Chapter 20:
Lirian reached Princess Aurora's chambers, her dress was completely ruined.
The princess had been suspiciously kind, offering a soft gown and warm words of comfort before leaving.
"You'll be safe here," Aurora said gently. "I'll speak to Raphael about what happened. Rest now, Lirian."
Lirian nodded, watching the princess step out.
The door closed behind her, leaving Lirian alone with two maids.
And once again, something was wrong…
The maids exchanged a glance.
One of them was a tall woman with a neat bun.
She approached Lirian with a small smile.
"Duchess, would you follow us? There's another room where you can change properly."
Lirian hesitated, but the maid's tone was polite, almost kind. She didn't find it weird enough.
She nodded and followed them through a narrow corridor that smelled faintly of lavender and beeswax.
They led her into a small room, bare except for a wooden wardrobe and a mirror.
"This will be more comfortable," the second maid said softly.
"Please undress, and we'll prepare fresh clothes for you."
Lirian frowned but complied, slipping out of the simple gown Aurora had lent her.
The cool air brushed against her skin and made her shiver. Lirian wrapping her arms around herself.
The maids whispered to each other.
Lirian noticed their eyes moving toward the door.
Suddenly, without warning, they stepped outside and slammed it shut.
"Wait!" Lirian called, rushing to the door.
The sound of a key turning made her legs tremble.
She grabbed the handle, twisting it frantically, but it wouldn't budge.
"Let me out!" she shouted, pounding on the wood.
The faint scent of alcohol wafted into the room, sharp and bitter.
It mixed with the lavender, creating a sickly sweet aroma that made her stomach's muscles twist.
Her chest tightened, fear was swallowing her whole body when she realised she was trapped.
"Why are they doing this?" she whispered, shaking.
A sound came from the opposite side of the room, where she hadn't noticed another door before.
It opened slowly, revealing a dark person.
"No," Lirian breathed, stepping back.
He moved quickly, grabbing her before she could scream.
A cloth pressed against her face, the acrid smell of alcohol overwhelmed her senses.
She struggled, kicking and clawing, but her strength faded as the world spun around her.
When Lirian woke, she was lying on a cold stone floor.
Her head throbbed, and her arms felt heavier to move.
But she pushed herself up, blinking against the dim light.
The scent of lavender was stronger now, clinging to the air.
She realised she was still in the palace—but not in any room she recognised.
Her corset dug into her ribs, and she noticed she was wearing the first gown from earlier, though it was stained and torn.
Her blood ran cold.
"Where am I?" she murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.
She looked around, searching for an exit, but the room was empty except for a few unlit candles on the walls.
Shadows danced eerily in the faint light.
A loud sound broke the silence—a crack like a whip.
Lirian jumped, her heart was ready to stop.
The candles flared to life, their golden glow lighted the room
She gasped as she saw them: pairs of eyes watching her from behind ornate masks.
The masks were intricate, covering half their faces with swirling patterns of silver and gold.
"What is this?" she asked, trembling.
No one answered.
From the far end of the room, a person came forward.
His mask was unlike the others—a white face with gold detailing, smooth and flawless, resembling a hauntingly perfect visage.
He walked in slow steps, his dark cloak trailed behind him.
The light from the candles flickered across his mask, making it seem alive.
"Who are you?" Lirian demanded while her voice felt like cracking.
She clutched the torn fabric of her dress, trying to cover herself.
The man didn't reply immediately.
He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head as if studying her.
"You're braver than I expected," he finally spoke.
"What do you want from me?" she asked, her hands started shaking.
He reached out, but Lirian recoiled, pressing herself against the wall.
"There's no need to be afraid," he said, though his tone held no warmth.
"You're here because you caught someone's attention."
"Whose attention?" she demanded.
The man chuckled, "Does it matter?"
"It matters to me," she yelled, "Let me go."
He ignored her…
The man's head moved down and slowly back up as if appraising her.
"You don't belong in the world you're trying to enter," he said. "But perhaps… you could be useful."
Lirian's breath quickened. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a guest—"
"Enough," he interrupted sharply.
The masked men surrounding them murmured softly.
Lirian's knees felt weak, but she forced herself to stand tall.
"I won't stay here. Whatever this is, I want no part of it."
The man in the white mask took another step closer. He felt so oppressive.
"You don't have a choice," he said. "But don't worry. You'll learn your place soon enough."
The sound of his words sent a chill down her spine.
She clenched her fists, trying not to show weakness.
"I'll find a way out."
He lifted his head again, almost as if he was amused. "We'll see about that."
He placed his whip on Lirian's shoulder, "does it bring you any memories?"
"No…" She lied.
There was no need for the world to know the real struggles Lirian was going through.
Especially what her father did to her.
He traced the leather of the whip against her arm lightly, then he leaned in.
"Lirian…"
The man's whisper brushed against her skin.
"Someone took a liking to your father's teaching methods, butterfly. He wants to see how you handle pain."
Lirian's lips stopped moving, and her mouth opened at the same time.
"Wha-what did you say?"