Silently, I follow the servants through halls that radiate with grandeur. High, vaulted ceilings bear intricate frescoes framed in gleaming gold leaf. Massive crystal chandeliers hang like glittering celestial bodies, their light dancing across marble floors so flawless they seem almost liquid. The walls are adorned with lavish tapestries, their vibrant colors and intricate patterns recounting tales of ancient triumphs and myths. Elaborate floral arrangements rest atop delicate pedestals, the scent of fresh roses mingling with that of warm wax and fine spices.

  Here, where the eyes of guests wander, every inch seems steeped in the splendor of excess. Gilded moldings, intricate sculptures, and finely crafted furnishings whisper of power and prestige. Yet, despite this opulence, the silence weighs heavier than the luxury surrounding me.

  For years, I obeyed them. I tried to be the daughter my father could love and, perhaps one day, part of his family. But today, I see more clearly than ever—I mean nothing to them. Now, they send me like a lamb to the slaughter. As little as they care for the feelings of the animals they consume without thought, so too do they disregard my well-being.

  That man… Lord Louweris. To him, I was never more than a collectible, another object for his growing collection. And now, I am being delivered to him, ready for him to claim his possession. Fear tightens around my throat, a cold, clammy shadow clutching at my heart. My legs feel like stone, each step a struggle, as if I am moving mountains. At the same time, my palms grow damp. Hastily, I wipe them against the silky fabric of my dress, but the trembling remains.

  As we leave the corridors accessible to the guests during the festivities, the brilliance fades. The halls behind me feel as if they belong to another world, a dream dissolving into mist. The vibrant hues of beauty are washed away by an unseen hand, leaving only the gray monotony of reality.

  The servants stop in front of a heavy door. One of them knocks. Only seconds pass before Lord Louweris gives a curt signal, indicating he is ready. One of the women opens the door, and I hesitate, my feet rooted in place. My gaze drifts through the crack, catching a glimpse of my room. The shelves are empty. My books... I hope they’ve been packed safely into the trunks. But what good would it do? They hold no significance in the place I’m being sent to call home. Where does Lord Louweris even live?

  “I said come in!” His voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I flinch. “Since when does a woman keep her husband waiting?”

  Fearing the servants might be punished for my hesitation, I step inside hurriedly. Behind me, the door closes with a hollow thud. I glance over my shoulder, startled.

  “My beloved,” Lord Louweris says, a broad smile spreading across his face as he rises from the sofa—the sofa I’ve spent countless hours lying on over the years. It pains me to see him sitting there. In his hand, he holds a cigar, which he takes a long drag from. “That was quite the exhausting evening. I must be too old for such festivities. But now, we can move on to the best part.”

  I know what he means. He doesn’t wish to waste time. But I want to delay. To push the inevitable as far away as possible. Yet I cannot stop it.

  He moves to the door behind me, turns the key in the lock, and places it in his jacket pocket—a key that usually belongs to Queen Mayyira. Then, he returns to the sofa, sprawling out with legs apart, and takes another deep drag from his cigar. The smoke curls like a small, ominous cloud around him, the acrid scent stinging my nose. With an impatient gesture, he motions for me to proceed.

  I freeze, feigning confusion, pretending not to understand him. “You are to present yourself to me,” he commands at last, his voice cutting through the air, smoke escaping him like a toxic mist. “Do you think I married you just to look at you?”

  I don’t respond. My eyes remain fixed on him, as if holding his gaze could somehow shield me from what he’ll say next. My hands are cold, unmoving, and every fiber of my being screams to keep the dress on. This dress, chosen by Queen Mayyira for tonight—a choice meant to please Lord Louweris. And yet… I cannot bring myself to remove it. Not for him. Not for anyone.

  I take a step back, my eyes darting around the room, desperate for an anchor, a glimmer of hope. But nothing remains. My bed, freshly made, looks unfamiliar, as if it already belongs to someone else. The thought of tomorrow—of leaving this place for good—bears down on me like a leaden weight. Will I ever return? Likely not. Why does no one mourn for me? Why must I face this moment alone?

