Life In The Palace

Sophia's POV

"Is this what your cluster-fucked hands are good for? The King's room must be spotless. SPOTLESS you whore, goddammit!”

My lips hold back a wince as a long spikey whip cracks across my lower back. The head maid, a woman with a face as hard as stone and eyes filled with malice, stands over me.

"Useless animal." She spits, and I wince again, palms instinctively flying to my bruised back. I could feel the torn flesh, and the wetness of blood, a sign of her hardwork.

Nevertheless, this is my life now.

This is all it’s been for seven months, ever since my husband, the man I once thought I loved, sold me off, as one of the Lycan's countless slaves. Though, that was far more considerate than the position I bore here. At least, in most eyes.

Every day is a new form of torture. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional torment.

[Whore, bastard, slut]

The words follow me like a second name, clinging to my skin, I barely hear my name being called here, my true identity is now an imagination, even to me. The other servants, they look at me with disgust, some gossip behind cupped hands, their laughter only fuels the anger more. Though they don't believe I'm enough to whisper about, their laughter comes for something else.

A pregnant slut, I'm called.

They only see a pregnant woman, the one sold for money. The one carrying a bastard that isn't her husband's.

And they're right. The child isn't his.

I don't know who the father is. All I know is that it's a constant reminder of the choices I made. The decisions I took to escape the hell I was living in. A few months ago, a friend, bless her heart, told me about a way to make enough money to escape from my in-laws.

She told me of a man, someone she knew, who would pay well. “He's impotent.” She'd assured me. “So you'll be fine. Just a night, and you'll have enough money to start a new life.” I was desperate, pathetically desperate.

I didn't care about the risk, not with the way my husband and his family were bleeding me dry. The man was a stranger, but the amount of money he was willing to pay to get between my legs was my only ticket out. My way to freedom.

Now, freedom, was what got me into this.

The head maid shoves a bucket and a cloth into my hands. “Don't just stand there. Get to work. And don't miss a single speck of dust. The King abhors filth, and if he finds any, you'll be the one to pay for it. With your blood."

She gives me one last hateful glare before turning away, and I watch as she makes her way down the hall.

My heart pounds in my chest, this is the King's room. He's the one person I've tried to avoid since I was brought here. The Lycan King is my husband's brother. His name is Leonidas but no one is to call him by his name, not even his concubines are allowed such privilege.

He rarely leaves his study, and when he does, his presence is a physical torment. He looks at me, especially, with a type of undescribable hatred that makes my skin crawl. It's not the usual disgust I see in the eyes of the servants. It's something otherworldly, I've done nothing exactly to displease him, so naturally I can’t place my hand on the reason.

Nonetheless, I settle things with tagging him a bastard. The only explanation for such unnecessary hostility to someone whom he barely knew. Even though, by law, I was his sister-in-law.

I drag the heavy bucket up the stairs, each step a struggle. My swollen belly is heavy, round and a burden to my movement, but I love this baby more than anything, it is the only light in this evil world I live in. Although a regular reminder of my shame, but also the only thing that keeps me going. The child inside me, it's innocent, and I have to protect it.

When I reach the door, I hesitate. My hand glitches as I slowly push it open. The room is empty and completely silent, filled with a heavy, masculine scent, old books, and something.. something else. I can feel his presence everywhere, even though he's not here. The Lycan King always exudes this much energy, it was no shocker.

I start with the dusty shelves, wiping each book slowly. My back aches as I bend, and a sharp sting from being whipped mercilessly, goes through my lower belly. I bite down on my lip to stop whatever that threatens to escape. The work is endless, and my exhaustion, both physical and mentally, is crushing.

I don't know when it happens, but the next thing I know, I'm on the floor, the rag still clutched in my hand. My head rests on something soft. Just a few minutes, I tell myself. I just need a few minutes of rest. The Lycan Kiing isn't here. He won't know. I will be gone before he comes back which he rarely does.

But of course, this time, he does.

A low growl, like an eartquack rumbling the earth, instantly pulls me from my brief slumber. I jolt awake, my eyes flying open. I'm on the rug by the fireplace, and the King is standing over me, a dark tall frame against the fiery embers.

His eyes, two burning coals of gold, bore into mine. The usual hatred is there.

"What do we have here?" His voice is husky and dangerous, a predatory purr that always sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. "A brave slut resting on my floor. What makes you believe you're permitted to enter my room and make yourself at home, little whore?"

My heart leaps into my throat, choking off any response. My mind races, trying to find a lie, anything to save myself. I scramble to get up, my hands and knees clumsy from the exhaustion.

"Don't move." He commands.

I freeze, my head bowed, not daring to look at him. His is burning a hole through my head. I can feel his anger. I despise him, but he's terrifyingly frightening, my hatred involved or not.

