VALORIA WILDEROSE
Why did I kiss him like that?
Why did it not feel half as repulsive as it should have?
I can’t stop pacing back and forth—not since he, for so reason, stord out of the room in anger.
Maybe I was not good enough, not nearly as enticing as the hundreds of won he has at his beck and call.
Maybe my lips were so disgustingly rancid he couldn’t get away fast enough.
He’s possibly sowhere vomiting in a bush, whereas I have my mind completely undone by one kiss—the first I’ve ever willingly given.
Oh, my goddess, what was I thinking?!
I must be sick in the head, truly completely broken and mad.
Sothing had co over , so kind of desire to win, to prove that I’m not just so weak, pathetic girl that’s terrified of everything.
So kind of fire had burned again, searing like an unquenchable fla, possessing to a level of boldness I’ve never felt before.
I let it take control of and use . I kissed the goddamn ruthless king of the Lycans, and my head hasn’t imploded yet.
The pulsing pain in my back stings suddenly, reminding of my wounds, forcing to sit on the bed to rest, aided by my exhaustion that spins my head.
But my mind still reels around what I’ve done, my fingers still tracing my lips. I can still feel his lips—warm, soft, and wet.
Who could imagine anything part of that man could ever be described with those words?
This brief mont of victory is like a silver lining that shines before my very eyes, proof that I can actually do this; that my cause here isn’t entirely bleak and impossible.
The goddess may have not made a mistake.
A knock echoes on my door unexpectedly.
I shiver, looking toward it, again expecting him to have returned for so reason, but maids with unfamiliar faces walk through—three of them with herbs and vials, making way for the fourth person to enter: Calliope!
She’s just as beautiful and graceful as always, shimring like an angel from the heavens, her pale skin radiating a subtle glow, her deep black hair sleek and luminous.
Once again, I’m caught in a daze, srized by her—jealous and in pure admiration for seconds—until I shake it off, rembering my surprise.
"Valoria, are you okay?" she offers, her soft, gentle smile warming too fast.
"Calliope?" I finally speak, struggling to pick my jaw up off the floor.
I move to speak again, but she rushes to suddenly, hands on my face, searching all over from head to toe.
"Let look at you," her voice etched with worry.
It takes a few seconds before she stumbles upon the deep wounds on my back, among others, noticing my dehydration, the extra fat lost in a day of not eating.
"This looks like it’s infected." Her fingers run across my back, away from the cut, but I still flinch from it.
Moving away, confused... I know soone like her would be waiting for news of my return from the cellar to treat my wounds.
I’m not soone worthy of it, or deserving of her ti—it’s a miracle that she’s here twice already.
"W-W-Why are y-you here?" I ask. Her face watches with pity.
"His Majesty sent to tend to your wounds."
"What?"
"Please sit." She interrupts my shock, dragging toward my bed. "Turn around. Tell if it stings."
The maids draw closer, offering her strange tools before she begins her treatnt—rubbing so balm, inspecting deeper into the cuts.
"Goddess, Valoria," she exclaims again. "This looks terrible. How are you not in constant agony?"
I imagine her face, contorted with confusion and shock.
I only offer a light, awkward chuckle, refusing to share bits of my personal history with soone like her—gorgeous, pretty, immaculate, and noble in every way.
I’m terrified of what she’d think of if I ever told her how I was treated back ho, the countless tis I’d been beaten in and out of consciousness, numbing my perception of pain.
"D-Do you really m-an it? It’s n-not so j-joke, is it? D-Did he really s-send you here?" I change the topic instead, focusing my mind on the impossible—that the king would send her here all of a sudden, to see my wounds.
"Does it seem impossible that His Majesty sent here?" she asks, curiosity almost eager to gauge my perception of the man we both serve.
I’m hesitant, doubting if she’d really want to hear it.
"Should I b-be honest?"
I hear her chuckle—sweet and light, just as I imagine a delicate princess would laugh, like the stories I’d sneak to read from the library as a child.
"It’s okay. I understand why it would be confusing. Azrael is a complicated man."
"Tyrant w-would b-be a b-better description," I blurt out without thinking.
Terrified by what she’d think of now, I look at her, but her gaze remains soft and easy, without offense. Rather, she laughs again.
Never in a million years would I have imagined I’d be here with soone like her, talking, laughing. This mont feels like a dream. I find myself smiling.
"Tell , Valoria... if you have lived for over a thousand years, won’t it be fitting for you to have lost your mind at so point?"
"I w-would have w-within the f-f-first century."
"Then don’t you pity a man like him?"
"You sound as if you side with him."
"To survive here long enough, you have to decide for yourself if you will continue to fight or simply accept this new life. Accepting the king and his ways rather than questioning them will get you lasting here longer than a few weeks and months without bruises like these."
I ponder her words for a mont, feeling my thoughts wander.
"I-Is that w-what you d-did to surv-vive?"
She hesitates. I don’t look at her face or gauge her next emotion—whether it is sadness or contempt.
Her silence only keeps guessing, makes grateful when she speaks again.
"I am what His Majesty wants to be. I continue to find ways to hold his interest, and so I am never discarded. I am a useful doll, so he has no desire to ruin ," she replies, hiding all emotional cues that could tell what I need to know.
"Y-You mak-ke it sound almost n-noble. H-How d-do you d-do that?" How does she make even breathing seem like a delicate art?
She laughs again. I swell with pride from making soone laugh for the second ti.
"Tell , Valoria, what do you want to do? Fight him, or accept?"
"I w-want to d-do what will k-keep al-live long en-nough."
Long enough to get my goal and live forever. To make Father and everyone else pay for their cris. To not be sent back to eternal damnation.
I have ninety-seven days left to seduce the king, or at least get close enough to know his secrets and find this special blade to kill him with.
I need to get as close as Calliope is to him. Master what he loves, how to make him bend to my desires. Seduce a man like Azrael and then kill him.
"How d-does one b-beco a h-high concub-bine, get close en-nough to the k-king that he eases ar-round you?"
"It’s not as easy as it looks." She thinks about it, lost in her work for a while, plastering my back with herbs. She takes a mont before continuing. "His Majesty enjoys art. He relishes in its beauty—music especially. We, who play instrunts, tend to his need for a distraction, quell the madness inside his mind. I, in particular, am good with the harp. The other two entertain him as well."
I am good at nothing. My family made sure of that. I frown now.
"So... I should l-learn an ins-strum-nt?"
She laughs again.
"It’s not just as simple as learning one. You’d need to know how to quell his sudden outbursts. Understand what he needs when he needs it, how to play along with his insane demands. The list is endless. Essentially, you need to learn to read the rise and fall of his temper and be exciting enough to hold his interest, like a toy. It might feel like a bad thing, but it depends on how you use that twisted interest when his eyes are on you."
Her hands pull away from my back.
The small cup of healing ointnt in her hand claps shut and is handed to her maid before she rises to her feet. I turn to look at her, instantly feeling the relieving effects of her ointnt working.
"Please, I do not want to et you again in a similar situation," she chides, gentle yet stern.
I nod, staring at her obediently.
"Let us et again, in a different setting. Maybe by then you and I will be better friends, and I will introduce you to so of my friends as well."
A light beams within my chest at the thought of getting closer to soone and having an actual ’friend’ like her. It feels like a fever dream all over again.
"Of course." I try to hide my excitent, but it pours from .
"Goodnight, Valoria."
"Goodbye, Calliope."
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