  “You remember my warning, don’t you?” he says suddenly, his voice calm, almost offhanded, as he gestures with his hand—a reminder of the slap he’d given me. Instinctively, my hand flies to my cheek, where a dull ache still lingers.

  “So, you do,” he continues, a cold smile twisting his lips. “Then don’t make me wait any longer. Take it off.”

  My head shakes on its own accord, a small, instinctive refusal. The thought of baring myself before him sends a wave of shame and anger coursing through me. How can he believe he has the right to humiliate me like this? Yet deep down, I know how powerless I am. The locked door behind me, the strength he has already displayed—the memory of his hand striking my face. This is a fight I cannot win.

  “Did you just shake your head?” His voice sharpens, growing louder, as he rises with deliberate menace from his seat. “Clearly, the slap wasn’t painful enough for you.”

  His footsteps echo ominously as he approaches. My legs long to retreat, but I remain rooted in place. He seizes my shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh, and I feel the heat of his cigar before I see it.

  “I’ll have to teach you obedience,” he hisses, pressing the glowing tip of the cigar against my bare skin.

  A scream bursts from me, a sound that should pierce through walls, but no one will come. The searing heat bites into my flesh, slicing like molten steel. Panic consumes me as I try to push him away, flailing, but his grip holds firm. His other hand clamps down on my arm like a vise, his nails digging into my skin as if to force me to absorb every ounce of pain.

  The burning becomes unbearable, a relentless, pulsing agony that nearly drowns out all else. My legs give way, but he doesn’t let me fall. His face is close, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction that steals the breath from my lungs.

  “That’s better,” he murmurs softly, as the cigar smoke mingles with the stench of scorched flesh.

  My heart races, each beat thunderous in my ears. The world blurs, a haze of pain, fear, and revulsion settling over everything, and I know this moment—this triumphant, derisive gaze—will haunt me forever.

  He shoves me back with brutal force, and I collapse onto the bed. The mattress gives slightly under my weight, but it feels as though I’ve landed on stone—my entire body heavy and numb.

  My arm throbs with an unrelenting, deep ache that spreads outward, as though the burn is burrowing into my very being. I dare a glance at it and instantly regret it. The flesh is no longer red as with a fresh wound but has taken on an unnatural, waxy hue. Parts of it appear charred, lifeless, like burnt leather.

  Around the edges of the burn, the skin pulls tight and uneven, as though crudely stretched. Where the cigar touched, there is nothing left but a dark, crusted patch—no blood, no fluid—just silence and the lingering, insidious heat that continues to bore deeper, even though the cigar is gone.

  Nausea rises within me. My head pounds, and for a moment, I feel as though the room itself is slipping away. The gravity of this wound is not just painful—it is final.

  My trembling fingers inch toward my arm, but as they near, the heat pushes back. This is not the kind of pain one can scream through. It’s a coldness deep within, eclipsing the fire—the knowledge that nothing on my arm lives anymore.

  He stands before me, a triumphant smile on his face as he rubs his hands together with satisfaction. “Perhaps now you’ll learn what it means to defy me,” he says coldly. But his words barely reach me. All that remains is the terrible silence radiating from my arm—a void that feels as if it’s consuming me from within.

  Lord Louweris leans over me, his eyes scrutinizing me like an object he owns. His proximity is unbearable, and I feel the cold pressure of his hand on my arm. The pain from the burn on my upper arm courses through me like a taut wire, leaving no room for coherent thought. The wound, etched deep into my skin, burns incessantly, as though every cell in my body is teetering on the brink of destruction. I try to hold myself together, but every movement amplifies the searing agony, as if hot iron rods are being driven into my flesh.

  “You should know that this burn is not the worst you’ll face if you disobey me again,” he says, his voice rough and filled with authority. “Never forget, a Lady Louweris must abide by two principles: obedience to me and bearing me a son.”

  The words hit me like a blow. I want to scream at him, to fight back, but the pain overwhelms me. I can do nothing. The wound on my arm throbs incessantly, and the suffocating feeling of helplessness crushes any remaining spark of defiance. My teeth clench tightly, yet the pain steals my breath. It feels as if my body is betraying me, every breath a battle against the fire raging within.

