Chapter Two
Sweat glistened on her face as she shook her head in pure terror.
"I don't want to be here," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Ahhh!" Gasping in horror, she jolted awake from the nightmare.
"What the hell does he want from me? I do not wish to see him again," she muttered, her heart racing.
"Did they not hear me screaming? Could no one attend to me?" She rose from her bed, stepping out of her bedroom. The hallway was eerily silent—no guards at her door, no servants in sight.
A small chuckle escaped her lips.
"It seems we're all mad. Well, let me show them how madness is truly displayed."
She turned back into her room and shut the door. The moonlight poured through the window, casting an ethereal glow that reminded her it was still midnight.
"Raven, come here," she called softly.
A small leucistic raven fluttered in through the open window. She leaned in, whispering words into its ear. The bird listened intently, then took off into the night.
A crooked smile spread across her lips before she burst into laughter.
"You can't have all the fun, Master," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
---
The morning sun rose, faster than ever, marking the day she had been anticipating. She remained asleep until a sharp, excruciating pain jolted her awake.
Her eyes flew open, and she gasped, staring at her master. He struck her repeatedly—once, twice, countless times.
"Are you insane?" His voice thundered, dripping with fury.
Tears streamed down her face. "Kneel!" he commanded. Still reeling from the shock, she quickly rose and dropped to her knees.
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again," she pleaded.
"There will not be a second chance in the grave," he growled.
Grabbing her by the collar, he struck her across the face again and again until she collapsed onto the floor, too weak to move.
"Why did you do it?"
She remained silent.
"LYRAINA! Answer me, you dimwit!"
"I love him," she finally whispered. "I am sorry."
"You've ruined my plans, fool! What were you thinking?"
Footsteps echoed outside her door. She glanced up, trying to catch a glimpse of her master's face.
"Cover your wounds, and make sure no one notices," he hissed before dissolving into dust, disappearing as though he had never been there.
"Lyraina, open this door at once!" Her father's booming voice accompanied loud banging on the door.
Panicking, she grabbed powdered makeup and quickly concealed her wounds. When she opened the door, another blow greeted her. Her father slapped her hard, sending her stumbling to the ground.
"Insolent child!"
"Who gave you the audacity to send a message to the Earl, asking him to marry you? Did you think I wouldn't find out? You knew the Prince wanted to wed you! Do you realize the benefits I've lost because of your foolishness?"
"I love him, Father," she said softly.
"You're insane! You love a man twice your father's age? You will marry him by tomorrow's sunrise!"
Storming out of her room and slamming the door shut, he bellowed, "You've dug your own grave!"
Hysterical laughter erupted from her lips.
"I've won. I've won! Ha ha ha! Soon, I'll be the one pulling the strings!"
Her white raven returned, and she smiled, hugging it tightly.
"Just you wait—I'll make them pay."
It was all part of her plan: send a letter to the Earl, knowing her master wanted her to marry the Prince to infiltrate the royal family. Her family, too, sought power from the royal union. By marrying the Earl instead, she would avoid being a pawn in their schemes. She didn't mind his age—if he controlled her, at least it wouldn't be like this.
Better to be under an old man's thumb than a child's, forced to call them Master.
---
Lyraina had never seen her master's true face. She knew he was a child but his voices shifted constantly, and every time they met, his appearance changed. Always veiled, always shrouded in mystery.
She found it suspicious but she had no choice but to obey because she could do nothing. She was at his mercy.
Dusting off her nightgown, she entered her bathing chamber. The copper tub gleamed under the dim light as she stepped in, letting the warm water wash over her.
"Oh, how I wish I could wash my sorrows away this easily," she mused.
Shaking off the thought, she smiled grimly.
"Time to get married."
---
Stepping down the stairs, her long dress cascaded gracefully behind her.
"His royal knight, please, where is Mother? May I go visit her?" she asked politely.
As usual, her father offered no response. If she wanted him to acknowledge her, she would have to wait—an hour at least.
Two more minutes, Lyraina. Keep your cool. You might be crazy, but they're deranged, she thought to herself, clenching her fists.
Finally, after an agonizing hour, her father spoke.
"Won't you greet your sister and brother?"
Forcing a smile, she turned to them.
"Oh, forgive me. Good morning, siblings. I hope you had a wonderful night's rest," she said, the words burning her tongue as she painfully forced them out.
Her two siblings, Christine and Christopher, were twins—though to her, they felt more like enemies. As the eldest daughter, she bore the title of Dame, but it came with a heavy price: her mother's mental illness, which had set in shortly after the twins were born.
Why didn't they like her? She didn't know. Perhaps it was because she was the only one with a bright future or so she thought. Though she hardly saw them, she had long decided they were little more than two idiots.
"Lyraina, Mother is in the storeroom," Christine said without looking up.
"Before you can see her, get to your training early and fetch me some money so I don't starve her," their father commanded, his tone grating on her nerves.
"Yes, Father. I'll be going now. Thank you," she replied, masking her irritation with another forced smile before running off.
---
Being born into a knightly family, it was strange that she lacked the gift of swordsmanship—a skill her siblings excelled at. Instead, she could only perform magic, an ability meant for holy warriors, not knights.
---
"I'm here!" Lyriana announced loudly, drawing the attention of the entire class.
"You're late, Lyraina," their leader's cold voice rang out. "One more tardy, and you'll be dismissed."
"But, sir—"
He cut her off sharply. "All disciples and priests, follow now. All other Lower ranks, stay behind. We're going to defeat an upper-rank fallen. For those not participating, don't worry—you'll still receive coins for the day."
As a fourth-class lower-rank disciple, Lyraina panicked internally.
Am I really doomed to die today?
The group lined up in perfect sync, with the highest ranks leading and the lowest trailing at the back. They arrived at a mist-shrouded area rumored to house an upper-rank demon.
"Clear the path! March forward! Do not fear—take down that beast!" their leader, Priest Keith, commanded.
The mist grew denser as they advanced, revealing an empty space, walled in on all sides and void of life.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Priest Keith's voice boomed, brimming with frustration.
Before anyone could respond, a sudden force knocked everyone flat to the ground—everyone except Lyriana.
She scanned the room suspiciously,"Oh my gosh!....What did I bargain for?... I don't want to be here! Why am I the only one standing?... I want to lie flat like everyone else!" she panicked, adrenaline surging through her veins.
"What if they're dead?" a voice asked, sharp and unfamiliar.
"Then let me die with them!" she blurted out. "Huh? Who was that?"
From within the mist, a figure emerged. Her entire body froze in terror—it was the most gruesome sight she had ever encountered.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. So, let me guess: this is the fool they manipulated, making her think those nightmares weren't real?" the figure taunted, its voice dripping with malice.
It would have been better if it was the man from her dreams. At least he wasn't this terrifying