VALORIA WILDEROSE
I am barely able to sleep a wink all night, terrified that that man might come in again to finish me off.
Instead, I curl into a ball in the corner of my room, clutching my body tight, staring between the disfigured head at the other end of the room and the blood-stained sheets.
Every moment I try to succumb to the exhaustion deep in my bones, images of what might happen jolt me back upright again.
Thankfully, he doesn't return until the morning sun peeks through the large windows—which means, for some reason, he's keeping me alive despite discovering that I've been sent here by the Moon Goddess to kill him.
Based on his reaction, I'm not the first, but rather one out of countless women thrown into this mysterious feud between a goddess and a mad king—one of countless who have lost their lives.
I don't have time to be grateful, terrified, or even ponder the reason behind his merciful gesture, though. My time is limited.
One day has passed since my resurrection, ninety-nine left.
There's no more time to waste cowering in a corner like my usual self, trapped in an endless circle where I am the helpless victim waiting to be saved.
But my fears cripple me, reminding me that no matter what I do, I cannot escape this wretched fate.
There's no way I will survive—not when others braver and stronger than I came before me and met a tragic end.
An abrupt knock on my door rattles me, conscious of my surroundings, pulling me from my deep thoughts.
I jerk, suddenly terrified again, staring at the door without responding. Another knock echoes before it slowly creaks open.
"Good morning, my lady," a gentle, meek voice calls from the other side, before a head pokes in.
Rather than murderous cold blue pupils, I'm greeted with angular, almond-shaped monolid eyes holding pure black obsidian orbs with an innocent shimmer in them.
I sigh with relief.
A young girl, close to my age but possibly younger, enters fully once I'm aware of her.
Her deep black short bob bounces around her face with her smile before she takes a low bow toward me.
I'm still stiff, going on guard, rising to my feet even if she isn't the mad king.
Every face is new here, so I'm constantly on edge, constantly wondering if I can trust who stands before me or if I should be wary.
Her sudden, instant smile takes me off guard, though.
"I am Yue, my lady, your personal maid assigned to you," her gentle sing-song voice whispers as she bridges the space between us.
Her gush of enthusiasm painfully contrasts with her place of employment. I hang my head low habitually, avoiding her gaze.
"I-I am V-Valoria Wild-derose," I speak softly, tripping over my usual words, hating my broken speech now more than ever.
I'm suddenly envious of her perfect sentence, wishing I could sound as gentle as she does; maybe I'd have a better chance at surviving this wicked place.
I wait for the usual scorn that follows once they realize I am a flawed person.
"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Valoria," she continues enthusiastically.
The light in her eyes never dims—never morphs into the ugly hues of mockery. I watch her, bewildered and confused.
Even the angel who tended to my wounds last night had hints of pity in her gaze despite her gentle, sweet care.
"There's no time to waste, my lady. We have a few minutes to get you ready for the welcoming feast."
I frown instantly, tasting rising bile.
"I'm n-not hungry," I mutter.
I cannot imagine eating anything, nor do I imagine I'd be able to stomach a meal—not for a long while—until I can get the image of a severed head out of my mind, coupled with that sinister smile of the King, Azrael.
Just thinking of his name sends shivers down my spine.
But Yue shakes her head, her gaze turning serious.
"This isn't about eating, my lady," she corrects my notion, moving toward the closet in the far corner of the room—a piece of furniture I hadn't noticed until she touches it, one of many sitting in the background waiting to be discovered.
She passes over the head, pausing for half a second before moving on as if used to a sight so horrifying. It makes me ponder even more.
From the closet, she pulls out dresses I've never seen before, taking her pick.
"It's your first time meeting the other concubines and presenting yourself as the newest unofficial addition," she continues her lecture, setting the dress down after pulling the stained sheets aside, again hiding her reaction to them. "It is a sort of debut you must make, to leave a good enough first impression on the other ladies, to ensure they will not look down on you—and so you survive this place."
It's a pastel pink, simple dress—prettier than anything I've ever owned, much prettier than the dresses my sisters used to fight over.
I'm stunned momentarily by the shimmering beads sewn into its fabric before shaking off the glamour.
"Does that happen here as well, even among the king's court?" My gaze shifts to the severed head again.
Though she might easily ignore it, I cannot. Her face turns solemn, and she swallows.
"Of course." Her gaze shifts to avoid my face.
"Another reason why your first impression is important. The king allows the concubines to resolve grievances as they see fit, so things like bullying, plotting, and even… murders are often overlooked without much investigation. The court is not kind to anyone who appears weak."
Her averted gaze finally meets mine again with a look I'm more familiar with than the brightness in her eyes. I offer a small smile.
"Y-You d-don't have to pity me. I've surv-v-vived much w-worse than they can throw my way," I say, leaving the fact that I've been through literal hell, tormented and tortured, hanging over us.
Though she doesn't believe my words, she offers a hopeful look.
"I hope that is true."
Quickly, we fall into the preparation process after cleaning up the signs of death and decay in my room.
First comes my bath, in scented, clean water, then fitting into my dress before she attempts to make me look presentable by styling my hair and pinning jewelry to my face.
I believe it's a lost cause until she pulls away with a satisfied grin, and I take a peek at my reflection.
It's the same face I've always had, but brighter.