  “Why do you resist?” he asks quietly, his hand trailing to my dress. The thought of escaping him entirely makes me weak. “Resistance will gain you nothing.”

  I don’t want him to see me like this, don’t want him to assert his dominance over me in this way, but I know I cannot move. I am too consumed by the pain. Sweat beads on my forehead, my hands tremble, but it is not just the physical torment that haunts me. It is the loss of control, the knowledge that I cannot escape in this moment. Every muscle in my body cries out for resistance, yet I am too weak.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  My body feels foreign, as though I’ve lost control over it entirely. Each motion intensifies the pain, and my cheek still burns with the stinging memory of his slap. I press my lips together tightly, but the tears fall regardless, streaking down my face against my will. It feels as though the pain is slicing through every fiber of my being, as if it seeks to tear me apart.

  “Be still,” he commands. “What comes next is an honor bestowed upon you.”

  He undoes the clasp of my dress, his touch unrelenting and forceful. I try to turn away, but the tears continue to flow, even as I desperately wish to hide them from him. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, like a trapped animal fighting in vain for freedom. Time stretches unbearably, turning the moment into an eternity with no escape. I feel so fragile, so powerless, it’s hard to maintain even a shred of composure. Every part of me screams for flight, yet I am trapped—in my pain, in this endless torment.

  Suddenly, the pain in my upper arm spikes, an intense jolt that makes my eyes widen in shock. Lord Louweris sneers at me, pressing his hand hard against my wound, sending searing waves of agony through my body.

  “Place your hand on my dick, and the pain will stop,” he orders, his gaze roaming over my exposed body. “Partially, at least. After all, you’ll endure a different type of pain tonight.”

  Horrified, I shake my head. The pain in my wound becomes unbearable, and I feel the edges of consciousness slipping away.

  “You insolent child,” he hisses, striking me with his fist across the face. I freeze, and though my arm continues to throb with pain, my body no longer responds to my commands. “If I had my whip, I’d beat some sense into you. My fists will suffice. TOUCH IT!”

  His rage peaks, his fists pounding down as if I were nothing more than a training dummy—a lifeless object for his blows. I taste blood but cannot discern its source. My life flashes before my eyes, and I wonder if I was ever truly alive.

  “VESPERA, LIVE!”

  The voice cuts through the haze, clear and piercing, as though it is being shouted directly into my ear. But my body has no strength left, and with each strike from Lord Louweris, my remaining will ebbs away. My eyes drift toward the flickering candle on the nightstand, its light a fleeting spark in the suffocating darkness. Then, abruptly, he stops. He grabs my hand and places it where he desires.

  “See,” he growls, still seething with anger. “You’ve never touched anything greater, have you?”

  The pain muffles all my sensations, leaving my hand numb. Even his touch barely registers anymore. Lord Louweris places his hand on my knees, forcing them apart, and just as he begins to act on his vile intentions, something glints in the corner of my eye. My gaze shifts to the nightstand, where I spot a hairpin—likely left by the servants to make managing my hair easier in the morning. My decision is made in an instant. Before he can proceed, I summon the last reserves of my strength and drive the pin directly into his eye.

  A guttural, pain-filled cry escapes him as he reels backward, clutching the hairpin now embedded in his eye. Blood pours from the wound, staining his face in dark rivulets.

  “YOU WRETCHED WHORE!” he bellows, his voice twisted with rage and agony. “I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!”

  The ringing in my ear subsides, and the sounds of the world flood back to me. For a moment, I lie motionless on the bed, gasping for air and gathering the final shred of strength I need to face the consequences of my choice. For too long, I endured his punishments, bore them as if they were an inescapable fate.

  But suddenly, an unexpected surge of power courses through me. I rise, filled with disgust, to face the monster who sought to break me. My eyes fall on my dress—it’s a hindrance, something that will slow me down in my escape. Instead, I seize Lord Louweris’s jacket, throwing it over my shoulders and fastening the buttons to cover my exposed body. Inside one of the pockets, I find the key to escape. Without hesitation, I use it to unlock the door.