He takes a step closer.

"You disgust me." He says. I've heard that countless times, from him especially. He despises everyone, it's evident from his hostile behavior. But why does he make mine, a mere pushover, evident?

"You and your bastard filth. To come here, to defile my home with your impure presence.." He trails off, and I can hear the sound of his ragged breaths.

I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear finally escaping and tracing a hot path down my cheek. The constant degradation makes me extremely exhausted.

"Look at me." He adds. I'm afraid to disobey, so I slowly lift my head, my gaze meeting his.

"Get up." He says. "I want to see what my brother sold me. The precious little whore he couldn't keep." He reaches out, his hand wrapping around my arm with a grip as strong as iron.

I gasp, a loud, terrified sound. I've heard countless gore stories. The Lycan King is not a man to be messed with. He is a monster, a beast in skin. Evidently his grip on me frightens me more than his face. My child.. I hope, nothing hap–

"What are you doing here?" He asks again, pulling me to my feet. "Waiting for me to give you a lesson? Evidently, you've come to the right place. I'll make sure you never forget who you are, or where you belong."

He yanks me closer, and I stumble against his chest, my swollen belly pressing against his lower abdomen. I can feel the hard wall of his body, the muscles held within. Enough to crack a human's skull if he pleases. I gasp at the thought, breath catching in my throat.

He looks down at me, but he doesn't look at my face. He's looking at my belly, and his disgust is evident.

"A bastard." He snarls. "A filthy bastard. Just like the mother."

Whatever it was wells in my eyes, blurring out his face. His words, nor anyone's, don't hurt me. The problem is me. I wish, sometimes, that I'd never willingly slept with a stranger.

He gives my arm one last hard squeeze before shoving me away. I fall back, landing with a soft thud on the rug.

He stands over me, his hands on his hips, and head tilted slightly to the side. "I told you not to come in here.”

A wicked smile tips his lips.

“Now you'll pay the price."

The Vow Of Revenge

Sophia Pov

I’m on the floor, my breath a choked sob. The Lycan King stands over me, a sneer twisting on his lips. His golden eyes burn with a cold, hateful gaze. My hand instinctively clutches my belly, the sole source of warmth in this cold world. I close my eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He delights in violence; I’ve seen him tear servants apart. The burns of the whip marks on my back are a constant reminder of my helplessness.

“On your feet,” he commands, his voice a predator’s growl.

I scramble up, clumsy and awkward. The dull ache in my knees and the sting on my back feel magnified under his gaze. He watches my every trembling movement, a cruel expression on his face.

“Undress,” he says, his tone serious.

The command freezes me. My eyes widen in a silent, desperate plea. The thought of exposing myself to this monster is a humiliation greater than any physical pain. My thin clothes are my last shred of dignity.

“I won’t tell you again,” he says, his voice losing all civility. “Do you think I’m playing with you? Undress, or I will remove them myself, and you will not like it.”

My pleas die in my throat. My body shakes uncontrollably, a shiver of fear and shame. I wipe away the tears. With shaky, fumbling hands, I pull at the rough fabric of my dress. Each garment that falls to the floor feels like a piece of my soul being ripped away.

When I am naked, I stand hunched, my arms crossed over my chest as if I could hide the bump. My cheeks burn with shame. I feel the weight of his stare on my skin. He looks at my belly, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“How utterly pathetic,” he mutters. “So weak. This… filth… is a testament to your impurity.”

I bite my lip until I taste blood.

“I heard you like to clean,” he says. “So you will clean my floor. Every inch of this marble. With your bare hands.”

Tears of pain and humiliation stream down my face. “But… my back… I can’t…” The words are a broken whisper.

He takes a slow step closer. “Little whore, you forget who you are. A slave. You don’t have a say. You will do as I say, or I will show you what a true punishment is.”

I am so exposed, so helpless, a mere animal to be used. I turned my gaze away from him, accepting the cruel fate.

He gestures to a bloodied stain on the floor. “That stain,” he says. “It came from an impudent servant who thought she could disobey me. Now, you will clean it.”

I slowly lower myself to my knees, the cold floor sending a shock through my body. The shivering starts again. I hate him. He is a monster who delights in others’ suffering. I can feel his golden eyes on my back as I try to wipe the stain away.

My hands are raw and bruised. I rub harder, the friction making the raw skin sting. The humiliation of being naked and utterly broken is a heavy weight. Hours pass, or maybe minutes. I lose all sense of time. My body is numb, my hands are red, and the stain is barely fading. He is restless, but his eyes never leave me.

“I wonder what my brother saw in a filth like you, I won't lie you have a nice body, something fit for a slut like you” I looked up, his gaze was fixed on my body with the look of disgust.

