Chapter Two
1873 Words
Behind the Veils of Darkness
Night fell, and a heavy stillness settled over the palace corridors, broken only by the faint, rhythmic patter of footsteps. Three girls moved with a caution fueled by frantic excitement, prowling toward the servants' quarters—a realm of shadows where oversight vanished. They stopped before a small, iron-barred window. Evia signaled for absolute silence, her eyes scanning the dark corners like a feline marking its prey.
Satisfied that they were alone, she leaned toward the bars. Iris and Amanda followed, their faces alight with a strange, precocious hunger.
After a moment of suffocating silence, Iris whispered, "Why is no one here?"
"Hush," Evia commanded. "They are coming."
"Will it be the same maid as before?" Amanda asked curiously.
"Of course," the sisters replied in unison.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps thudded within the room. The girls’ eyes widened. A maid appeared, led by a massive guard whose grip suggested a starving possessiveness. The princesses watched, frozen in a terrifyingly focused gaze, as the scene unfolded: the guard stripped her with a violent hunger and kissed her with a brutality that, to the young girls, looked more like an assault than an embrace.
"Why does she do this with everyone?" Amanda whispered, confused. "And why do they give her gold?"
Evia smiled a dark, knowing smile. Iris answered with a poisoned wit, "I suspect she worships gold. And before the glitter of coin, the poor always falter."
Evia tightened her gaze, a flicker of disgust crossing her features. "This guard is unbearably cruel. He leaves her skin marred, as if he were a beast devouring its kill."
"Why doesn't she strike him and flee?" Amanda asked naively.
Iris laughed. "Because she wants this, Amanda. Honestly, you are still such a babe; I don't know why we brought you along."
Evia stood abruptly, turning away. "I am leaving. This does not please me; the last time was much more elegant."
"Why leave now?" Iris urged. "The show isn't over."
Evia shrugged with disdain. "I dislike it. It is too savage."
Iris gave a playful, chilling laugh. "Well, I quite liked it."
Evia looked at her in shock. "Would you let someone bruise and bite you like that?"
"Of course not," Iris snapped, her eyes gleaming. "I would be the one doing the biting."
Later, huddled in Evia’s chambers, Evia mused, "I don't understand. The previous guard treated her as if she were made of glass. This one was like a rabid dog at a feast."
"Do all adults do this?" Amanda asked hesitantly. "Did the King and our mother?"
"Yes," Iris asserted with the cold air of an expert. "Everyone does. Our father did it often with the Queen."
"Liar!" Amanda cried. "I never saw them."
"We saw them, Iris and I," Evia added softly. "Long before you were born."
As they lay side by side, Iris let out a calculated sigh. "So, Evia, you prefer tenderness over power. You have no taste for cruelty."
"None at all," Evia replied. "When I choose a prince, he shall be warm, kind, and exceedingly handsome."
A hidden triumph flickered in Iris’s eyes. She realized then that Evia held no ambition for the throne; her heart was ruled by sentiment alone. Good, Iris thought. Evia is no obstacle. Now only Amanda remains. I shall find your weakness soon, then I can turn my full attention to playing with that 'little viper,' Cora.
The Breaking of Fast and Spirits
As the first threads of sunlight bathed the kingdom, the King and his daughters gathered for breakfast. An outward silence prevailed, interrupted only by the hushed whispers and knowing glances of the three eldest sisters. The King sat at the head of the table, looking as though he had fought a war in his sleep.
"Your Majesty," the Minister whispered, leaning in with concern. "You look as though you haven't tasted sleep in an eternity."
"Not for a single minute, my friend," the King sighed. He gestured for the Minister to sit beside him.
"Forgive me, Sire, my place is not here..."
The King raised his heavy eyes. "Sit. You are my friend before you are my minister."
As the Minister complied, the King leaned in. "Cora’s path haunts me. I do not know if letting her surrender to the forest and the blade is a virtue or a sin I shall answer for."
"She is not being forced," the Minister reassured him. "You are merely nurturing the steel she was born with. You are forging an heir."
The conversation died as Cora entered. She wore coarse black tunics, cinched tight at the waist and wrists—the garb of a male guard. Heads turned as she walked with a high chin, giving her father a stoic nod before sitting and filling her plate with meat in eerie silence.
"Cora! What is this attire?" the King gasped.
"The clothes of a boy, Your Majesty," she replied coolly. "They offer freedom. Dresses are but cages for the limbs."
"And where did you acquire them?"
She offered a ghost of a smile. "I asked the guard for his son’s clothes. He obliged."
The King watched her eat with a ravenous speed unsuited for her frame. "Slow down, child. Such haste will sour your stomach."