  “YOU WILL NEVER ESCAPE ME!” he screams, his voice laced with overconfidence, as he struggles to stand. But his battered, aging body refuses to obey him. “YOU ARE MY WIFE, MY PROPERTY! GET BACK HERE AND OBEY ME!”

  I glance back at him one last time, cold and resolute, before hissing through clenched teeth: “My name is Vespera. You will never see this face again… and for your sake, I hope you don’t.”

  With that, I step through the doorway and lock it behind me. The pain from his blows and my wounds lingers like a shadow as I tread down the icy marble corridor. The chill beneath my bare feet could bother me, but instead, it brings solace. It reminds me that I’m still alive. That there’s still a chance.

  Have I truly done it? Am I free?

  No—not yet. True freedom remains a distant dream. If Lord Louweris or one of his servants finds me, what I’ve suffered thus far will pale in comparison to the horrors they’ll inflict. I have to get out—quickly.

  Although I was hardly allowed to spend any time outside my room, I know the castle from the fragments of my childhood. Before Queen Mayyira’s time, I knew how to navigate these halls. And when my bags were already packed, they would have been in the stables, stored in one of the carriages. I remember the coachmen I observed from my window, serving the arriving lords. The way down is my destination.

  With every step, I fight against the sharp pains in my body. But the real burden is something else: the memories of Lord Louweris and his despicable attempt to break me. These scars I will carry forever.

  Each of my steps is carefully placed. The light in the halls flickers weakly, yet I am plagued by the panic that around every corner someone could emerge and take me back to Lord Louweris or to my father. For everyone in the castle knows that I am not allowed to be outside my room without supervision. It’s hard for me to breathe calmly, and my pounding heart threatens to betray me. But today, it seems, fate takes pity on me, for I encounter no one until the very bottom floor. In the distance, I see an exit that, according to my calculations, leads directly to the stables, far below my room. As I breathe in the fresh air, I pause and feel a chill spread over my body as my feet touch the grass after such a long time. The moment is brief, but it feels like an eternity. The pain that sets in reminds me of my goal, and hastily, I hurry toward the carriages. In fact, for the first time, I am glad that summer has reached the kingdom, for otherwise, I would surely have lost a toe in this weather, wearing only a jacket and underwear! I quickly slip toward the many carriages and inspect each one, searching for a clue that could tell me more about Lord Louweris’ belongings. Since I have never used a suitcase, I cannot search directly for my things. Damn! It couldn’t get much harder than this! Five carriages are here. Fortunately, the other guests have already departed, or I might have spent hours doing this and would have been caught by now. Suddenly, I spot a white suitcase in the darkness with the initials “E.L.,” Elowirn Louweris! Almost all of the luggage is marked with these initials, except for one – a small, worn brown suitcase. This must belong to the Queen! Surely, she wanted to demonstrate my worth with her choice, but her malice will now be my salvation. Painfully, I approach this suitcase, opening it carefully to avoid making noise. Perfect hit! I find my fabric trousers and a loose blouse. Quickly, I put them on and leave Lord Louweris’ jacket, already stained with my blood, on his luggage. Should I succeed in escaping, I want him to see that his precious “possession” will not become part of his collection.

  “Did you hear that?” Suddenly, the voice of a younger man rings out, and I duck in shock.

  Above me, a bridge connects two parts of the castle. Why hadn’t I thought that someone might be on watch up there at this hour?

  “What’s going on?” asks the second voice.

  “The princess has escaped!” replies the first, horrified. “She’s supposed to have stabbed Lord Louweris in the eye with a hairpin!”

  “WHAT?” the other one exclaims, and his voice still echoes in my ears. “Where is she now? Have they managed to track her down?”

  “Not yet,” sighs the first, disappointed. “If she’s caught, she’ll receive the highest punishment.”

  “But she’s the king’s daughter,” the second replies, confused. “Maybe she didn’t want to marry Lord Louweris and acted out of panic? She’s seven years younger than us. Don’t you think she was scared?”

  “What does that matter?” hisses the first angrily. “Lord Louweris is an honorable man! He’s been the king’s right hand for many years! Young or not! She should feel honored to become his wife!”

