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-Four: The Silence of the Lambs
Year 8 – Fifteen Months After the First Sacrifice
The castle had given up.
Not officially—the guards still guarded, the servants still served, the nobles still schemed. But the spirit of the place had died. Hope had withered. Courage had fled.
Everyone knew something was wrong.
No one did anything about it.
Because doing something meant risking everything.
And no one was willing to risk everything.
Not for the victims.
Not for the truth.
Not even for themselves.
Liora watched this resignation with cold satisfaction.
They know, she thought. Not what I am. Not exactly. But they know I am dangerous.
And they are doing nothing.
Because they are afraid.
Because they are weak.
Because they are prey.
She had stopped being afraid of discovery months ago.
No one would ever believe the truth.
The mask was too perfect.
The lies were too smooth.
The fear was too deep.
She was invincible.
Not yet immortal—that required eighty-two more sacrifices. But invincible in the only way that mattered. No one would stop her. No one could stop her.
She smiled at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror smiled 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.
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Liora – The Nineteenth Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A baker from the lower town. Her name was Margit. She was middle-aged, widowed, and alone. Her children had grown and moved away. Her husband had died of fever. She had no one.
She was perfect.
Liora approached her in her bakery, late at night, when the streets were empty.
"Margit?"
The baker looked up. Her hands were covered in flour.
"Yes?"
"I need your help," Liora said. "My mother—the queen—she needs a special cake for a celebration. Something no one else can make."
Margit frowned.
"The queen?"
"Yes. She asked me to find someone. Someone skilled. Someone discreet."
Liora held up a silver coin.
"I'll pay you double her usual rate."
Margit looked at the coin. Looked at the child. Looked at the coin again.
"Where is she?"
"In the castle. I can take you to her."
Margit hesitated.
Then she nodded.
"Let me get my things."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Margit – The Cellar
The princess led her through the dark streets of the lower town.
Margit had lived in this town her whole life. She knew every alley, every courtyard, every hidden passage. But tonight, the streets felt wrong. The shadows seemed deeper than they should be. The silence seemed heavier than it should be.
It's just my imagination, she told herself.
I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping.
But her instincts—the ones that had kept her alive through fifty years of hard living—were screaming at her to turn back.
Something is wrong, they whispered.
Something is very wrong.
She looked at the princess.
She was walking ahead of her, small and pale, her white dress ghostly in the darkness. She seemed so innocent. So helpless.
She's just a child, Margit told herself.
She needs help.
That's all.
She ignored the screaming in her gut.
She kept walking.
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The Nineteenth Cellar
The door was old. Iron. Locked.
The princess produced a key.
"The queen's chambers are down here," she said. "Private entrance. No one knows about it."
Margit looked at the door. Looked at the princess. Looked at the key in her small, pale hand.
"After you," she said.
The princess shook her head.
"I'm not allowed. The queen would be angry. You go first. I'll follow."
Margit hesitated.
Then she took the key.
She opened the door.
She walked down the steps.
She did not walk back up.
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The Nineteenth Ritual
Liora waited only an hour.
Margit was old, weak. Her screams faded quickly. Her pounding was soft. By the time Liora descended the stairs, the woman was already half-gone, her mind broken by fear and darkness.
"Why?" Margit whispered.
Liora set down her lantern.
She opened her book.
"Because I need your soul," she said. "And because no one will miss you."
Margit opened her mouth to scream.
Liora was faster.
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The Power – Nineteen
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Nineteen sacrifices. Nineteen souls. Nineteen 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 baker. Skilled. Alone. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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Darian – The Despair
Darian had stopped hoping.
His father had spoken to Liora. His father had believed her lies. His father had ordered him to stop spreading rumors.
The priest had tried to help. The priest had failed.
No one believed.
No one would ever believe.
He sat in the library with Finn, staring at the fire.
"She's going to keep killing," Finn said.
"I know."
"We have to do something."
"What?"
Finn was silent.
"I don't know," he said finally. "But we can't just give up."
Darian looked at him.
"Why not? Everyone else has."
"Because someone has to remember. Someone has to bear witness. Someone has to be there when she finally makes a mistake."
"She's never going to make a mistake."
"Then we wait until she does."
Darian shook his head.
"That could be years. Decades."
"Then we wait years. Decades."
Darian stared at him.
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"I have to believe something," Finn said. "Otherwise, what's the point?"
They sat in silence.
Two boys.
One monster.
And a vigil that might last forever.
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Aldric – The End
Aldric had stopped eating weeks ago.
He lay in his bed, a skeleton wrapped in skin, 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.
Nineteen, he thought.
She's killed nineteen people.
And I helped her.
He closed his eyes.
He thought about the key. The cellar. The smile on the princess's face.
He thought about the people who had died.
Orin. Greta. Corin. The man by the river. Marta. Roran. Varek. Elara. The boy. Sir Aldous. Lyssa. Bren. Mira the seamstress. Eldrin. Elara the servant. Gared. Sera. Orin the carpenter. Margit.
Nineteen names.
Nineteen faces.
Nineteen souls.
I'm sorry, he thought.
I'm so sorry.
He closed his eyes.
He did not open them again.
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The Morning
The pages found Aldric's body at dawn.
He had died in his sleep—or what passed for sleep in those last weeks. His face was peaceful. His hands were folded on his chest.
The steward sent for the priest.
The priest said a prayer.
The pages carried the body to the crypt.
No one asked why he had stopped eating.
No one asked what he had been afraid of.
No one asked about the key.
Aldric was buried in the servants' cemetery, in an unmarked grave, with no one to mourn him.
Except Finn.
Finn stood at the edge of the grave, watching the dirt fall.
Another one, he thought.
Another victim.
Another death laid at her feet.
He looked at the castle.
Somewhere inside, the princess was eating breakfast.
Smiling.
Pretending.
I remember you, Finn thought. I remember what you did.
And I will never forget.
He turned and walked away.
He had potatoes to peel.
He had a monster to watch.
He had a vigil to keep.
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Liora – The Morning
Liora heard about Aldric's death at breakfast.
"Aldric?" she said, tilting her head. "The page boy?"
"Yes," her mother said. "He stopped eating. The steward says he just... gave up."
"That's sad," Liora said.
She looked down at her porridge.
He knew, she thought. He knew about the key. He knew about the cellar. He knew about me.
And he couldn't live with it.
Weak.
So weak.
She ate her porridge.
She smiled at her brothers.
She kissed her mother's cheek.
The mask was intact.
But inside—inside—the darkness was laughing.
One less witness, it whispered.
One less threat.
One less loose end.
Yes, she thought.
Yes.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
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End of Chapter Twenty-Four