My crazy, wavy hair—always untamable—is styled and curved in ways that fit my slender, bony face, and with minimal touches, she manages to make me look pretty.
"I did not do much," she says, as if reading my mind. "You are already so very pretty."
She compliments me, saying words that have never been used with me in mind. A strange feeling pulls at my gut, but I bury it fast, rising before she can fill my thoughts with more nonsense.
I do not care for any of these things—rather, for my freedom and revenge.
"When do I leave for breakfast?" I ignore the compliment, reminding both her and myself of the seriousness of the situation.
"Shortly, though you should know now, His Majesty will be joining today's meal." She abruptly drops this information with a look of guilt, knowing it's something she should have let me know from the beginning.
I stiffen and swallow hard, feeling my head spin from nausea. But I don't blame her; I doubt I'd have had the energy to leave my bed if I'd been told first.
My fears wouldn't have let me get this far.
She continues. "You must be quiet and humble while he walks in. Do not do something that draws his attention. It's usually the fastest way to get into trouble."
I hide a bitter scoff, knowing I've long since passed that point.
"What if t-that's not p-possible?"
Misfortune never misses a chance to toy with me.
"Don't worry. He's usually too preoccupied with the high concubines that keep him in a good mood to notice much. How it usually goes is a concubine serves the king his meal personally before the feast begins, and it ends once he's done. Because you are new, you will be seated at the farthest end of the table so he will not see or notice you."
That sounds like good news.
"Okay." Her smile slowly returns.
"Good luck, Lady Valoria."
"Thank y-you."
* * *
Yue escorts me to the dining hall up to the door, leaving me with all the knowledge and tips she's infused into me within the hour.
I run through all her warnings in my head while feeling anxious. With every second, I remind myself to take a breath.
The guards at the door pull it open, and I walk in.
I'm instantly greeted by the sight of every other woman dedicated to His Royal Majesty—all of them, over a few dozen, seated around a vast, wide, and long table with a lavish feast displayed upon it.
The large hall itself is beautiful and refined, every woman dressed in gorgeous attire, all to flaunt the expanse of power and wealth at the King's disposal.
They give a glimpse at how vain and expensive his tastes are. From the looks of it all, I can guess his preferences: the shinier, the better.
It only takes a few seconds of standing by the door for someone else to notice me walk in, alerting the others, until soon enough more than a few eyes watch me—leering eyes that poke into my flesh from every corner—before I take a step toward the table, finding an empty chair and settling in.
Their gazes are sharp, some more than just curious. From the sounds of their hushed whispering, I can tell they are curious, without a shred of shame to hide it.
Most of their curiosity stems from the battle yesterday. From what I can hear, most are curious how I survived, given how skinny and starved I look.
Even I don't know the answer to that. The only plausible explanation is desperation—my desire to live, knowing what awaited me on the other end, was much stronger than her bloodlust.
I feel the judgmental disdain next.
The comparison between my bony, considered-ugly frame and their nurtured, delicate bodies—groomed to be desired with years of love and care—is unavoidable. I can't agree more.
I know I'm not pretty.
Time passes before attention naturally shifts elsewhere, and I am completely ignored again, like nothing but a pebble in their midst.
Finally, the wide doors are pushed open, and their presence is announced.
"Entering: His Majesty, Lord of the Night, King of Beasts, Conqueror of Worlds, Azrael the Lycan King, and his high concubines." The description is lavish and grand, meant to exalt him before he even walks into the now chillingly silent room.
Everyone seated rises almost instantly, halting whatever gossip had sat on the tip of their tongues seconds before the king walks in.
In the flashiest, grandest entrance imaginable, Azrael steps in, dressed in black pants and boots, bare-chested, revealing a deep gash running across his chest like a tattoo, and an extravagant deep-red robe darker than the shade of blood that stained my sheets.
Intricately woven golden threads knit into the fabric drape across his shoulders.
The robe is long enough to sweep the floor behind him, suited only to a king, a river of blood seeming to follow in his wake.
He remains as cruelly gorgeous and terrifying as the night before, followed closely by the same three deathly beautiful women from before, each in richer robes than every other woman, signaling their hierarchy and favor.
I spot Calliope, beautiful as ever, like a brilliant angel in a flowing white silk gown, at his right hand, fully engulfed in her role as his woman, stunning in how effortlessly she fits into it.
Four of them take their designated seats, left free for him. Azrael sits at the end of the table, with the women falling around him on both sides.
"Let the feast begin." His deep, powerful voice echoes at the raise of his wine cup, reverberating through the room and shaking the table.
One of the three women rises on cue—the tallest, with shimmering ebony skin and massive coils of black hair, moving as smoothly as a snake.
The hall remains silent as she steps forward to serve the king's meal on a wide golden platter, but he raises a hand, stopping her.
Her gaze shows shock and confusion, along with everyone else's, taken aback by the interruption, so out of place.
Yue said the high concubines always serve his meal as it's considered the highest honor, but the shift in routine leaves a bad feeling in my gut.
And just as everyone watches, confused, his gaze moves beyond the table to the farthest corner where I've hidden myself, catching my eyes.
Blue orbs are set solely on me.
I freeze into a ball of ice, shivering from the sheer menace and terrifying aura that oozes off him, unable to look away, on the verge of pissing myself.
The predator watches its prey before a sick grin spreads across his lips.
"She will be serving me today."
Every eye in the room turns to me.