  The pain in my arm shoots through me, and I fight the urge to move or make a sound to avoid drawing attention. This man, who doesn’t know me and has only seen Lord Louweris’ public face, dares to question my feelings? Why do people judge so quickly without knowing what really happened? Why are they like this? Why?

  Still, I am grateful to them. Only now do I realize the significance of Lord Louweris to my father. The king’s right hand... and my father is indebted to him. But why? Why?! This question burns in my mind, but there is no time to answer it. Once I’m gone from here, I’ll have enough moments to uncover these cursed secrets. But for now, only one thing matters – an exit that won’t force me to plunge into the depths.

  The guards have warned me to avoid the main entrance – the only path that would lead me quickly out of this castle. But what other choice do I have? The royal gardens? Yes, it’s another way, but there, too, these insurmountable walls rise. Should I really think about climbing them? My heart races at the thought.

  How can I get there the quickest? Is there a hidden path around the castle? Or must I once again sneak through the shadows and hope not to be discovered? My thoughts race as I move backward, hoping to see the castle from a distance. Suddenly, a branch brushes against my injured arm – and a sharp pain explodes within me. A scream escapes me, loud and uncontrollable. Panic surges through me. I immediately press one hand to my mouth, the other to the throbbing wound. My heart beats so violently it feels as though it might explode. Every moment, every second could bring my father or his guards here. Tears well up in my eyes, but they don’t fall. Why not? Why can’t I cry?

  What should I do? Not only am I far from reaching the royal gardens, but there I would also be confronted with these walls – walls that hold me captive. I’ve never climbed anything in my life! My arm throbs like fire, and my face still hurts from the punches of Lord Louweris. Damn him! One day, I will return. And then, he will pay. He will pay for everything!

  “VESPERA!”

  My heart stops. My knees give way. Slowly, almost in a trance, I turn around. There he stands. My father. The king. Flanked by his guards. His face is a mask of fury, his eyes full of coldness. He steps forward, raises his hand, and I know this is the end.

  “Men, don’t let her escape,” he says with a voice that knows no mercy. His gaze strikes me like a dagger. Contempt. Over and over, this contempt. I had believed we had grown closer, that the warmth from last night was real. But no. It was a lie. A lie to chain me to Lord Louweris.

  “You dare to harm Lord Louweris? Did you want to kill him? Have I raised you to be such a monster?!”

  I laugh. Bitter and broken. “Raised?” My voice trembles with emotion. “When? When were you supposed to have raised me? Was it during the years I sat alone in my room, staring at the walls? Day after day? What do you think you’re doing?”

  “SILENCE!” he roars. “TRAITOR!”

  A hysterical laugh escapes me, but it is not a laugh of joy. It’s the laugh of someone who finally sees the truth, who understands all the lies.

  “I endured it,” I whisper. “All that time. Waiting. Hoping. That one day, you might love me. Is that too much to ask of a father? Damn it, I was a child! A small, lonely child! And you? You let the queen do as she wished. YOU LEFT ME DAMNED ALONE!”

  “HOW DARE YOU YELL AT THE KING?!” an icy voice echoes through the night. Queen Mayyira. She stands on the bridge above us, her hands resting on the railing. Her eyes gleam like sharp daggers in the faint light of the lanterns. “You will surrender and return to your husband. Lord Louweris will find a punishment for you – even if it means you lose half of your sight.”

  I shake my head. Her words do not reach me. Nothing reaches me. I understand it now – I was never a part of this family. Never. And I will never be.

  “Men, grab her,” says the king. His voice is cold and empty.

  The guards rush forward.

  I close my eyes. For a brief moment, I had lived. Felt. The grass beneath my feet. The freshness of the air. I will keep these memories in my heart, for I know that I may never see daylight again.

  “Vespera, break free! BREAK FREE!”

  A strange pressure settles on my body. My breath catches. I look down and see... nothing. But the guards are drawing nearer. What is happening here? Is this the voice from my dream?

  “What is this figure?” the king asks, with a mix of confusion and fear. His finger points at me.