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-One: The Quiet Before
Year 13 – Ninety-Six Months After the First Sacrifice
Four years.
Forty-two kills.
Countless drainings.
And Liora Veyne, age thirteen, had become something that the world had never seen before.
Not a child. Not a woman. Something in between. Something other. Her body had begun to change—not just from the dark, but from nature. She was growing taller. Her curves were forming. Her voice was deepening.
She was becoming beautiful.
Not the beauty of a girl—the beauty of a predator. The kind of beauty that drew people in, that made them want to be near her, that made them trust her.
The old texts called this stage The Flowering.
At fifty sacrifices, the blood changes. At seventy-five, the bones. At one hundred—
She closed the book.
Fifty-eight more, she thought.
Fifty-eight more until the curse.
Fifty-eight more until forever.
But the curse was not the only thing she waited for.
She had learned to control her hunger. The drainings were no longer desperate, no longer urgent. They were measured. Calculated. She took what she needed and no more.
She had learned to control her appearance. The pale skin, the dark hair, the black eyes—she could hide them now. Make herself look ordinary. Make herself look innocent.
She had learned to control the whispers. The forty-two souls who served her were silent now, waiting for her command. They had learned patience.
They had learned that she was the master.
Not the fool.
The master.
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The Lower Town – Night
She walked the streets, as she did every night.
The whispers guided her.
There is a man, they said. In the house on the corner. He is young. He is strong. He is alone.
He is perfect.
She found him in his bed, sleeping.
She climbed through the window.
She stood over him, watching.
...dreaming...
...of her...
...the one who left...
...if only...
...if only...
She reached into his mind.
She found the dream.
She changed it.
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The Dream
He was standing in a field of flowers.
She was there. The one who left. The one he had loved and lost.
She was smiling at him.
"Hello, love," she said.
"Hello," he said.
"Come here."
He walked toward her.
She reached out and touched his face.
"I've missed you," she said.
"I've missed you too."
"Stay with me."
"Always."
She kissed him.
He melted into her.
The dream shifted.
They were in a room now. A bedroom. Soft light. Soft sheets.
She was undressing him.
"Please," he whispered.
"Please what?"
"Please don't leave me again."
"I won't," she said. "I'm here. I'm always here."
She laid him on the bed.
She climbed on top of him.
He closed his eyes.
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The Draining
Liora stood over him, her hand on his chest.
She was in his mind.
In his dream.
In his pleasure.
She pulled.
He gasped in his sleep.
His body arched. His hands clenched. His mouth opened.
The shadows drank.
Not just his essence. His longing. His loss. His hope.
She consumed everything.
The love. The pain. The desire.
All of it.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
He cried out in his sleep.
His body convulsed.
More.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
Empty.
Hollow.
Useless.
She withdrew from his mind.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But gone.
He would never dream again.
Never love again.
Never hope again.
She climbed out the window.
She walked back to the castle.
The shadows followed.
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Finn – The Watcher
Finn had grown older.
Thirteen now. Taller. Thinner. His eyes were hollow, shadowed by years of watching, years of waiting, years of fear.
He still kept the list.
Forty-two names.
Forty-two faces.
Forty-two souls.
He recited them every night before bed.
Orin. Greta. Corin. The man by the river. Marta. Roran. Varek. Elara. The boy. Sir Aldous. Lyssa. Bren. Mira the seamstress. Eldrin. Elara the servant. Gared. Sera. Orin the carpenter. Margit. Ser Corvin. Halvar. Brynn. Willem. Elspeth. Gregor. Sera the weaver. Torvin. Hilda. Durin. Gretchen. Orin the stable hand. Ilsa. Aldric the carpenter. Marta the baker. Bren the fisherman. Sera the weaver. Elara the potter. Varek the merchant. Brynn the healer.
Forty-two.
And more coming.
He could feel it.
The princess was not slowing down. She was waiting. For something. For someone.
He did not know who.
But he was afraid.
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The Queen – The Realization
Queen Elara had stopped sleeping.
She lay in her bed each night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her children.
Darian was broken. Hollow. Empty.
Liora was... wrong.
Not in obvious ways. She still smiled. Still spoke softly. Still played the part of the sweet princess.
But something was different.
Something had been different for years.
I should have seen it, the queen thought. I should have noticed.
But I didn't want to.
I didn't want to believe.
She thought about the disappearances. The servants. The travelers. The people from the lower town.
She thought about Darian's accusations.
She thought about Liora's eyes.
What are you? she thought.
What have you become?
She did not sleep.
She would not sleep.
Not until she knew the truth.
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Liora – The Awareness
Liora knew.
The whispers had told her.
The queen is suspicious, they said. She is watching you. She is waiting. She is afraid.
She knows something is wrong.
She does not know what.
But she is close.
Too close.
Liora smiled.
Let her watch, she thought.
Let her wait.
Let her be afraid.
It doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
I am already more powerful than she can imagine.
I am already more powerful than anyone can imagine.
I am the dark.
The dark is me.
Forever.
She closed her book.
She looked at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror was gone.
Something else was looking back.
Something ancient.
Something hungry.
Soon, she thought.
Soon, the queen will know.
Soon, everyone will know.
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-One