I stepped past him, slow and quiet, and pulled the door half-shut.
The maid outside was still waiting.
"Go," I said through the gap. "And don't let anyone come near this room."
She bowed quickly and hurried off.
Then I closed the door fully and turned the lock. The click echoed in the silence.
My eyes went back to the servant, his shoulders still shaking. I walked behind him, my steps slow, unhurried.
"Laugh," I said, my voice sharp. "You laughed before, didn't you? Behind my back. Laugh now."
I circled him, cold eyes fixed on his head that stayed bowed low.
"Call me what you did in the garden. Whore… prostitute… say it again. Say it to my face."
I leaned closer, my words cutting into his ear.
"What's wrong? Did your tongue die already?"
His excuses died in his throat. I tilted my head, watching him squirm like a rat caught in the open.
"Not what? Not what you said?" I whispered. My tone was low but sharp enough to cut flesh. "Did I mishear when you called me a whore? A prostitute? Or did your tongue suddenly forget its courage?"
He fell to his knees, hands pressed together, his forehead nearly touching the floor. "Forgive me, Princess! I was only joking—I swear! It was foolish talk. Please, mercy!"
I crouched slowly, my silver hair brushing past my cheek, my cold gaze locking on him.
"Mercy?" My lips curved in a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Mercy for a man who spat on his princess? Who mocked her like a filthy slut in the dirt?"
The word cracked in my throat, venom dripping from every syllable. His shoulders shook harder.
I reached out and touched his chin, forcing his face up. His eyes were wide, swimming in terror, his breath ragged against my fingers.
I let go and walked toward the window. My foot lifted onto the ledge as I bent down, my hand slipping beneath my dress where the dagger was tied against my leg.
The steel felt cold as I pulled it free.
When I turned, he saw it. His eyes grew wider, his mouth opening and closing like a fish pulled from water.
He staggered back, his knees shaking, his voice cracking.
"W-Wait… wait, Princess! Please! I beg you!" His hands clasped together, trembling. "Forgive me… I was foolish… A lowly servant, that's all I am. I didn't mean it, I swear it. I was wrong!"
Sweat poured down his face, dripping from his chin. His body bowed lower and lower, like the floor itself was pulling him down.
But I kept walking toward him, dagger in hand, my steps slow and steady.
I laughed, my head tilted back. It had been so long since I laughed. My chest felt strange — almost happy.
I drew the dagger across my finger, a sharp sting. Blood welled and dripped onto the floor.
Drip. Drip.
"Bloodthorns," I whispered.
The ground beneath us darkened, red veins spreading out like cracks in glass. They pulsed as if alive, reaching for the blood.
Then the first vine burst through the floor, black and slick, a thorn glinting at its tip. Another followed, then another, dozens of them twisting upward like snakes.
They coiled around the servant's legs, his arms, and his waist. Thorns brushed against his skin but did not pierce — not yet.
He screamed and struggled, but the vines only tightened, their tips hovering close, waiting for my command.
I stepped closer, my cold eyes on him, the dagger still in my hand. The vines moved with me, like extensions of my will.
The vines lifted him off the ground. His arms were yanked above his head, his legs pulled straight until he dangled like a puppet on strings.
His face went pale. He kicked, thrashing in the air, but the vines only held him tighter.
It was a futile attempt.
The Bloodthorns answered his struggle by coiling harder, wrapping his limbs until the veins dug into his skin.
The more he fought, the more they bound him, tightening like snakes that had already decided on their prey.
I tilted my head, watching him twist. A slow smile crept across my lips.
"Where's your laugh now?" I asked softly. "Call me 'whore' again. Call me a prostitute again. Louder. Don't whisper it. Shout it."
My voice was calm, but each word slid into him like a knife.
The vines shifted, thorns growing larger and sharper. They pricked his skin, thin lines of red running down his arms, his chest, and his neck.
I could feel it — the thirst. The same thirst that mocked me in the void. It crawled up my throat, filling my mouth with heat.
I couldn't hold it back.
"Drink," I whispered.
The thorns sank deeper, slowly piercing his skin, drawing his blood drop by drop. The vines shuddered as they drank.
I closed my eyes. I could feel it — the warm rush of his blood feeding the hunger inside me. The thirst began to fade, just a little.
He screamed. He cried. I opened my eyes and watched, cold and still.
As the vines drank his blood, I saw them change.
From the black stems, roses began to bloom.
At first, the petals were white. Pure and soft.
But as the blood spread through the vines, each petal slowly turned crimson, dripping with red.
One by one, the white petals were swallowed by blood.
The room filled with the scent of roses. Sweet, pleasant, almost gentle. It wrapped around me, covering the stench of blood.
My eyes lingered on them; it was so beautiful to watch the rose bloom. It was pleasant to watch when roses bloom, not from your blood, but from someone else.
Now I understood. Why that damn bloody rose always drank my blood. It was the same feeling as now.
"So beautiful," I whispered, my eyes on the crimson petals.
But then it changed. It was not only the thirst leaving my throat.
I felt something else, something stronger.
I was growing. I could feel it. His blood was rushing into me, filling every hollow space inside.
My body trembled, my skin tingled, and my chest was heavy with a heat I could not contain.
Each drop of his blood was mana. Pure mana. It burnt through me, flooding my veins, brighter, hotter and wilder.
My breath came sharp, but it was not weakness.
It was strength.
My eyes stung, and when I blinked, the room shivered. The roses glowed faintly, crimson light falling across the walls.
I could feel it in my hands, in my chest, in my very bones.
This was not thirst anymore.
This was power. I had found the way to grow stronger.
I tilted my head up and laughed — loud, unrestrained, like a madwoman drunk on the taste of power.
I became the Princess of Thorns.
"Princess of Thorns," I smirked, a grin curling on my lips.
I liked the name.
I am the Princess of Thorns.