She swallowed quickly and stood with a sudden, startling dignity. "Do not fret for me. The guard waits." Then, she spoke a word that shook him to his core: "Farewell... Father."
The King froze. "It is the first time," he whispered to himself, "she has called me 'Father' instead of 'Majesty'."
Across the table, resentment festered.
"Father, do you not fear for her?" Evia asked, testing the waters. "She spends every day in the wild with that brutish guard."
"She is a child who loves nature," the King replied shortly.
"There is a secret in her daily excursions," Amanda muttered. "I am certain of it."
"Indeed," Evia added. "And Father knows it all while keeping us in the dark."
Iris, however, was elsewhere. Her eyes were fixed on the guard standing at the door—the same man she had seen in the heat of the night before. A mad, brilliant idea began to take root in her mind.
The Blade and the Poisoned Cup
In the forest, the guard watched Cora’s movements with mounting disbelief. She moved like a gale, fluid and relentless.
"Stop, little one," he panted. "We must rest."
But Cora did not stop. She swung her wooden practice sword, carving defensive arcs in the air as if fending off a legion of ghosts. "I am not yet weary, Master!"
The guard stepped forward and caught the wooden blade. "I said enough. Sit."
Cora smiled—a rare, childish spark—and sat upon the grass. The guard joined her, looking at her small, calloused hands. "You will tear your muscles, Cora. Mercy on yourself; greatness is not won in a single day."
"I will obey, Master," she said with an iron-willed smile. "I am stronger than I appear."
"How strange," the guard remarked warmly. "You are quite pleasant today. You aren't the silent, brooding girl you usually are."
Cora looked up at the canopy. "I am free here. These drills are my only breath of air away from the suffocation of the palace. And... because the King, my father, supports me. I feared he would forbid it."
"He believes in you more than you know."
Her smile widened. "I never noticed."
"Because you were the one building the walls between you," the guard noted.
The smile vanished instantly. Cora’s face hardened into that familiar, frigid mask. "Let us continue," she said curtly.
The guard stood but did not reach for a sword. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Know this, Cora: there are things as vital as the blade. You must learn the people of this kingdom... and the palace."
She looked at him blankly.
"A sword protects you from an enemy who raises his steel," he warned. "It cannot protect you from the poison placed in your cup with a smile. You must learn to read hearts before you learn to pierce chests."
Cora went silent. She stared toward the distant palace, then drove her wooden sword deep into the dirt.
The Spider’s Web
Before the first light of dawn, Iris slipped through the damp, rusted lower corridors of the palace. She showed no fear; her eyes held a coldness far beyond her years. She stopped at a derelict wooden door—the quarters of the "Beast" she had witnessed the night before.
She knocked with a steady, confident rhythm. The door groaned open to reveal the massive guard, his eyes bloodshot with sleep. Upon seeing the princess, he recoiled. "Princess Iris? What are you doing here at this hour?"
Iris entered without an invitation, surveying the grimy room with royal disgust. She turned to him, a predatory smile dancing on her lips. "I have come to offer a trade," she whispered. "Or rather, a chance for you to live another day."
The guard swallowed hard, a chill running through him. "I do not understand, Highness."
Iris stepped closer, staring into his eyes with blatant defiance. "I saw you yesterday... in that room, with that poor maid. I saw the way you tore her clothes, the savage cruelty of your hands. If my father the King knew of such desecration within his walls, your head would be gracing the palace gates by noon."
Cold sweat beaded on the guard’s brow. "Highness... I... it was..."
"Hush," Iris interrupted, placing a finger to her lips. "I care nothing for the story. I care only for what you will do to earn my silence." She leaned in. "I want you to follow my sister Cora like a shadow. I want a daily report of every word she utters, every move she makes in the forest, and every skill she learns. You will be my eyes behind her back."
"But she is the King’s daughter!" the guard stammered. "And the man with her is fierce. If I am caught, I am dead!"
Iris gave a short, crystalline laugh that died into a lethal stillness. "Then choose your death. Die by the hand of Cora’s guard—a small risk, given your skill at lurking—or die by my father’s axe tomorrow morning. Because I will tell him."
Silence choked the room. The guard looked at the child and saw a demon wearing a crown. He knew he was caught in a web with no mercy. He bowed his head in defeat. "As you wish, Princess. I shall do it."
Iris straightened her skirts and gave him a final look of pure victory and contempt. "Good. Remember, my eyes are always on you. One mistake, and you are finished."
She walked out with measured, regal steps, leaving a broken man behind. For the first time, she felt the intoxicating rush of true power: she had realized that it was far easier to own monsters than to fight them.
- Writer
