VALORIA WILDEROSE
(THIS Chapter CONTAINS STRONG SCENES OF ABUSE)
I flinch at her words against my will, more from the fact that I’m being branded as so disrespectful child when all I’ve ever done was try to earn Father’s love.
I know I shouldn’t be bothered by it anymore, but there’s still that small subconscious part of stuck in this house, refusing to die and wanting to defend my devotion to Father.
Forcing to comply. I try to fight it.
"Azra— His ma-majesty ord-d-dered that I s-st-stay in."
"And his majesty’s words hold more value than that of your own father, who is the reason you’re even able to enjoy the benefits of being the King’s wife in the first place."
I flinch again, feeling myself being backed into a corner. I try to find more words to argue, but they fail . I’m tongue-tied, weighed down by impossible guilt brainwashed into .
"I-I... I j-ustt c-ca-can’t," I mumble under my breath.
The three others in the back start chuckling, laughing at my words that turn more incomprehensible the more they push, sinking my confidence and sense of self-worth even lower.
"Sorry... it’s just hard to understand you with all that stuttering," one of the girls in the back mocks openly, just as the maids used to before.
They often spoke without respect, as if I was even lesser than them too.
I bite my lips, that old familiar feeling trying to creep back in—but this ti, sothing else flares up alongside it.
Anger.
Not at them, but at the audacity of being summoned like a dog when Azrael explicitly told to stay put.
At being mocked by maids who wouldn’t dare breathe wrong in front of the King but think they can tear apart the second he’s not looking.
At myself for even considering obeying Father’s "order" when I know exactly what awaits in that office.
My hands ball into fists at my sides. Azrael’s words from this morning echo in my head—about standing up for myself, about showing so grit, about his threat to drag my family into his "playhouse" if I disappoint him again.
This is a test. I can feel it in my bones.
Do I crawl back into old patterns, or do I hold my ground?
My head lifts slightly, jaw tight.
"P-Please tell fa-f-father if h-he can w-w-wait a bit... I’ll c-co as s-s-soon as they g-ge-et back and—"
"Alpha Ottomar made it clear that it was not a request but an order," their leader cuts off before I can finish.
Her hand reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling out of the doorway by force.
"W-Wait!"
I struggle against her grip, trying to break free, but the other girls join in imdiately—grasping onto like vices until both my hands are pinned behind my back and I’m being dragged towards the office roughly like a sack of beans.
They snicker and laugh with each struggle, tugging around as they please.
The anger I felt just seconds ago starts crumbling, replaced by sothing colder, heavier.
Fear.
The kind that’s been carved into over years, the kind that no amount of defiance can fully shake.
Because I know where we’re going. I know who’s waiting.
I’m dragged towards Father’s office, my feet stumbling and scraping against the floor.
The servant standing guard outside pulls the door open the mont we’re spotted, and I’m taken into Father’s dimly lit office just like that.
The mont we enter, I see him sitting on his couch at the center of the room, away from his work desk. The leader of the four maids walks forward to whisper sothing to him, and he nods.
A signal that lets them drop onto the floor roughly. And then they leave, slamming the door behind them.
I’m breathing hard on all fours, peeking through my ssy downturned hair to look at him, trembling like a leaf in his presence.
All that fire, all that defiance I was trying so desperately to hold onto—gone. Buried beneath years of conditioning that kicks in the second I’m in his presence.
Compared to everyone—even Marcella with all her viciousness—he was always the most terrifying.
My sisters would use his na as threats to keep in place, and it worked every single ti.
Because what he did to was always far worse than their bullying. Theirs was child’s play compared to what Father did to over the years.
I fear him. A fear so great that it’s etched into my very being.
"Look at you," he snarls.
I flinch at the very sound of him speaking to directly.
"Even covered in wealth, you look like complete filth. You disgust ."
Despite his harsh words, I know what cos next from .
Right in front of him, while still on the floor, I bow, pressing my forehead against the floor with both hands stretched forward; I greet him.
"I greet the Alpha of Wilderose... Father—"
"Don’t call that," he snaps, shutting up quickly.
I hear his footsteps walking around in circles next. I’m too scared to look up at him, maintaining my position in hopes that it pleases him enough to quell so of his anger.
"I hear you resisted coming here. After everything I’ve done for you, I never imagined you would pay back with ungratefulness, you pathetic wench. I gave you a roof over your head and fed you. I made you everything you are now, and this is how you repay ?!" he roars, shaking the four walls of the room we’re in.
I imdiately regret thinking I could escape him with that stupid order from Eros.
His footsteps stop, and one foot presses down painfully on my hand. The pressure is enough to almost crack my bones, and it’s agonizing.
I bite my lips not to scream, holding on just long enough until it’s unbearable.
Until I’m sure it really will break.
"F-Father p-p-p-please."
"Shut up!" he yells again.
I flinch, trying to break free, only to be held back by my hand. Just when I think it can’t hurt more, it does.
More pressure is applied as he twists his foot right into it. More pain shoots through my entire body until I’m a sobbing ss, close to screaming and losing my mind from it.
"I-I-I’m sor-r-rry. I’m s-so-sorry. P-P-Please forg-g-give . I’m-m-m sorry!"
I scream, and finally he lets go.
The force of pulling throws back, and I’m sitting on the floor, clutching my bruised and battered hand in a silent sob.
"What did you say to His Majesty? Why is he here?"
"I d-d-don’t kn-know. H-He d-d-idn’t tell m-m-," I sob, shaking my head slowly.
"You’re lying to , Valoria. You already know I hate lies."
"I s-s-sw-swear I’m n-not. I swear. H-H-He never t-told e-ev-even when I as-s-sked."
His features turn more serious, stalking closer to even while I back away from him.
"You’re even more useless than before." Vicious hands dig into my scalp and pull hard, sending ripples of pain to my skull and brain.
This ti I scream, unable to endure anymore. It’s been so long without being kicked around that I’m no longer able to bear the usual amounts from Father again.
So the more I react, the more he inflicts in response.
"I-I’m so-r-rry, I’ll do be-be-better. Pl-P-Please forg-give !" I say everything I know he likes to hear, hoping it will be enough for my incapability.
"You can’t, Valoria. You’re incapable of doing anything good. Your re existence is a sin committed by your whore of a mother. Loving her wasn’t enough the sa way forgiveness isn’t enough for you."
"P-P-Please fa-fa-father. Please mo-m-mother said sh-she wa-was inn-nocent."
"What do you know of innocent, you spawn of the devil?!"
I realize I shouldn’t have said those words when searing hatred stares right back at .
He raises his other hand high enough in the air before crashing the center of his hard palm across my cheek and repeating the sa thing in the sa second with his back palm.
My head is thrown away from him, and the force of each blow forces silent.
"You will speak to Azrael! You will convince him to put an end to his investigations! I don’t know how you will do it—even if you have to kill yourself doing it—but make sure it’s done. Do you understand?!"
I nod slowly, unable to utter a word with painfully swollen cheeks and bloodshot eyes.
"Good."
His hand finally lets go of my hair, and he pulls back.
I plop onto the floor like a floppy lifeless body, too sore to move or make a single sound.
Silent tears stream down my face while I watch him walk back to his couch and fall onto it, taking a sip of the hard liquor resting on the coffee table.
He sits and watches with a detached gaze for a while before he speaks again.
"You know it’s not enough to make up for your sins. You know what needs to be done now, child—to atone for yourself and your mother." He speaks calr now.
On cue, the doors open again. Two of the four maids from earlier walk in, packing up the pieces of myself scattered across his carpet.
"Take her away and lock her in the confinent room," he orders.
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