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 Fifty: The Broken Boy
Year 12 – Eighty-Two Months After the First Sacrifice
Darian had become a ghost.
Not literally—he was still alive, still breathing, still occupying space in the castle. But the boy who had once been Darian—curious, observant, determined—was gone. In his place was a shell. A hollow thing that ate when fed, slept when put to bed, and stared at walls with empty eyes.
The servants whispered about him.
The prince has lost his mind, they said.
The princess cast a spell on him.
The castle is cursed.
We should leave.
We should run.
We should never have come here.
But no one left.
No one ran.
Because they were afraid.
Not of the curse—they could not name the curse. Of her. Of the princess who smiled too much and cried too little. Of the child who had become something that no longer resembled a child.
Queen Elara visited Darian every day.
She sat beside his bed, holding his hand, speaking to him in soft voices.
"Darian, can you hear me?"
No response.
"Darian, please. Say something."
Nothing.
"Darian, I'm your mother. I love you. Please come back to me."
His eyes did not move.
His lips did not part.
His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell.
But he was not there.
He would never be there again.
The queen wept.
Darian did not notice.
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Liora – The Forty-Second Victim
She chose a woman this time.
A healer from the lower town. Not the first healer she had killed—the first had been old, weak, easy. This one was younger. Stronger. More skilled.
Her name was Brynn—another echo, another coincidence.
She lived in a cottage on the edge of the forest, surrounded by dried herbs and clay pots and the smell of sickness. She had a reputation for curing the incurable, for saving lives that others had given up on.
She was visible.
That made her dangerous.
But also useful.
If a healer disappeared, people would notice. They would ask questions. They would search.
Unless—
Unless they thought she had left willingly.
Unless they thought she had abandoned her patients.
Unless someone spread a rumor.
Liora smiled.
She was very good at spreading rumors.
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The Rumor
She started it in the market, where the women of the lower town gathered to buy and sell.
"Have you heard about Brynn the healer?"
"No. What about her?"
"I heard she's leaving. Going to the city. She says there's no money in the lower town anymore."
"That's a shame. She was good."
"She was. But I heard she's been acting strange lately. Distant. Secretive. Like she's hiding something."
The women nodded.
The rumor spread.
By the end of the week, everyone in the lower town believed that Brynn was planning to leave.
No one would look for her when she disappeared.
They would assume she had gone.
Just as Liora had planned.
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Brynn – The Approach
Liora visited the healer's cottage late at night.
"Brynn?"
The healer looked up. Her eyes were sharp, assessing.
"Who's there?"
"It's me. Princess Liora."
Brynn frowned.
"Your Highness. What are you doing here so late?"
"I need your help. My brother—Darian—he's ill. The court physicians don't know what's wrong. I thought of you. Your reputation. Your skill."
Brynn's eyes widened.
"The prince?"
"Yes. I can't tell anyone. It has to be secret. If word got out that he was ill—"
"I understand."
Liora let her lower lip tremble.
"Please. You're the only one who can help."
Brynn hesitated.
Then she nodded.
"Let me get my bag."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Brynn – The Cellar
The princess led her through the dark corridors of the castle.
Brynn had never been inside the castle before. The servants' entrance, yes—the delivery doors, the kitchen. But never the inside. The corridors were grander than she had imagined, hung with tapestries and lit with torches.
Fancy place, she thought.
Too fancy for the likes of me.
But something felt wrong.
The princess was too calm. Too quiet. Too watchful. She moved through the darkness like she belonged there, like the shadows were her friends.
Stop it, Brynn told herself. You're being paranoid.
The princess stopped at a door. Old. Iron. Locked.
She produced a key.
"The prince's chambers are down here," she said. "Private entrance. No one knows about it."
Brynn 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 not allowed. The prince would be angry. You go first. I'll follow."
Brynn 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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The Forty-Second Ritual
Liora waited two hours.
Brynn was young, but she was not a fighter. Her screams were desperate, not furious. Her pounding was frantic, not strong.
By the time Liora descended the stairs, the healer was already weeping.
"Please," Brynn said. "I have patients. They need me."
Liora set down her lantern.
She opened her book.
"Then you shouldn't have followed a stranger into a cellar."
"Please—"
She was faster.
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The Power – Forty-Two
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Forty-two sacrifices. Forty-two souls. Forty-two streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They came faster now. More eagerly. They wrapped around her arms, her throat, her face. She could feel them inside her, in her lungs, in her stomach, in her mind.
More, they whispered. We need more.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A healer. Skilled. Visible. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Brynn's body with the others.
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 Vigil
Finn had stopped hoping.
He still watched. He still listened. He still remembered. But he had stopped hoping that anything would change.
The princess was too powerful. Too careful. Too perfect.
She would never make a mistake.
She would never be caught.
She would never stop.
Forty-two, he thought.
Forty-two names.
Forty-two faces.
Forty-two souls.
He recited the list every night before bed, a dark litany that kept the nightmares at bay.
But the nightmares came anyway.
They always came.
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The Queen – The Despair
Queen Elara sat in her chamber, staring at the fire.
Her son was broken.
Her daughter was a stranger.
Her husband was absent.
Her castle was falling apart.
What did I do wrong? she thought.
What did I do to deserve this?
She thought about Liora. The sweet smile. The soft voice. The eyes that seemed to see too much.
She thought about Darian. The accusations. The breakdown. The silence.
She thought about the disappearances. The servants. The travelers. The people from the lower town who had vanished without a trace.
Is it connected? she wondered.
Is she connected?
She shook her head.
No. She's a child. She's my daughter. She's innocent.
But the doubt remained.
It would never leave.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Forty-two sacrifices.
Fifty-eight more until the curse.
Fifty-eight more until forever.
She closed the book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was gone.
Something else was looking back.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
Darian is gone, she thought.
Finn is broken.
The queen is doubting.
Soon, even she will see.
But by then, it will be too late.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
And somewhere in the depths of the castle, in a cellar that no one visited and no one remembered, forty-two souls whispered her name.
Liora.
Liora.
Liora.
She heard them.
She always heard them.
They were hers now.
Forever.
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End of Chapter Fifty