“Still here?” he says, his voice laced with venom. He walks closer. “I thought a woman of your… reputation would have given up. But I see you're as stubborn as you are filthy. Just a stain on this room, no better than the blood you’re trying to wipe away.”

My jaw clenches, and I feel a fresh wave of tears fall. He throws a book across the room.

“Clean it up,” he commands, his voice cracking with rage. “Now.”

I scramble to my feet, my muscles screaming in protest. The exhaustion is a heavy weight. I feel a wave of dizziness and stumble, my foot catching on a rug. I lose my balance. My swollen belly hits the corner of the heavy wooden desk with a sharp, sickening thud.

A gasp rips from my throat, a cry of pure, agonizing pain. I clutch my belly, my body shaking with silent sobs. And then I see it. A dark, sticky liquid on my legs. It’s warm, and it’s a lot. My eyes widen in horror as I realize it’s blood.

“No…” I whimper. “No, no, no.”

Leonidas, who had been watching, freezes. His golden eyes, filled with hatred, now hold a flicker of shock. The pain is a white-hot fire in my lower abdomen. My baby. My only hope.

I look at him, tears streaming down my face. “What did you do?” I whisper. “You… you did this.”

He takes a step back, his face pale. And as he moves, the light from the chandelier catches a unique mark on the side of his neck. A small, jagged birthmark, half-hidden by his golden hair. My breath hitches. I know that mark. I’ve seen that mark.

The world spins. The pain gives way to a strange numbness, and a lost memory flickers behind my eyes. I'm in a dark room wearing a black mask. My friend’s voice echoes, “He’s impotent. You’ll be fine. Just a night.” I remember the man. A stranger with a musky, primal scent. The room was illuminated with a single candle. He was kind, gentle even. And I remember the way he moved, his posture as strong as a Lycan’s, his golden eyes shone brightly and that unique, jagged mark on his neck.

My heart stops. It was him. I had my guesses on him being the stranger but I was in doubt, what would he be looking for there and in such a situation, but now I can piece everything together, Leonidas is the father of my child. He called my child a bastard, but my child is his. I was sold to the father of my baby, by his own brother.

The pain returns, a million times stronger. It’s not physical; it’s the pain of a life filled with lies. My hatred for him bursts into a roaring volcano. I will not die a victim. I will die as the woman who sees his true face.

My hands, slick with blood, push against the cold marble floor. I look up at him, at his shocked expression, and a cruel, vengeful smile tips my lips. My throat is on fire, but the words pour from my soul.

“You… monster,” I gasp, blood bubbling at the corner of my lips. “You took my light. You took my home … you’ve taken my child.”

His eyes widen. He takes another step back.

“But this isn’t the end,” I say, my voice a ragged whisper. “I will not forget. I will not rest. I will haunt you. You will never know peace. You will never have happiness. I swear it. I will make sure you suffer… just like me.”

I can hear him calling for someone, his voice a frantic command, but the sound is muffled. My body convulses, a final tremor. The fire in my belly consumes me. My eyes are locked on his, filled with a hatred so raw it could burn the world. I am fading, the last thing I see is blood, the blood of my own child, on my hands.

A New Life, A New Chance

Sophia Pov

My body felt heavy, waterlogged, and cold. A strange, detached sensation, as if I were floating in a suffocating darkness. I’d been waiting for the torment to begin; the last thing I remembered was his horrified face as I bled out on his floor, a curse on my lips. My life had been extinguished by his hand, the last echoes of my voice a promise of vengeance. But why wasn't I a ghost? Why wasn't I already a vengeful spirit, already haunting his every moment? The void was not filled with the familiar cold of the grave or the fiery wrath of a vengeful soul. It was just a strange, quiet emptiness.

A voice pierced the void, gentle and frantic. “My lady! Oh, my lady, you are awake!”

I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids were heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion that seemed to predate my death. A soft, warm hand stroked my forehead, a touch so foreign, so kind, that a shudder ran through me. In my last life, hands only brought pain, a harsh shove, a strong grip. A soft, wet cloth was pressed against my face, and the cold shock of it made my eyes fly open.

The world swam into focus, a dazzling, terrifying blur of light and color. A woman with kind, tear-filled brown eyes looked down at me. She was not like the maids in the Lycan King's castle; her face held no disgust or hatred. “Thank the Goddess! Thank the Goddess you are safe!” she cried, relief flooding her features.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw, parched. A hoarse croak escaped. I felt the smooth, cool fabric of a silk sheet against my skin, and the feeling was so overwhelming, I could feel the ghost of a shiver down my spine. The room was immense, filled with sunlight that poured through a massive window. The scent of roses and lilac filled the air, a difference to the stench of blood and iron I had become so accustomed to.

