VALORIA WILDEROSE
Ah. So that’s what this is about. The rumor crafted to make a target.
"How dare you soil the na of His Majesty by attaching yours to it!" another girl practically screams, her face flushed red.
All of these won glare at with bloody murder—all for one singular man who doesn’t even see them as anything more than toys to pass his ti, pawns in his ga to tornt .
Idiots easily manipulated by their obvious desire.
"That rumor isn’t true."
"Well, of course it isn’t. Did you think anyone would believe soone like you could ever win His Majesty’s attention?" Alice taunts.
I take a deep breath and exhale.
"T-Then w-why am I—I here? Why a-are you w-w-wasting your t-ti on if you kn-know it’s j-just a lie?"
"Because things like you never know their place. They dream of being free of the shackles they’re born with, so they need to be reminded, over and over again, never to overstep."
It’s the sa words used with —the sa definition my family has attached to , repeated over and over again, that has made wonder if maybe it really is true.
But even if it’s true... even if soone like can never hope to be as good as everyone else, I am still infuriated and angry at the world.
And that’s why I will stop at nothing to watch it burn.
"Are you d-done?" The adrenaline in my blood spikes, fueling the defiance in . I glare back just as viciously.
"You bitch," Alice fus at my response.
She rises, kicking her chair back, stomping toward , and grabs my hair, pulling hard.
I scream in pain, forcing to relive another mory of Marcella’s tornt—the tis she pulled at my hair when she couldn’t co up with anything hurtful enough to say and resorted to violence.
The grip tightens, yanking my head back until my neck strains and tears prick my eyes. For a mont, I’m not here anymore. I’m back ho, cowering in a corner while my sisters take turns making my life a living hell.
It’s always the sa. No matter where I go, no matter how far I run, there’s always soone waiting to remind of my place.
I struggle against her, but she doesn’t let up, determined to hurt , until so maid pulls her off reluctantly.
"Ladies, please..." My inviter interrupts, rising from her seat and clapping her hands together to draw attention back toward her. "His Majesty’s favored concubine is speaking. Let’s hear what else she has to say."
She gestures toward again, giving the chance to speak.
I catch my breath, holding her gaze that mocks beneath that smile.
"I didn’t start the rumor, but I’m sure none of you will believe . You already decided to tornt , but you just needed a reason to do it so you can all sleep well at night."
"Of course, dear; we’re the ones who started the rumor, ’cause you’re so important that we can’t even sleep at night," she jokes sarcastically.
Her group of blood-sucking vultures joins her, laughing at . I can feel their hostility, almost as choking as the king’s himself—deadly and potent like poison.
Just as he had planned, they find revolting. I’m as impressed as I am sick of him and everyone else under his spell.
"This is just a warning, Valoria," she speaks again, her sweet, gentle persona turning serious and cold, revealing a fraction of her true nature. "Stay in your lane. Don’t you dare covet His Majesty’s attention when you are nothing." She warns.
A switch flips with my growing exhaustion from being taunted over simply existing, awakening a coldness inside .
"There’s a r-rumor that there’s a v-vile m-monster sleeping in the cas-stle, brainwashing his conc-cubines, turning t-them into hor-rrible, monstrous, flesh-eating zombies just like him," I start off, eting her eyes without flinching. "T-Turns out s-so rum-mors are true af-after all."
The laughter dies instantly. Silence blankets the garden like a funeral shroud, and every pair of eyes locks onto with pure, unfiltered hatred.
She looks at coldly for a mont before rising from her seat.
In the midst of chilling silence, she steps out of her place, walking toward until we’re face to face—one step away from each other.
She watches for a mont, then raises her hand high, ready to strike . I flinch, turning my face away, bracing for the impact that never connects, until she chuckles again.
My eyes fly open, and I look at her. Rather than strike, her hands are down—slowly clapping, a one-person applause.
"I get it." Her head tilts to the side. "Acting tough while stuttering like a fool; you still don’t understand where you stand, do you? Let explain this in a way you understand."
It takes one simple hand gesture for her maids to step forward again like vicious animals, grabbing from both sides suddenly.
I struggle on instinct, but the others hanging around step forward, ripping my clothes off like paper until I’m bare, clutching my partially naked body against the cold wind.
The humiliation burns worse than any physical wound. I wrap my arms around myself, shaking, exposed and vulnerable in front of won who look at like I’m less than dirt beneath their polished heels.
And then the beating begins.
A blow to my gut forces onto my knees, then a knee to my chin as I collapse to the ground.
I’m battered and bruised from all angles, forced to shield myself with limbs that barely cover my vital parts from being hurt.
Each strike feels personal—fueled by jealousy, by insecurity, by the desperate need to prove themselves worthy of a man who will never love any of them. They take out all their frustrations on , the easy target, the one who can’t fight back.
It goes on for so long that I bite my lips to hold back my tears, refusing to cry or give up, holding on silently until they’re finally interrupted.
"What is the aning of this?!" A sharp, new voice cuts right into the echoed taunting of the won in the background.
The kicking cos to a sudden halt, and I can finally catch my breath.
The ringing in my ears and the fading of my consciousness make it almost impossible to remain aware of my surroundings.
But I look up at whoever she is, holding her face in view.
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