Chapter 4
1348 Words
The morning began with the sound of suppressed sobbing.
The three women chosen by the King the previous night had returned before dawn.
They moved like ghosts, their bodies stiff, their faces masks of hollowed-out trauma.
Nobody spoke to them.
Nobody asked questions. Inside the slave quarters, silence was the only kindness left.
Words would only make it real, and reality was too heavy to carry.
Elara sat on her thin, straw-filled mattress, watching one of the women stare blankly at the stone wall.
The woman hadn't blinked since she walked in.
A dark, purple bruise encircled her wrist, visible even in the dim, gray light filtering through the narrow windows.
It was a mark of ownership, a receipt for a night of hell.
A sharp whistle cracked through the air.Work.
The slaves rose immediately, a reflex born of pain.
Another day had begun.
Outside, dark clouds hung low over the mountains, choking the sky.
Rain had hammered the castle all night, turning the cliffs into slippery death traps. T
he ancient fortress sat atop those black cliffs like a predator overlooking the endless, dark forests that stretched beyond the kingdom's borders
.People said monsters lived in those woods. Witches. Demons.
Elara knew better. The real monsters didn't live in the woods.
They lived in the castle. They wore crowns and sat on thrones.
The castle itself was a prison carved from stone, its towers piercing the gray sky like middle fingers to the gods. Its walls had witnessed centuries of bloodshed, r**e, and death.
And within those walls, slaves worked from dawn until their bodies collapsed.
Elara spent the morning scrubbing the Great Hall until her knuckles bled.
The King was hosting a feast. That much everyone knew.
But the air was thick with a different kind of tension.
"The Shadow Legion crossed the eastern gate before sunrise."The whispered words cut through the room like a knife.
Several women froze, their eyes widening.Elara kept her head down, polishing a silver goblet until her reflection distorted.
Don't listen. Don't engage. Don't exist."I heard there were hundreds of them," a young maid whispered, her voice trembling. "Soldiers. Killers.""Hundreds?""Aye.
They say they've been slaughtering people along the northern borders for months.
Cutting throats, burning villages."A nervous shiver passed through the group.
War was never far, but this year it felt like a blade pressed against their throats.
Another servant leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Did you hear the rest?""Hear what?""The Lord of Shadows came with them."The room erupted.
Even the older women, usually so careful, leaned in.Elara sighed internally. Here we go.The Commander.
The King's favorite weapon. The monster that other monsters told stories about to scare their children.
"They say he never removes his mask," one woman whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and twisted fascination.
"They say nobody has ever seen his face and lived.""I heard he killed an entire battalion with his bare hands," another added. "Tore them apart like wolves.""That's impossible.""So is surviving the Black Marsh.
And he did." The woman crossed herself, trembling. "He's not human. He can't be."
The rumors piled up, thick and sickening. Cursed blood. Ancient magic.
A demon in human skin.One of the younger women, a girl named Lyra who still had a dangerous spark of rebellion in her eyes, let out a dreamy sigh.
"I don't care if he's a demon. I wish he'd summon me to his chambers."Another girl giggled, a nervous, hysterical sound.
"Oh, gods, yes. I'd ride him all night long. I'd make him forget his own name."Elara's stomach turned. Fools."Are you sure you'd take him?" an elderly woman snapped, her voice harsh.
"Rumors say the man has a c**k the size of a horse's. He'd split you in half before you could scream. He'd tear you apart from the inside out.
"The girls didn't look scared. They looked aroused."I don't care," Lyra purred, biting her lower lip, her eyes glazed with a dangerous fantasy. "I'd take all of him.
Every inch. I'd beg him to break me.""At least he isn't the King," someone muttered.The laughter died instantly.
The mood shifted from fantasy to grim reality.Everyone understood the difference.
Being chosen by the King was a death sentence of the soul. It was torture, humiliation, and pain. Being noticed by the mysterious Commander was a fantasy for foolish girls who thought danger was romantic.
Neither option was safe. Powerful men were predators, period. Whether they wore a crown or a mask, they took what they wanted, and women like Elara were just meat waiting to be consumed.
The whistle of an overseer cracked through the air like a whip."Back to work! Lazy sluts! Do you want the lash?"The women scrambled, heads bowed, hearts pounding.The day dragged on, agonizing and slow. Rain beat against the windows, a relentless drumbeat of misery. Torches flickered in the cold corridors, casting long, dancing shadows that looked like grasping hands.
Servants rushed through the hallways carrying barrels of wine and baskets of food, preparing for the feast of the damned.
By afternoon, the smell of roasted boar and spiced wine filled the air, masking the scent of fear and sweat.
Musicians arrived, tuning their instruments for a night of decadence. Nobles from distant territories began entering the castle, their laughter loud and cruel, their eyes scanning the servants like they were looking at livestock.
The feast was drawing near.As the sun disappeared behind the storm clouds, plunging the world into darkness, Elara finally finished polishing the last silver goblet.
Her shoulders screamed in pain. Her hands were raw, the skin broken and bleeding. All she wanted was to curl up in her cell and sleep until she died.
Instead, a palace steward appeared in the doorway. He was a thin, cruel man who enjoyed his small amount of power over the slaves.
His gaze swept across the room, cold and calculating.Then it landed on her."You."Elara's heart stopped. She stood immediately, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Yes, master?"The steward pointed a long, thin finger at her.
"You'll be serving in the Great Hall tonight. The King requires additional staff."Her stomach dropped into her boots.
No. Please, no.Around her, several women looked at her with pity. They knew what this meant.The Great Hall.
The last place on earth she wanted to be.The King would be there, drunk and violent.
The nobles would be there, looking for victims.
The Shadow Legion would be there. Soldiers who had just come from killing, likely drunk on blood and wine.Too many eyes.
Too much danger.For five years, she had survived by being invisible. By being nothing. By being a ghost.
Tonight, she would be standing in the center of the room, exposed, vulnerable, surrounded by predators.
The steward frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Did you hear me, girl? Move your ass.""Yes, master," Elara whispered, her voice trembling."Good. Be there in an hour. If you're late, I'll have you whipped until you can't sit for a month."He turned and left, his boots clicking on the stone.
The room remained silent after his departure. The air felt heavy, suffocating.One of the older slaves shook her head, her eyes full of sorrow
"Keep your eyes down. Don't speak. Don't look at anyone. Do you understand? You are invisible. You are a ghost."Elara forced a shaky smile, though her hands were trembling.
"I always do."The woman didn't smile back. She knew the odds.Outside, thunder rumbled across the mountains, a deep, violent sound that shook the castle walls.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark, terrifying forest for a split second.Inside, a strange feeling settled in Elara's chest. Unease. Dread.
The kind of feeling that appeared before a storm, before a m******e, before a life ended.For the first time in five years, Elara found herself praying to gods she didn't believe in.
She prayed the night would never arrive. She prayed the earth would swallow the castle whole.Because she knew what happened in rooms full of powerful, drunk men.
She knew the stories. She knew the screams.And tonight, she would be right there in the middle of it.
- Writer
