Sylvia trembled as each step brought her closer to Prince Caysen's chamber. She had been scolding a maid who refused to work when a guard approached, announcing that the prince had summoned her.
What did she do? She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, scanning her mind for any mistake. But nothing came to mind—at least, not one worthy of his wrath.
"Wait here," the guard said curtly before disappearing into the room. Moments later, he returned. "You may enter."
Sylvia stepped in. "Good afternoon, Prince Caysen," she greeted, eyes fixed on the floor, hands clasped behind her back.
From the corner of the room, Althea watched in silence. Even Sylvia's afraid of him, she realized. What kind of power does this man possess?
"Sylvia," Caysen said, his cold voice echoing in the room. It made her shudder. "What did I tell you?"
"You… You—" A lump formed in her throat. "Y–Your Highness…
"Do."
He grabbed her by the head, forcing her to look into his eyes. They were dark, hollow, endless and filled with hatred. Eyes that spoke of death. It took every ounce of her willpower not to wet herself in fear.
"What did I tell you when I returned last night?" he growled. "Are you dumb?
From the corner of her eye, she saw Althea.
That wretch! She glared at her. So she'd gone to report her.
"You asked me to feed the girl you brought in," Sylvia answered quickly, breath hitching.
"Did you do that?" he asked, releasing her. His fingers drifted toward the sword on his hip. "Did you do as I asked?"
"My prince, I—I meant to. But there was so much to do—" she tried to explain herself but he silenced her.
"I see." He grinned, lips parting to reveal his sharp fangs. Sylvia shook in fear. He could kill her right now and no one would dare to ask him. "So, you no longer value your life."
Sylvia's knees gave out, and she collapsed before him, her head pressed hard to the floor.
"Please, forgive me!" she cried. "It will never happen again!"
She was too young to die. Yes, she was in her forties, but she was yet to find her prince charming.
Caysen let her wallow in silence, savoring the fear that clung to the air like smoke. Minutes passed until he finally said.
"Get up," he ordered and she scrambled to her feet.
"You're on thin ice," he warned. "One more slip, and I'll drain you of every drop of blood in your body." He licked his lips. A threat he'd love to carry out.
"Th–Thank you, my prince." Sylvia bowed again and again, her neck snapping forward so often Althea feared it might break.
Their eyes met. And in that moment, Althea saw it—the hatred, the trouble she had unknowingly put herself in. Sylvia would make her regret ever stepping foot in this palace.
Althea swallowed hard. You played with fire… and now, you're going to get burned.
Caysen's voice broke the tension. "What is your duty in this palace?"
"To oversee the maids, Your Highness," Sylvia answered, her eyes moving away from Althea.
"You're doing a poor job. I'll need to replace you soon." He turned toward Althea, eyes narrowing. "There are miscreants among your girls."
"Please, pardon them, Your Majesty," Sylvia said quickly. "They are young."
"Each girl has assigned duties," he snapped. "But they've turned into tyrants—idling about and attacking the weak."
Her weakness wasn't her fault. Not when life had only ever handed her pain. What more did they want from her?
"Now," Caysen continued, turning back to Sylvia, "Take her to the maid's quarters. She'll identify the culprits. Once found, send them to the courtyard."
Sylvia's eyes widened in fear. The courtyard— The most feared place in the palace. Even the dungeons were much preferred. He was going to kill them, all because of this long haired freak.
"All right, Your Highness," she said, voice shaking. "I'll send them."
Althea followed her out, the air between them heavy with tension.
You're done for, a voice whispered in Althea's head. Sylvia kept glancing over her shoulder, with murderous glares.
Eventually, Sylvia found the girls, chatting away oblivious of the trouble that awaits them. They were dragged to the courtyard—where Caysen waited, seated like a god of vengeance.
Beside him stood two terrifying men—the
Whippers. Enforcers of punishment in the kingdom. Before them lay whips of various sizes, each one designed to break both flesh and spirit.
The punishments were brutal, and soul crushing.
By the end, the girls barely crawled back to the quarters, bloodied, broken, and full of hate.
Althea was curled in a corner when they entered. She saw the red stains on their dresses—her heart shattered. She'd never meant for this to happen.
Petri marched toward her, her eyes burning with pure hatred. Unlike the others, she seemed almost untouched by the hours of pain that had been melted out on them.
"Look at her," she snarled, grabbing a fistful of Althea's hair and yanking her to her feet. "Pretending to be an angel after what she did."
"I'm sorry!" Althea sobbed. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
"But it did." Petri threw her aside, then turned around and ripped off her dress to reveal the deep, bleeding welts on her back—skin shredded by the whip.
"I—"
Petri's lips curled into a grin as she stepped closer. Althea backed away into the corner, shaking until she was trapped.
Petri leaned in, her breath hot and foul.
Her eyes turned pitch black. Horns began to twist out of her forehead. Her teeth—razor-sharp. Her hands, blackened and clawed, grabbed Althea's arms.
Althea screamed internally. After what she'd been through, the last thing she wanted was for Caysen to hear her screams.
Petri had transformed—into something monstrous. Something inhuman. A foul creature that she thought only haunted people in their nightmares.
She was this close to letting hot piss trickle down her legs from sheer terror.
"When I'm done with you." Petri hissed, grinning wide, "you'll wish your mother never came out of the sea." And with a growl, she shoved her hard against the wall.