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 Fourteen: The Eighth and Ninth
Year 8 – Six Months After the Seventh Sacrifice
The summer had arrived, but it brought no warmth to the castle.
Not the kind that mattered, anyway. The sun still shone. The flowers still bloomed. The birds still sang in the gardens. But beneath that surface—beneath the beauty and the light—something had rotted.
The servants felt it.
The guards felt it.
Even the nobles, wrapped in their silks and their privileges, felt it.
The castle was dying.
Not physically. The stones still stood. The roofs still held. The walls still kept out the cold.
But something else—something essential—had begun to wither. Trust. Safety. The quiet assurance that the world made sense.
No one spoke of it.
No one named it.
But everyone knew.
And everyone was afraid.
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Liora – The Growing Darkness
She could feel the change in herself.
Not just the power—that was expected, anticipated, hungered for. Something deeper. Something that had begun to reshape her from the inside out.
Her dreams had changed.
She no longer dreamed of the cellar, or the rituals, or the faces of her victims. She dreamed of darkness. Endless, consuming, beautiful darkness. A place where there were no rules, no consequences, no limits.
In her dreams, she was not a princess.
She was not a child.
She was not even human.
She was something older. Something that had existed before the first star lit the sky. Something that would exist after the last star burned out.
The dark is patient, the whispers told her. The dark has waited eons for you.
Do not keep it waiting.
She woke from these dreams with her heart pounding and her hands shaking.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
Eight more, she thought. Eight more until ten.
Then the dark will be part of me forever.
Then I will truly begin.
She rose from her bed and began her morning ritual.
Wash face. Braid hair. Choose a dress—white, always white.
Practice the smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She went down to breakfast.
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Finn – The Witness
Finn had started following her.
Not closely—he was too afraid for that. But from a distance. In the shadows. Watching the way she moved through the castle, the way people reacted to her, the way the air seemed to change when she entered a room.
He was looking for something.
Proof.
Evidence.
A reason for the fear that lived in his chest like a second heart.
He had found nothing.
Not yet.
But he had noticed something strange.
The princess had started talking to herself.
Not aloud—not where anyone could hear. But her lips moved when she thought no one was watching. Her eyes focused on things that weren't there. Her hands twitched, as if reaching for something invisible.
She's changing, Finn thought.
Becoming something.
Something worse.
He followed her to the library.
He watched her disappear behind a bookshelf.
He did not follow.
He was afraid of what he might find.
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The Eighth Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A healer. An old woman named Elara—no relation to the queen, just a coincidence of names. She lived in the lower town, in a cottage full of dried herbs and clay pots and the smell of sickness.
No one would miss her.
Not really.
She had no family. No friends. No one who visited. The people of the lower town came to her when they were sick, paid her in bread or copper, and forgot her until the next fever.
She was invisible.
The perfect victim.
Liora approached her in the evening, when the sun was low and the shadows were long.
"Are you the healer?"
The old woman looked up. Her eyes were sharp, despite her age.
"I am. What ails you, child?"
"Nothing ails me," Liora said. "But my mother—the queen—she has been unwell. She doesn't want anyone to know. Court physicians are so gossipy."
Elara frowned.
"The queen?"
"Yes. She asked me to find someone discreet. Someone who could come to the castle without being noticed. I thought of you."
The old woman hesitated.
"The castle is far. And I am old."
"I'll pay you," Liora said. "Gold. Enough to live on for a year."
Elara looked at her for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
"Let me get my bag."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Elara – The Walk
The princess led her through the darkening streets of the lower town.
Elara had lived in this town for sixty years. 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'm old. My eyes aren't what they used to be.
But her instincts—the ones that had kept her alive through sixty years of healing the sick and dying—were screaming at her to turn back.
Something is wrong, they whispered.
Something is very wrong.
She looked at the princess.
The child was walking ahead of her, small and pale, her white dress ghostly in the twilight. She seemed so innocent. So helpless.
She's just a child, Elara told herself.
She needs help.
That's all.
She ignored the screaming in her gut.
She kept walking.
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The Eighth Cellar
The door was old. Iron. Locked.
The princess produced a key.
