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 Twelve: The Silence of Complicity
Year 8 – Four Months After the Fifth Sacrifice
The castle had stopped whispering.
Not because the whispers had died—they hadn't. But because the whisperers had learned that speaking made no difference. The princess was still there. The cellar was still wrong. The disappearances were still happening.
And no one did anything.
So the servants stopped talking.
They stopped looking at each other when the princess passed. They stopped exchanging glances over the kitchen fire. They stopped asking questions about the old woman who had worked in the laundry, the traveler who had been seen near the stables, the beggar who had slept by the river.
They stopped because they were afraid.
Not of the princess—not directly. They could not name what they feared. They only knew that something was wrong, that something had changed, that the castle was no longer safe.
And so they kept their heads down.
They did their work.
They pretended not to see.
And Liora?
Liora watched them pretend.
She found it amusing.
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Liora – The Morning Ritual
She stood before her silver mirror, as she did every morning.
The face that looked back at her was the same as always. Pale skin. Dark hair. Eyes the color of weak tea. The mask of innocence, perfectly maintained.
But beneath the mask—
Something was growing.
She could feel it now. Not just the power from the sacrifices, though that was there too, thrumming through her veins like a second heartbeat. Something darker. Something hungrier.
The old texts called it The Shadow Self.
With each sacrifice, the dark within you grows. It feeds on death. It thrives on blood. It whispers to you in the language of the grave.
Do not ignore its whispers.
They are the voice of your true self.
Liora did not ignore them.
She listened.
And the whispers told her many things.
You are not like them, they said. You are more. You are greater. You are the beginning of something new.
The world will try to stop you. The world will call you evil. The world will send heroes to cut you down.
But the world is wrong.
You are not evil.
You are inevitable.
She smiled at her reflection.
The girl in the mirror smiled back.
But for a moment—just a moment—the smile seemed wider than it should have been. The eyes seemed darker than they should have been. The face seemed older than it should have been.
Liora blinked.
The reflection returned to normal.
Interesting, she thought.
She filed it away and went down to breakfast.
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Finn – The Watcher
Finn had become a ghost.
Not literally—he was still alive, still breathing, still peeling potatoes in the kitchen. But he had learned to move through the castle without being seen, without being heard, without being noticed.
He watched.
That was all he did now. Watch. Listen. Remember.
He watched the princess at breakfast, smiling at her family, eating her porridge, pretending to be normal.
He watched the servants in the kitchen, pretending not to see the shadows under their eyes, the tremor in their hands, the way they flinched at sudden noises.
He watched Aldric, who was wasting away in plain sight, growing thinner and palder and more desperate with each passing day.
They all know, Finn thought. Not what she is. Not exactly. But they know something is wrong.
And they're doing nothing.
He understood.
He was doing nothing too.
What could he do? He was eight years old. He had no proof. No allies. No power. All he had was his eyes and his memory and the terrible certainty that the princess would kill again.
And again, he thought.
And again.
And no one will stop her.
He peeled another potato.
The knife slipped.
He barely felt the cut.
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Aldric – The Descent
Aldric had stopped leaving the dormitory.
Not entirely—he still had duties, still had to work, still had to move through the castle like a living person. But he had stopped living. He ate when he had to. He slept when he could. He spoke only when spoken to.
The other pages had given up on him.
"He's lost his mind," they whispered. "Something broke inside him."
They were right.
Something had broken.
The key. The cellar. The princess's smile. The way she had looked at him when he confronted her—not afraid, not angry, just amused. Like he was a child throwing a tantrum. Like his fear was entertaining.
She's going to kill me, he thought.
Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday.
When I'm no longer useful.
When I've stopped being interesting.
When I've become a liability.
He lay in his narrow bed and stared at the ceiling.
He did not sleep.
He did not dream.
He just waited.
For the end.
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Liora – The Sixth Victim
She chose a man this time.
A soldier. One of the castle guards, young and strong and full of the arrogance that came from carrying a sword. His name was Roran. He was twenty-two years old. He had no family in the castle—no wife, no children, no one who would notice if he disappeared.
He was perfect.
But approaching him would be different from approaching the others. He was not desperate. Not hungry. Not broken by life.
He was confident.
Confidence was a weakness she had not exploited before.
She was curious to see how it would break.
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The Approach
She found him at his post, standing guard outside the great hall, his hand on his sword, his eyes scanning the corridor.
"Excuse me."
He looked down. Saw a child in a white dress. His posture relaxed.
"Princess. You shouldn't be wandering alone."
"I know. But I have a problem. And I thought—you look so strong. So brave. I thought maybe you could help me."
He smiled. Flattered.
"What's the problem?"
"There's something in the old cellar," she said, widening her eyes. "Something that scares me. I think it might be an animal. Or maybe—maybe a person. I heard noises."
Roran frowned.
"The old cellar? No one goes down there. It's locked."
"I have a key," she said. "I found it. I know I shouldn't have kept it, but I was curious. And now I'm scared."
She let her lower lip tremble.
"Please. I don't know who else to ask."
Roran looked at her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"All right, Princess. Show me."
Liora smiled.
