"Please... just kill ." Florian’s voice cracked—a broken plea escaped through the blood and mucus that drenched his face.
Lisbeth wrenched her hand from his grip, her strength barely holding against the desperation in his grasp. With one final pull, she broke free, stumbling backward as Florian collapsed onto the floor, wailing like a wounded animal.
She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. Her feet carried her out of the chamber, her heart pounding so loudly it seed to echo in the silent northern tower.
As she slamd the door shut behind her, Lisbeth pressed her back against it, her chest heaving. Every breath felt sharp, ragged, as if her body was trying to keep pace with the chaos storming inside her mind.
She should leave. She had to leave. The northern tower was no place to linger. Yet her legs refused to obey, trembling beneath her until she slid to the cold stone floor.
The courage that had driven her here—the determination to do what needed to be done—had evaporated like mist in sunlight.
Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms as her vision blurred. Florian’s face lingered in her mind, haunting her. It had been horrifying—twisted with despair, madness—but also unbearably pitiful.
She hated him for what he had beco, but the thought of killing him... she just couldn’t.
Tears slid down her cheeks, hot and silent. She buried her face in her hands and muttered to herself, "How did it co to this...?"
Where had she gone wrong? If she’d been kinder to him during his childhood, if she’d spent less ti bullying him or driving him to the corner, would he be different? Would he be strong enough to resist the darkness consuming him?
No. This wasn’t the ti for regret. She couldn’t drown in her own self-criticism, not now.
Lisbeth forced herself to take a steadying breath, her throat tight but resolute. She wiped at her face, saring tears but determined to clear them away.
"There are people who need . An entire kingdom depending on the royal family." Her voice shook but gained strength as she continued, grounding herself in the weight of her duty. "I’m the princess of this kingdom. My first and foremost responsibility is to protect my citizens."
With that, Lisbeth pushed herself upright. She wasn’t done grieving, and the wounds on her heart might never fully heal—but grief had no place here. Not yet.
***
Lisbeth strode through the inner courtyard, the cool evening air brushing against her face as her thoughts settled into sharp clarity.
The will to kill Florian returned. It was the best solution—the only solution—to protect the kingdom. If she didn’t act soon, more lives would be lost.
But this wasn’t a decision she could make alone. Florian hadn’t co into the palace by chance; he had been welcod under the king’s authority. Her father had given him refuge within these walls. To carry out her plan, she needed his approval.
Her steps quickened as she made her way to the king’s office. Reaching the heavy oak door, she straightened her posture, smoothing her trembling hands against her skirts. Then she knocked firmly.
A mont passed before the door opened. Standing there was Margrave Boris, his towering figure as rigid and imposing as ever. His eyes widened in shock as his gaze locked onto the dark bloodstain spreading across her right chest.
"Your Highness—you’re injured!" Margrave Boris exclaid, his usual adherence to courtly decorum montarily forgotten.
Lisbeth’s lips tightened into a thin line, her expression betraying no pain despite the wound. She had no intention of explaining herself. The full story would need to wait until she stood before her father. Though, truth be told, she doubted the king would care much about the details.
"I need to speak with His Majesty," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argunt as she stepped forward, urging the margrave to let her pass.
Margrave Boris stepped aside, bowing his head. "Right. Yes. Co in, Your Highness."
King Valentin despised unnecessary words. Every subject, including his own daughter, was expected to be direct and precise if they wished to hold his attention.
Knowing this all too well, Lisbeth wasted no ti. She spoke before her father could dismiss her outright.
"Florian went into the city and killed three vampires," she reported flatly, her tone as neutral as if she were delivering the day’s weather.
King Valentin finally lifted his gaze from the docunt he’d been reading. His sharp, calculating eyes lingered on her face, then inevitably drifted to the bloodstain on her chest. He sighed, a slow, heavy exhale, and stared at the stain in silence.
The scrutiny made Lisbeth’s skin crawl. She shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to let the tension stretch any further.
"I tried to stop him from leaving," she continued, her voice steady but tinged with frustration. "I feared he might harm soone—and he did. But he knocked down before I could subdue him. I failed."
Her hands clasped behind her back, her fingers digging into her palms. The sting of her nails grounding her as she braced for what was sure to co: the insults, the cold scorn, the rciless lecture on her inadequacy.
That was her father’s way. Every failure, every misstep, was t with a sharp reminder of why she wasn’t good enough—why she had never been good enough.
This ti would be no different. Or so she thought.
But the expected tirade never ca.
King Valentin remained silent, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. The sight of him like this struck Lisbeth anew—how much he had changed.
Once, he was the charismatic and fearso vampire king, a figure who commanded respect and fear in equal asure. Now, he looked more like a weary shadow of his forr self, a man crushed beneath the weight of immortality he had long since grown to despise.
It unsettled her. This was not the father she knew. Seeing him like this felt like losing him entirely, and with him, the solid ground of the reality she clung to.
Desperate to anchor herself to the world she knew, Lisbeth pushed forward, her voice trembling but determined.
"Father, Florian can’t be saved," she said, her tone hardening with each word. "The evil inside him—it can’t be reversed or contained. He’s putting our people in danger."
Her words faltered montarily as Florian’s face flashed in her mind: the hollow eyes, the bloodied features, the broken whisper begging her to kill him. The mory struck like a knife, but she quickly shook her head, forcing the image away.
She couldn’t allow herself to hesitate.
"We have to kill him," she said firmly, her voice edged with steel. "For the sake of this kingdom."
Her declaration echoed in the quiet room, and though the weight of her father’s gaze bore down on her, she knew she wasn’t alone. There were others in this room who silently shared her conviction.
Reviews
All reviews (0)