"It's down here," she said. "The queen's private chambers. No one knows about this entrance. That's why she chose it."
Elara 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 scared of the dark. You go first. I'll follow."
Elara 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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Elara – The Realization
She heard the door close behind her.
She heard the lock click.
She turned around. The princess was not behind her.
"Princess?"
Silence.
"PRINCESS!"
She ran up the steps. Pounded on the door. Her old hands were no match for iron and wood.
"LET ME OUT!"
Silence.
She stood in the darkness, her heart pounding, her breath coming in gasps.
Why? she thought. Why would a child do this?
She did not understand.
She would never understand.
The darkness pressed against her.
The cold seeped into her bones.
And the princess did not open the door.
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Liora – The Eighth Ritual
She waited only two hours this time.
Elara 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 and the terrible realization that she had been betrayed.
"Why?" Elara whispered.
Liora set down her lantern.
She opened her book.
"Because I need your soul," she said. "And because no one will miss you."
Elara opened her mouth to scream.
Liora was faster.
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The Power – Eight
The fire in her veins blazed hotter.
Eight sacrifices. Eight souls. Eight streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They coiled around her arm, up to her shoulder, down to her chest. She could feel them wrapping around her heart, cold and alive and hungry.
More, they whispered. We need more.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A healer. Wise. Kind. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Ninth Victim – The Same Night
She did not wait.
The hunger was too strong. The darkness was too eager. She needed another soul. Now.
She found him in the lower town, sleeping in a doorway, wrapped in rags and desperation.
A boy.
Not a child—a young man, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Old enough to be useful. Young enough to be stupid.
She woke him with a touch.
"Hey," she said. "Wake up."
He stirred. His eyes opened. They were red, unfocused, clouded with hunger and exhaustion.
"What?"
"I need help," she said. "My mother is sick. I need someone to carry her to the healer. I'll pay you."
He looked at her.
He looked at the silver coin in her hand.
He nodded.
"Show me."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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The Ninth Cellar
The same cellar. The same door. The same key.
The boy walked down the steps.
Liora closed the door.
The lock clicked.
"Hey!" he called up. "What's going on?"
Liora did not answer.
"HEY!"
Silence.
She heard him moving down there. Footsteps. A curse. A thud.
"LET ME OUT!"
She sat on the top step and waited.
Patience.
Always patience.
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The Ninth Ritual
She waited only an hour.
The boy was young, but he was weak. Hunger had hollowed him out. Desperation had broken him long before he ever walked into her cellar.
By the time she descended the stairs, he was already weeping.
"Please," he said. "I'll do anything. Just let me go."
Liora set down her lantern.
She opened her book.
"You should have thought of that before you followed a stranger into a cellar," she said.
"Please—"
She was faster.
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The Power – Nine
The fire in her veins was unbearable now.
Nine sacrifices. Nine souls. Nine streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, reshaping her from the inside out.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They did not stop at her arm. They climbed her body, wrapped around her throat, pressed against her lips. She could feel them inside her now, in her lungs, in her stomach, in her mind.
One more, they whispered. One more and we will be one.
One more and the door will open forever.
One more and you will never be alone again.
Liora closed her eyes.
Yes, she thought.
Yes.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the bodies.
Two.
In one night.
She was getting faster.
She was getting stronger.
One more, she thought. One more until ten.
Then the dark will be part of me forever.
Then I will truly begin.
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The Disposals
She burned both bodies that night.
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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Finn – The Morning After
Finn saw her at breakfast.
She was sitting with her family, eating porridge, smiling at her brothers. Her dress was white. Her hair was braided. Her face was soft and sweet and completely ordinary.
But Finn saw something else.
Something in her eyes.
A darkness.
Deeper than before. Hungrier than before.
She killed again, he thought.
Last night.
Maybe more than one.
He looked away.
He did not want to know.
He did not want to see.
He ate his bread and kept his mouth shut and pretended that everything was normal.
But that night, he dreamed of the cellar.
He dreamed of the bodies.
He dreamed of the princess standing over them, smiling, covered in blood.
And he woke up screaming.
No one came.
No one ever came.
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End of Chapter Fourteen