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-Four: The Faster Path
Year 13 – One Hundred Two Months After the First Sacrifice
The scholar's knowledge had changed everything.
Liora sat in her chamber, reading his notes, absorbing his secrets. He had spent decades studying the dark arts, compiling information from hundreds of sources, piecing together a path that no one else had found.
The curse requires one hundred sacrifices, he had written. But not all sacrifices are equal.
A beggar's soul is worth one.
A servant's soul is worth one.
A traveler's soul is worth one.
But a noble's soul—
A noble's soul is worth two.
A mage's soul is worth three.
A king's soul—
A king's soul is worth five.
If you consume the powerful, you can reach one hundred in half the time.
If you drain the strong, you can reach one hundred in a quarter of the time.
If you take the innocent—
The truly innocent—
The children—
Their souls are worth ten.
Liora closed the book.
Children, she thought.
Their souls are worth ten.
One child equals ten beggars.
One child equals five servants.
One child equals two nobles.
One child equals—
She stopped.
Not yet, she told herself.
Not until I'm ready.
Not until I have no other choice.
But the thought lingered.
The hunger lingered.
She wanted to consume a child.
She wanted to taste that innocence.
She wanted to feel that power.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
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Liora – The Forty-Fourth Victim
She chose a man this time.
A noble from the castle. Not a powerful noble—not yet. A minor lord, visiting from the countryside. His name was Lord Harrow. He was middle-aged, wealthy, and arrogant.
He was staying in the castle's guest quarters, in the best room, with a bottle of wine and a purse full of gold.
No one would miss him.
Not immediately. His family was in the countryside, days away. His servants would assume he had returned early. By the time anyone thought to look for him, his body would be ash.
He was perfect.
And his soul was worth two.
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Lord Harrow – The Guest Quarters
The noble sat by the fire, drinking wine, reading a letter.
He heard a sound.
Footsteps.
He looked up.
A young woman was standing in the doorway. Not a child—thirteen years old, but she looked older. Her skin was pale. Her hair was dark. Her eyes were black.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Liora."
"The princess?"
"Yes."
He stood up.
He bowed.
"Your Highness. Forgive me. I didn't recognize you."
"That's all right."
"What can I do for you?"
She stepped closer.
"I want to show you something."
He frowned.
"What?"
"Follow me."
She turned and walked out of the room.
He hesitated.
Then he followed.
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The Guest Quarters – The Kill
She led him to the cellar.
Not the old cellar—a new one. Closer to the guest quarters. Easier to access.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"A place of power."
He frowned.
"Power?"
"Yes. The kind of power that comes from sacrifice."
He stopped.
"What are you talking about?"
She turned.
Her eyes were black.
"Your soul is worth two, Lord Harrow. Two beggars. Two servants. Two ordinary deaths."
He stepped back.
"I don't understand—"
"You don't need to understand."
She moved.
Faster than he could follow. Faster than he could react.
Her hand closed around his throat.
"Please—"
"Shh."
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The Forty-Fourth Ritual
She performed the ritual in the new cellar, surrounded by shadows and the smell of old stone.
The whispers watched.
They had been waiting for this. Hungry for this. The dark demanded blood, and the dark would have it.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness purred.
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The Power – Forty-Four
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Forty-four sacrifices. Forty-four souls. Forty-four streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
But this soul was different.
Stronger.
Worth more.
She could feel it. The noble's essence was thicker, richer, more potent than the others.
Two, she thought.
Two in one.
Twenty-seven more.
If I take another noble—
Twenty-six.
If I take a mage—
Twenty-four.
If I take a king—
Twenty-two.
If I take a child—
Seventeen.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A noble. Wealthy. Arrogant. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Lord Harrow's body in the new cellar's fireplace.
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 Observation
Finn saw her at breakfast.
She was sitting with her mother, eating porridge, smiling. Her dress was white. Her hair was braided. Her face was soft and sweet and completely ordinary.
But Finn saw something else.
Something in her eyes.
A hunger.
Deeper than before. Darker than before.
She killed again, he thought.
Last night.
Someone important.
He added another name to the list in his head.
Lord Harrow. Noble. Forty-four.
He recited the list every night before bed.
Forty-four names.
Forty-four faces.
Forty-four souls.
Forty-four, he thought.
She's killed forty-four people.
And no one is doing anything.
He lay in his corner, staring at the darkness.
He did not sleep.
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The King – The Return
King Aldric returned to the castle that afternoon.
He had been in the northern provinces for months, hunting and whoring and ignoring his family. He was tanned and tired and reeked of wine.
He did not notice that anything had changed.
He did not notice that his wife was hollow.
He did not notice that his son was broken.
He did not notice that his daughter was a monster.
He went to his chambers.
He ate a meal.
He went to sleep.
He did not dream.
He never dreamed.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
Forty-four sacrifices.
Twenty-seven more until the curse.
If she followed the faster way.
If she consumed the powerful.
If she drained the strong.
If she took the innocent.
Twenty-seven more.
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.
The king has returned, she thought.
His soul is worth five.
Five in one.
Twenty-two more.
If I take him—
Twenty-two.
If I take a child—
Seventeen.
If I take two children—
Seven.
If I take three children—
None.
She stopped.
Not yet, she told herself.
Not until I'm ready.
Not until I have no other choice.
But the thought lingered.
The hunger lingered.
She wanted to consume a child.
She wanted to taste that innocence.
She wanted to feel that power.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
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-four 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-Four