Thank you, she thought.
You're so kind.
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Roran – The Cellar
The door was old. Iron. Locked.
The princess produced a key.
"It's down there," she said. "I heard it scratching. I think it's trapped."
Roran drew his sword.
"Stay behind me, Princess."
He opened the door.
He walked down the steps.
She did not stay behind him.
She closed the door.
The lock clicked.
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Roran – The Realization
He heard the lock turn.
He turned around. The door was closed. The princess was not behind him.
"Princess?"
Silence.
"Princess!"
He ran up the steps. Pounded on the door. The wood did not break. The iron did not bend.
"OPEN THE DOOR!"
Silence.
He stood in the darkness, his heart pounding, his sword raised against an enemy he could not see.
Why? he thought. Why would a child do this?
He did not understand.
He would never understand.
The darkness pressed against him.
The cold seeped into his bones.
And the princess did not open the door.
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Liora – The Sixth Ritual
She waited four hours this time.
Roran was strong. Young. Trained. His screams were loud. His pounding was furious. He did not beg—not at first. He threatened. He promised. He swore that when he got out, he would tell everyone what she had done.
Then, after three hours, the threats stopped.
After three and a half, the promises stopped.
After four, the screams stopped.
She descended the stairs with her lantern, her knife, her book.
Roran was on his knees in the center of the cellar, his sword on the floor beside him, his face wet with tears.
"Why?" he whispered.
Liora set down the lantern.
She opened the book.
"Because I need your soul," she said. "And because no one will believe you."
He lunged for his sword.
She was faster.
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The Power – Six
The fire in her veins burned hotter now.
Six sacrifices. Six souls. Six streams of darkness flowing into her, merging with her blood, becoming part of her.
She raised her hand.
The shadows answered.
They coiled around her arm, up to her elbow, cold and alive and hungry. She could feel them tasting the air, sensing the fear that still clung to the body on the floor.
More, they whispered. We need more.
Soon, she thought.
Soon.
She released the spell.
The shadows retreated.
She looked at the body.
A soldier. Strong. Confident. Broken.
No one is safe from me, she thought.
No one.
She smiled in the darkness.
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The Disappearance
Roran was missed.
Not immediately—guards came and went, shifts changed, people moved on. But when he didn't appear for his next watch, his commander noticed.
"Has anyone seen Roran?"
No one had.
"He's probably drunk in a ditch somewhere," another guard said. "He'll turn up."
He did not turn up.
The commander sent men to look for him. They searched the castle, the town, the surrounding countryside. They found nothing.
"Deserted," the commander concluded. "Happens sometimes. Men get tired of the life and run."
No one questioned this.
No one wanted to question this.
Because the alternative—that something in the castle had taken him—was too terrible to contemplate.
And so Roran joined the list.
Orin. Greta. Corin. The man by the river. Marta.
And now Roran.
Six names.
Six lives.
Six souls.
And no one—no one—was asking the right questions.
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Finn – The Observation
Finn saw the guards searching.
He saw them give up.
He saw the commander shrug and say "deserted" and move on with his life.
Not deserted, Finn thought. Dead.
In the cellar.
Like the others.
He wanted to tell someone. He wanted to run to the commander and say "search the east wing, search the old cellar, you'll find the bodies."
But he didn't.
Because he had no proof.
Because no one would believe him.
Because he was eight years old and the princess was eight years old and who would believe that a child could do such things?
No one, he thought.
No one ever.
He went back to the kitchen.
He peeled potatoes.
He kept his mouth shut.
He survived.
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Aldric – The Breaking Point
Aldric heard about Roran's disappearance.
He heard the guards say "deserted."
He heard them laugh about it, speculate about where he had gone, what woman had lured him away, what adventure had called his name.
Not deserted, Aldric thought.
Dead.
In the cellar.
Like the others.
He sat on his bed in the pages' dormitory, staring at the wall.
I gave her the key, he thought.
I gave her the key, and she killed him.
She killed them all.
He should tell someone. The steward. The captain of the guard. Anyone.
But who would believe him?
He was a page boy. She was a princess. He had no proof. No evidence. Nothing but a feeling and a key that he had stolen and returned.
I'm complicit, he realized.
I helped her.
I'm as guilty as she is.
The thought crushed him.
He lay down on his bed.
He closed his eyes.
He did not sleep.
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Liora – The Evening
She sat in her chamber, reading by candlelight.
The old texts were becoming easier to understand. The more sacrifices she made, the clearer the words became. It was as if the darkness inside her was translating them, revealing meanings that had been hidden before.
The seventh sacrifice opens the door wider, she read. The eighth strengthens the bond. The ninth and tenth seal it.
After ten, the dark will be part of you forever.
There is no going back.
There is no redemption.
There is only forward.
Liora closed the book.
Forward, she thought.
Yes.
Always forward.
She looked at her reflection in the window.
The girl who looked back was not a girl anymore.
Not really.
She was something else.
Something more.
Something that the world had never seen before.
Soon, she thought.
Soon, everyone will know.
But by then, it will be too late.
She smiled.
The darkness smiled with her.
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End of Chapter Twelve