sacrifices. Twelve souls. Twelve 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 farmer. Strong. Honest. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Bren's body with the others.
The fire was hot. The smoke was thick. She worked quickly, efficiently, scattering the ashes before dawn.
No one saw her.
No one ever saw her.
She returned to her chamber as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face.
She braided her hair.
She chose a white dress.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She went down to breakfast.
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Darian – The Morning
Darian was waiting for her.
Not obviously. He sat at the breakfast table, eating his eggs, reading a book. But his eyes—his eyes—followed her as she entered the room.
She's different this morning, he thought.
Tired. But not from lack of sleep.
From something else.
Something that cost her energy.
He watched her take her seat. Watched her smile at their mother. Watched her fold her hands and bow her head for the morning prayer.
What are you doing at night, Liora? he thought.
Where are you going?
Who are you becoming?
He did not ask.
Not yet.
But he would.
Soon.
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Finn – The Morning
Finn saw Darian watching the princess.
He had never paid much attention to the princes. Theron was loud and stupid. Kael was cruel and stupid. But Darian—Darian was different.
Darian watched.
The same way Finn watched.
He knows, Finn thought. Or he suspects. Or he's starting to.
Maybe—
Maybe he can help.
But Finn didn't approach him.
He was too afraid.
What if Darian was like the others? What if he laughed? What if he told the princess?
No, Finn thought. I can't risk it.
I have to do this alone.
I have to—
He stopped.
He didn't know what he had to do.
He only knew that he had to do something.
Before it was too late.
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Aldric – The Collapse
Aldric had stopped eating entirely.
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for death. The other pages had stopped checking on him. The steward had stopped assigning him duties. He was a ghost now, like the victims in the cellar.
Twelve, he thought.
She's killed twelve people.
And I helped her.
The guilt was a physical weight on his chest. He could barely breathe. He could barely think. All he could do was lie there and remember the key in his hand, the door in the cellar, the smile on the princess's face.
I should tell someone, he thought.
I should confess.
I should—
But he didn't.
He was too afraid.
Not of punishment. Punishment would be a relief. Of her. Of what she would do to him if he spoke. Of the smile on her face when she watched him break.
She's going to kill me, he thought.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.
When I'm no longer useful.
When I've stopped being interesting.
When I've become a liability.
He closed his eyes.
He did not sleep.
He did not dream.
He just waited.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
The old texts were clear now. Every word. Every meaning. Every secret.
Twelve sacrifices strengthen the bond. Thirteen deepen it. Fourteen make it unbreakable.
The dark will never leave you now.
It is part of you.
You are part of it.
Forever.
She closed the book.
Eighty-eight more, she thought.
Eighty-eight more until the curse.
Eighty-eight more until forever.
She looked at her reflection in the window.
The girl who looked back was not a girl.
Not anymore.
She was something else.
Something more.
Something that the world had never seen before.
Eighty-eight more, she thought.
And then—
Then the real work begins.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere in the depths of the castle, in a cellar that no one visited and no one remembered, twelve souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
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End of Chapter Seventeen