WHAT LIVES BENEATH THE VEIL
Book Three: The Queen of Shadows
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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 Eighty-Eight: The Bard's Song
Year 29 – Seventeen Years After the Curse
The bard in the west had sung for seventeen years.
Every day. Every night. Every moment of every hour. He wrote songs about the queen—her beauty, her power, her darkness. He spread her legend across the kingdom, making her famous, making her feared.
He believed he could charm her.
He believed he could seduce her.
He believed he could survive.
His name was Corin—another echo, another coincidence. He was young—only twenty-nine years old—but he had the eyes of someone much older. Someone who had seen too much, lost too much, sung too much.
He had watched the queen kill his father.
A bard. A storyteller. Someone who had tried to sing the truth about the queen and failed.
He had run.
He had hidden.
He had survived.
And now—
Now he was ready.
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The Western Tavern – The Gathering
Corin stood before his audience.
A handful of drunks. A few travelers. A single skeptic.
They had come from across the west, drawn by his reputation, drawn by the hope that together, they could succeed where others had failed.
"I'm going to the castle," Corin said.
"That's suicide."
"Probably."
"Then why do it?"
"Because the queen has never heard a song like mine."
The skeptic laughed.
"You're a fool."
"Maybe. But I'm a fool with a lute."
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The Castle – Night
Corin traveled to the castle alone.
He left his audience behind. His fans. His hope. He believed he could charm the queen. He believed he could seduce her. He believed he could survive.
He walked through the forest, his lute on his back, his songs in his heart.
The shadows watched.
The whispers followed.
And somewhere, deep in the castle, the queen waited.
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The Throne Room
He found the queen in the throne room.
She was sitting on the throne, her white dress glowing in the darkness, her black eyes shining like pools of oil.
"You're here," she said.
"I am."
"I've been waiting for you."
"You knew I was coming?"
"I know everything."
He stepped forward.
"I've come to sing for you."
Liora tilted her head.
"Sing for me?"
"I've written a song. About you. About your beauty. Your power. Your darkness."
She smiled.
"How flattering."
"May I sing it for you?"
"Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Close your eyes. And sing."
He closed his eyes.
He began to sing.
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The Song
The song was beautiful.
Haunting. Melancholy. Dark.
It told the story of a princess who became a monster. A girl who lost her soul. A queen who consumed everything she touched.
Liora listened.
The whispers listened.
The shadows listened.
Beautiful, the whispers said.
Yes, she thought.
He understands.
He sees.
He knows.
She stood up.
She walked down the steps.
She stopped in front of him.
"Open your eyes."
He opened his eyes.
"That was beautiful," she said.
"Thank you."
"You understand me."
"I think I do."
"No one understands me."
"Then let me be the first."
She reached out.
She touched his face.
"Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to."
He closed his eyes.
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The Feeding – Corin
Liora reached into the bard's mind.
He did not resist.
He welcomed it.
He believed he was connecting with her.
...the songs...
...the stories...
...the hope ...
...that he could be the one...
...that he could reach her...
...that he could save her...
She pulled.
The memories flowed into her.
The music.
The passion.
The soul.
Delicious, she thought.
More.
She pulled again.
He gasped.
His body convulsed.
His eyes rolled back.
She pulled again.
He went limp.
She withdrew from his mind.
She looked down at him.
Still breathing. Still alive. But empty.
The bard was no more.
Just a shell.
Another victim.
Another name for the list.
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The Four Thousand Fifteenth Sacrifice
She performed the ritual in the throne room, surrounded by emptiness and silence.
The whispers watched.
She spoke the words.
She made the cuts.
She collected the blood.
And when it was over—
The darkness wept.
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The Power – Four Thousand Fifteen
The fire in her veins burned brighter.
Four thousand and fifteen sacrifices. Four thousand and fifteen souls. Four thousand and fifteen streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming her.
Four thousand fifteen, she thought.
The hunger is quieter now.
But it will return.
It always returns.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A bard. Talented. Dead.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
Not even the talented.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disposal
She burned Corin's body in the throne room's brazier.
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 walked back to her chamber as the sun rose, smelling of smoke and blood and darkness.
She washed her face in a broken basin.
She braided her hair with her fingers.
She wore a white dress she had found in a forgotten wardrobe.
She practiced her smile.
Eyes wide. Innocence.
Mouth soft. Gentleness.
Head tilted. Curiosity.
Perfect, she thought.
She sat on the throne.
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The Empty Throne
The throne room was empty.
No servants. No guards. No nobles.
Just Liora.
And the whispers.
You are alone, they said.
Yes, she thought.
But I am not lonely.
I have you.
I have all of you.
Forever.
She closed her eyes.
She listened to the whispers.
They told her about the world.
The new kings. The new heroes. The new legends.
They told her about a young woman in the north. A healer. Compassionate. She had been saving lives for years, hiding in the shadows, avoiding the queen's notice.
She believed she could heal the queen.
She believed she could save her soul.
She believed she could redeem her.
Liora smiled.
Let her heal, she thought.
Let her save.
Let her believe.
I have time.
I have forever.
And when she comes—
I will feed.
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End of Chapter Eighty-Eight