For one eternal heartbeat, Nysa was sure she was about to die.
The darkness behind the ornate doors shifted closer, the sense of an unseen presence moving right to the threshold. She felt it in her bones...the certainty that whoever lurked there had noticed her. That any second, he would fling the doors wide and drag her inside.
But just as she braced for that horror, the muffled beat of approaching footsteps rang down the corridor.
Instinct overpowered her paralysis.
She wrenched herself backward, stumbling around the nearest corner, her breath clawing her throat. She pressed her back to the wall and covered her mouth to smother the ragged gasps.
A second later, the double doors swung open with a soft creak.
She dared to lean out, only far enough to glimpse the figure framed in the doorway.
The white mask gleamed against a spill of midnight hair. Even from this distance, she felt the force of his gaze sweeping the corridor, searching...searching for her.
A wave of sickness rolled through her.
He took a single step into the hall, and her pulse rocketed. If he turned left...
But before he could move again, a man in a dark velvet tunic came hurrying up the passage. He bent at the waist in a deep bow, oblivious to the corpse lying just inside the room.
"Your Highness!" the servant called, voice tight with urgency. "Forgive me, but you must come quickly. The king has collapsed."
Nysa's heartbeat thundered so loudly she feared they both would hear.
For one long moment, the masked prince didn't respond. His head turned fractionally, scanning the dark as though he sensed her still hidden there.
She pressed herself tighter against the wall, praying the shadows would swallow her whole.
Finally, he exhaled... a sound low and cold.
"Clean it up," he ordered without looking at the man. His tone held no emotion, as though he were only discussing spilled wine.
"Yes, Your Highness."
"And see that no one speaks of this."
The servant swallowed visibly and inclined his head again.
The prince spared the corridor one last glance. For a terrifying second, Nysa felt sure those dark eyes had locked on her...like he could see straight through the wall.
Then he turned and strode away, his footsteps retreating swiftly into silence.
The instant he disappeared, Nysa bolted.
She ran without caring if anyone saw her. Her bare feet slapped the marble floors, her breath tearing out in broken sobs. The corridors blurred into endless stretches of shadow and torchlight.
She didn't know how she found her way back. Later, she wouldn't remember the route she took...only the blind terror that drove her on.
When at last she stumbled into her chamber, she shoved the door closed with shaking hands and threw the bolt.
She sagged against it, sliding down until she sat crumpled on the floor, her nightdress clinging to her damp skin.
Her heart wouldn't slow.
It was impossible...impossible that any of this had truly happened.
But the memory of that muffled voice whispering, Offer me your blood, lodged in her mind like a splinter.
She pressed her fists to her temples, willing the images away.
The dark figure.
The maid's choked pleas.
The sound...Gods, the sound.
Tears she hadn't realized she was holding back spilled hot down her cheeks.
She tried to imagine her mother's voice, the familiar lullaby she hadn't heard in so many years. But it wouldn't come.
There was only the echoing silence of the palace and the pounding of her terrified heart.
Sleep was impossible.
She dragged herself to the bed eventually, though she didn't remember standing. She crawled under the covers and curled onto her side, every muscle in her body clenched.
The fire had long since gone out. The darkness felt deeper than ever.
Hours later, her eyes were still open.
---
Far across the palace, Prince Auren moved like a storm unleashed.
The ornate corridors blurred past him as he strode, his bootsteps a soft, relentless rhythm on the marble. Though his face remained composed behind the mask, fury crackled in his veins.
A servant tried to speak as he passed...he didn't bother to look.
He reached the end of a quiet gallery lined with tall mirrors and pressed one gloved hand to an unmarked panel.
The wood shifted beneath his palm with a click.
A hidden door swung inward, revealing a narrow passage cloaked in pitch darkness.
Auren stepped inside without hesitation.
The door sealed itself behind him, cutting off the flicker of torchlight. He walked by memory, each step measured, unhurried. The secret passages threaded the palace like veins, connecting every important chamber to the royal wing.
He'd used them a hundred times. To avoid tedious dinners. To catch servants in disobedience.
And tonight, to spare himself the wasted seconds of going around.
His thoughts returned to the pale little maid lying cold on the floor. The taste of her lifeblood still lingered in his mouth...warm, metallic, tinged with fear.
He felt no regret. She'd broken the rules. She'd humiliated a guest and made him look a fool by extension.
Consequences were unavoidable.
At the far end of the passage, a door yielded to his hand. He emerged into a corridor lined with painted panels of his ancestors...stern-faced monarchs and grim queens.
Two guards stiffened as he passed, bowing low.
When he stepped into the royal apartments, the air tasted different...taut, metallic, charged.
Servants crowded the antechamber, their eyes wide and anxious. At the threshold of the king's bedchamber, a maid wept into her apron.
Auren ignored them all.
He pushed open the carved doors and walked inside.
The king's bed dominated the chamber...massive and draped in heavy blue curtains. Dozens of candles flickered on the mantel and side tables, throwing quivering light across the carved posts.
.
.
Guys I'm in a contest please support me.
For more daily uploads:
Goal for next week 👇
2 chapters - 100 power stones
3 chapters - 150 power stones
4 chapters - 200 power stones