My mind raced, pieces of scattered, panicked thoughts. What was this? I died. I knew I did. The last breath I had was one of pure, venomous hatred. My curse…

The woman leaned over me. “You have no idea how much you scared us, my lady,” she said, her voice trembling. “To run to the lake… to drown yourself over a marriage… a betrothal that brings you more power than any other Lycan!”

The words hit me like a physical blow, each one a foreign, impossible concept. Drowning? The word hung in the air. My death had been a brutal, agonizing affair, not a peaceful surrender to the water. Marriage? My last marriage was a hell I’d rather not remember, a union to a man who sold me into slavery. And what was this talk of Luna and power? I was a low-born human girl from a simple family. This was a nightmare. This was a lie.

“What happened?” I whispered, my voice raspy. “Who are you? Where am I?”

Elara’s eyes widened. “My lady? Are you alright? It’s me, Elara. We are in your chambers, in your father’s estate. You… you tried to drown yourself this morning. Don’t you remember?”

A wave of dizziness washed over me, a nauseous swirl of confusion. My father’s estate? My parents died in a fire. My home was a pile of ash and death, nothing more. How could I be here? How could I be alive now, in this beautiful room, with this kind woman? I was human. I knew this for a fact. Humans and hybrids may have a rebirth cycle, but a low-born human girl from a simple family? This was impossible. It had never happened. I was a glitch in the universe.

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “I… I remember dying,” I said, the words a desperate confession, a plea for someone to validate my reality. “A man… he killed me.”

Elara’s face paled, and she stared at me in terror. “My lady! Please, don’t say such things! It’s a bad omen! You were merely… upset. You simply did not want to marry a man you’d never met.” She glanced around the room, as if afraid someone might overhear. “It’s a powerful, but difficult match. Your family will become the most influential in the kingdom.”

My mind was a whirlwind of panic. My heart pounded against my ribs. My hands, which I now saw were slender and pale, not rough and scarred as I remembered, trembled uncontrollably. The last thing I had experienced was a brutal death, and now I was a noblewoman who had tried to drown herself over an arranged marriage? My mind couldn't make sense of any of it. My past life, my present, this strange woman... it was all a chaotic, terrifying mess. A sick joke. A new form of torture.

“Who is the man?” I asked again, my voice a shaky whisper. The words felt foreign in my mouth. “Tell me his name.”

Elara looked at me, a worried frown on her face. “My lady, you have been acting so strangely. He is the most powerful man in the kingdom. The Lycan…”

A heavy thud from the hallway cut her off. The sound was loud in the peaceful room. The door swung open, and a tall man entered. He carried a powerful, imposing presence, his face strong and authoritative. But it was his blue eyes, holding a cold, calculating look. He was wearing a rich robe meant for nobles, and from the way he carried himself, I could already tell he was my new father. His expression was one of utter relief.

“My daughter,” he said, his voice a sigh of profound gratitude. “Thank the Goddess, you are safe. What a reckless, foolish thing to do. The Lycan King Leonidas is on his way. He will be here in a week’s time to claim you as his wife!”

The air was sucked from my lungs, leaving me hollow and empty. My blood ran cold, a glacial current in my veins. My heart, which had been beating so frantically a moment ago, now felt like a frozen stone. The Lycan King. The name echoed in my mind. A shiver ran through my hands, which were so slick with blood in my last life. I felt the memory of his golden eyes, filled with disgust and then... horror. The last thing I saw was his face and the last thing I heard was his name, the name I cursed with my dying breath.

Elara was talking, her voice a distant, muffled hum. My new father was speaking too, his voice booming with frustration and relief. But I couldn't hear them. It was as if my ears had been plugged with cotton. I was in the room, but I was not of the room. I was back in the cold, bloody castle, back in his room, dying on the floor. I was a ghost in this new body, my soul trapped in a beautiful cage. My mind was a shattered glass, the pieces of my past and present life scattered and impossible to put back together. This was not a second chance. This was a continuation of the same cruel joke.

The irony was a bitter taste on my tongue. He took my child and my life. And now? I was destined to marry him. I was bound to him not by love, but by the very curse I laid upon him. I had promised to torment him. And the universe, in its sick, twisted sense of humor, had given me the most powerful weapon. My very presence.

I stood up from the bed. My knees were weak, but I forced myself to be steady. I could feel the eyes of Elara and my father on me. They saw a young woman who had gone mad with grief and shock. They had no idea. My lips parted, but the words were stuck. The shock was so overwhelming, I was in a state of pure numbness.

What am I? From the little I can gather right now, it is certain I'm not a human, but what am I?

I don't fully understand what is happening here, or why. But one thing is terrifyingly, horribly certain: The Lycan King is on his way to make me his bride. He is the man I am going to marry. The man who was the father of my baby. The man whom I cursed with my last breath.

And I won't let this new life go to waste. I will not be a victim this time.

I will make sure I destroy him.