The Duke's Slave Daughter

Whispers of Betrayal

The grand hall was crowded, filled with nobles and servants alike. Every eye was focused on Urania, who stood alone in the center, her face pale and trembling. Duke Azrael sat on his throne, his expression an unreadable mix of anger and disgust. There was none of the warmth she had once known in his gaze; only judgment. Beside him stood her two older brothers—the ones who had once sworn to protect her from any danger, promising to keep her safe. Yet now, their eyes held only rage and contempt, piercing her with an intensity that felt like betrayal carved into stone. Those same eyes that had once looked upon her with kindness and loyalty now regarded her as if she were a stranger, or worse, an enemy.

Urania’s voice broke through the tense silence, her tone pleading. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, trembling with disbelief. "Why would you believe these lies, Father?"

Azrael’s gaze hardened. “Enough, Urania. I don’t know if you ever had the right to call me that,” he said, his voice low yet carrying a weight that made her heart sink. The whispers around the room grew louder, the word *fraud* slipping from the lips of advisors and courtiers alike, circling her like a storm.

“Brother Alec, Brother Alexis, please... believe in me. I’m begging you.” Urania’s voice trembled, her plea filled with desperation as she reached out to the brothers she had once trusted without question.

But Alec’s response was cold and unfeeling, his voice as harsh as ice. “I don’t know you. You’re not my sister.”

Alexis, barely masking his irritation, added, “Know your place. You don’t have the right to call me your brother anymore.”

Each word from them felt like a dagger, and Urania’s heart shattered. The hopelessness and despair washed over her like a wave, and she was consumed by the bitter truth—her family, the ones she had given everything for, were now her greatest betrayers.

Just yesterday, everything in Urania’s world had felt secure, untouched by doubt. But this morning, as she opened her eyes, the warmth that once surrounded her was gone. The castle, usually filled with the comforting bustle of familiar faces, now felt stark and unwelcoming, and even her family seemed distant, like strangers she could no longer reach. Her gaze landed on her father—his face hard and foreign, so far from the man she had cherished. She felt adrift, struggling to grasp when and how everything had unraveled so completely. It was as though she had awoken in someone else’s life, a place where her once-loving father was now her fiercest judge.

One of the advisors stepped forward, his voice cutting through the air. "My lord, she has deceived us all, claiming a place she never earned. There are those who swear she manipulated her way into this family—an imposter who only sought power and wealth."

“No, that’s not true,” Urania insisted, her voice shaking. She turned to the duke, desperation seeping into her tone. “Please, you know me. You know my heart. Why would I betray you? You were my family—” Her words choked off as she saw Azrael’s eyes harden even further.

“Do I know you, Urania?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Her father's words struck her deeper than any blade ever could.

Am I truly so worthless to you, Father? Did you ever mean the loving words you spoke when you first brought me into this home? The questions echoed painfully in Urania’s mind as silent tears traced down her cheeks. She felt utterly discarded, as though every moment of warmth and love had been nothing but an illusion, leaving her with a hollow ache where her heart once trusted. The sense of abandonment consumed her, and for the first time, she felt entirely alone.

Azrael’s gaze shifted, his mind replaying moments he’d tried to ignore—the doubts planted by those closest to him. He remembered the words of his advisor, who had spoken with such conviction. "There are gaps in her past, my lord," he’d said, his voice smooth yet insistent. "Wouldn't it be wise to investigate, to be certain? A man in your position cannot afford such deceptions."

Azrael looked back at Urania, and the memory of those whispers weighed heavily upon him. What if I was wrong to trust her? The thought gnawed at him, relentless and unsettling.

He took a deep breath, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke. “I trusted you, and yet…how could I have been so blind?” he asked, his tone more pained than accusatory. His words landed like stones between them, cold and unyielding.

In the shadows, Daeva watched, her expression carefully blank but her eyes alight with satisfaction. She had spent weeks, months, crafting her story, planting seeds of doubt among the court. And now, here was the fruit of her labor—Urania, vulnerable and defenseless, caught in a web from which there would be no escape.

“Father,” Urania whispered, her voice breaking. “Please, you must remember all we’ve shared, the life you’ve given me—”

Azrael’s gaze was unreadable, but his silence was more painful than any accusation he could have spoken aloud. Each word she uttered seemed only to deepen his mistrust.

“Lies,” someone muttered from the crowd, and soon the room echoed with contempt. “She fooled us all.”

“Who does she think she is?”

Urania tried to raise her voice above the jeers, her eyes pleading as she looked around the room. "Please, I have done nothing wrong. I have only ever loved this family." But the words caught in her throat, drowned out by the rising chorus of disdain.

Azrael finally rose from his seat, towering over her, the familiar features now foreign and terrifying. His face was shadowed, expression strained with pain and regret. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if bracing himself against what he had to do.

“This… is beyond forgiveness,” he said, his voice trembling but resolute. “From this day forward, you are no longer welcome in this household.” His words were like a blade, cutting through her last shreds of hope.

Her world shattered in that moment. “No…please, I beg you,” she managed, but her pleas only seemed to harden his resolve. The duke’s gaze turned colder still, his expression set.

“Leave, and never return,” he ordered, his voice devoid of the affection he once showed her. In the crowd, Daeva lowered her gaze, feigning sadness, but a tiny smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. All was going according to plan.

As Urania turned to leave, a heavy silence fell over the hall. Her steps echoed, each one dragging her closer to the exit, away from the only family she had ever known. She looked over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Azrael, hoping he might show even the faintest hint of regret. But he remained still, his expression impassive.

Her brothers, who once laughed and shared stories with her, now stood rigid, refusing to meet her gaze. Their rejection felt like an open wound. And the servants—people who had once smiled warmly at her—looked on with cold, impassive faces. Not one moved to stop her, to protest, or to offer a final word of kindness.

Outside, the skies were gray, heavy with the threat of rain. She could feel the coldness seep into her bones as she stepped away from the estate, each step heavier than the last.

“I was one of you…I was your daughter,” she whispered to herself, the words tasting bitter on her lips as she struggled to comprehend the depths of her loss. She had once believed in love, in family, but now she felt as though that life had been torn from her.

Distant thunder rumbled, mirroring the tempest within her heart. She didn’t know where she would go, who she could turn to. All she knew was that she was alone. Alone, cast aside, and forgotten.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and with it, her final shred of hope dissolved.