•••
Selene's pulse quickened as she turned her gaze to the figure in the doorway. The shadow was tall, with an air of menace that made her heart skip a beat.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could form, Elira stepped out of the darkness, her presence cutting through the tension.
"What are you doing here at this hour?" Elira's voice was low, but there was a sharpness to it that made Selene's breath catch. "It's not safe for a human girl to roam alone in the dark. The citadel was built on the tears and bloodshed of countless souls,"
She stepped one step closure and whispered.
"Do not invite more threats to yourself, especially when you can't protect yourself."
Selene blinked, taken aback by the sudden reprimand. Elira's words echoed with an eerie weight, and for a moment, Selene wondered if there was more truth to them than she wanted to believe.
Elira's eyes softened, though, her tone becoming less severe as she continued. "This citadel looms over this land like a dark sentinel, built on the blood of witches who died to protect their lineage," she explained, her voice steady despite the gravity of her words.
Selene felt a shiver run down her spine. She had heard whispers of the cursed history of this place, but hearing it from Elira made it all the more real. The citadel was no mere fortress; it was a reminder of power, loss, and ancient vengeance.
"But..." Selene hesitated, glancing over at Elira's guarded face. "How do you know all this? You speak of it like... like you've lived through it."
Elira's expression remained unreadable for a moment before she finally spoke, her words softening. "I am twenty winters old. I've been here long enough to learn the stories of those who came before us."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Selene couldn't help but ask, "What about your family?"
Elira stiffened, her shoulders tensing slightly. Her eyes narrowed, and for a fleeting moment, she looked as though she might retreat back into the shadows. But then, just as quickly, the moment passed. "They are... gone," she replied curtly, and the subject was closed.
The two women stood in silence for a moment longer before Elira gave a soft sigh. "You'd better return to your cot before someone finds you out here."
Without another word, Elira turned and vanished back into the shadows of the hall, going back to their room, leaving Selene to ponder the weight of her words.
She couldn't shake the image of the dark citadel, its walls seemingly alive with the echoes of the past. But as the night crept on, Selene couldn't help but feel that she had just scratched the surface of something much darker than she could ever imagine.
The next morning, the harsh light of day did little to dispel the unsettling thoughts that clung to her. As Selene made her way through the corridors, her mind was preoccupied with Elira's words.
She quickly learned the rules of her new life: obedience was paramount, and any disobedience would be met with swift punishment. There was no room for hesitation, no space for questioning the authority of those who ruled above her.
His Majesty remained a looming figure in her thoughts. Though he never spoke to her directly, his presence was ever felt—his cold, terrifying aura, his distant demeanor, his unpredictable temper.
She had already witnessed a glimpse of it the night before, when a servant had inadvertently crossed his path. The punishment had been swift and brutal, leaving Selene with a chilling understanding of the power that controlled her.
It was then that she received her first direct order of the day. The words sent a chill down her spine: "Clean the bloodstained throne room by morning."
The command was simple, but the weight of it was heavy. The throne room—the very heart of the citadel—was a place that many feared to enter, let alone clean. The bloodstains from previous occupants, both human and vampire, spoke of violence, of power, and of secrets long buried.
Selene made her way toward the throne room with a heavy heart, each step echoing in the hollow corridors of the citadel.
The walls, adorned with ancient tapestries and the remnants of long-dead royalty, seemed to watch her, their eyes filled with secrets she could never uncover. She couldn't shake the feeling that the citadel itself was alive—its walls, its floors, its very stones—all whispered the history of those who had come before her.
As she approached the large, ominous doors of the throne room, she hesitated. The bloodstains Elira had spoken of seemed to linger in the air, even now.
The smell of iron was thick, and the chill of the room seeped into her bones. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the doors open, the creak of the ancient hinges sending a shiver down her spine.
Inside, the throne loomed, dark and imposing. The bloodstains on the floor were still fresh, stark against the polished stone. Selene's stomach churned at the sight of them, the deep red splotches scattered like a twisted artwork.
But she had no choice. The command was clear, and she dared not disobey.
As she set to work, scrubbing away the blood with trembling hands, her thoughts were consumed by the unknown.
What had happened in this room to stain it so? And why had they chosen her for this task? Was it some form of test, a way for them to assert their power over her? Or was it something more?
The silence in the throne room was oppressive, suffocating. The only sound was the rag against the cold stone and her own shallow breathing. As she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Her pulse quickened as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She dared a glance over her shoulder but saw nothing—just the empty, shadowed corners of the room. Still, the sensation lingered.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly as she scrubbed, her arms aching, the bloodstains refusing to fully fade. The throne, perched high and untouched by the filth, stared down at her as though judging her every move.
Lucien's presence felt as though it had seeped into every corner of the room, a weight on her chest that she could hardly bear.
Suddenly, the heavy doors creaked open behind her, and Selene froze. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she slowly turned to face the intruder. There, standing in the doorway, was Lucien.
His cold, piercing gaze swept over the room, lingering on her for just a moment longer than necessary. Selene's breath caught in her throat, her heart hammering in her chest.
She couldn't look away, even though every instinct screamed at her to retreat, to hide from the man who had bought her, whose every word could mean life or death.
"Who are you?" Lucien asked, his voice a low rasp that seemed to echo in the vast emptiness of the throne room.
Selene froze, the question catching her off guard. Wasn't it clear? Didn't he purchase her, own her? She stammered, the words barely escaping her lips. "I... I'm a servant, my lord."
Lucien's gaze deepened, studying her intently, as if searching for something beneath her words. Without a word, he beckoned her forward, his hand outstretched in a silent command. Selene hesitated for a moment before she obeyed, her feet moving almost of their own accord.
As she reached him, Lucien seized her wrist with surprising force, his grip unyielding. His eyes narrowed as he examined the faint mark on her wrist, the one that had been left behind from an old wound.
"What are you doing here, cleaning?" he asked, his voice cold and filled with something darker—something that made her stomach tighten with fear.
Selene's breath caught in her throat. She was paralyzed under his gaze, unsure how to answer. "You... you ordered me to clean, my lord," she said softly, her voice trembling.
Lucien's eyes flicked up to hers, the intensity in them making it impossible to look away. A small, humorless smile played at the corners of his lips as if he had just remembered something.
"Ah, yes. I purchased you from the black market." He let go of her wrist and took a slow, deliberate step back, his eyes never leaving hers. "But that is not what you are to me, is it?"
Before Selene could respond, Lucien turned sharply toward the door, his voice commanding. "Summon the head maid and Lord Elias. Now."
The air in the room felt thick with dread as Selene stood rooted to the spot, her heart racing. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and the head maid, followed by Lord Elias, entered with a hurried bow. Their presence only made the tension in the room more unbearable.
Lucien's eyes flicked to them, sharp and cold as ice. "Who assigned her to the servants' quarters?" His voice was calm, but the weight of his question held a terrifying power.
Lord Elias, standing tall but with a noticeable shift in his demeanor, stiffened at the question. He met Lucien's gaze without flinching, but the chill in the air was palpable.
"I did, your Majesty," he answered, his voice steady, though a hint of nervousness lingered beneath the surface.
Lucien's eyes narrowed even further, his expression darkening as he looked at Elias. "How much did you pay for servants in your manor?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, as though the very idea of being asked such a question was an insult.
Elias, swallowing nervously, answered, "A hundred silver coins, my lord."
Lucien's lips curled into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "So why would I spend five thousand cold coins on a mere servant?" He paused, his gaze flickering to Selene, then back to Elias. "She is my personal thing. I brought her for my entertainment, and not to test your stupidity."
The words hit Selene like a slap, and she felt a cold wave of humiliation flood through her. Personal thing. The word twisted something deep inside her, her pulse quickening in both fear and disbelief.
Lucien's eyes never left Elias as he spoke again, his voice colder than before. "Consider this a lesson, Lord Elias. Do not mistake me for a fool again."
Elias bowed low, his face pale, but he didn't dare challenge Lucien. "Yes, your Majesty. My deepest apologies."
Selene could feel the weight of Lucien's gaze still on her, as if she were the object of some twisted game.
She stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do, too terrified to move. Lucien turned away with a sharp motion, his cloak swirling behind him like the shadow of a predator.
"You will remember your place," he said, his voice cutting through the stillness as he walked toward the door. "And if you dare forget, you'll regret it."
Lucien's footsteps echoed as he turned back toward the door, but before he exited, he paused, his dark gaze flicking toward the head maid, who had been standing silently by, her head down in submission. His voice, smooth and commanding, sliced through the air like a blade.
"Send my little entertainer to my chamber," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Selene standing in the suffocating silence.
The head maid and Elias left quietly, their footsteps echoing in the empty room. But the words, the sting of Lucien's sarcasm, remained with her, echoing in her mind.
Her time in the citadel had only just begun, and already, her world had shifted in ways she could never have imagined.
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