The hunt: Blood of the void

I spent half my childhood trying to solve the grim riddle of my parents marriage, everyone knew their love story, in fact the entire village recited it like a gospel, as though repeating it often enough would make it true, as thought it would take back the fact that this princess didn’t have a happy ending. But every time I heard the tale of a princess who feel in love with a commoner and made him a prince, then a king, I wondered why the story ended there, of course there was more to it, if only they knew the actual truth, of what she had endured and the sacrifices she had to make and not the fabricated lie that was being broadcasted.

"Valeria, I hope you’re ready and not lost in your head again," my mother’s gentle voice broke through the fog of my thoughts. She adjusted her shawl, watching me with a mix of affection and mild exasperation "Sometimes I honestly wonder if you daydream on purpose just to escape the world."

"Don’t worry Mum, I’m completely ready," I replied, smoothing out the pristine folds of my gown.

She turned to face me fully, her expression softening into that quiet, radiant warmth she reserved only for me. "Oh, you look so beautiful, my sweet girl, you look just like your father."

The compliment landed like a drop of poison, instantly souring my mood.

"Can you please stop comparing me to him?" I said, unable to keep the sharp edge out of my voice. "You know exactly how I feel about him."

My mother sighed, her gaze tender yet heavy with a familiar sorrow. "You shouldn't harbor such bitterness toward your own father, Val most daughters look up to their fathers with pride, why must it always be so difficult with you? He loves you, in his own way."

Hatred is far too soft a word for what I feel for that man, I thought bitterly, though Contempt comes much closer.

I kept the thought trapped behind my teeth, though my mother already carried enough burdens on her fragile shoulders, she didn't need the extra weight of my resentment. Instead, I swallowed my irritation and forced a practiced, reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it Mum, my relationship with Father isn't something you need to stress over. We have our own unique understanding, that’s all you need to know."

"If you say so," she relented, reaching out to pat my hand softly. "We should head to the carriage now, we wouldn't want to keep your father and his council of ministers waiting. I heard we're receiving very important guests today from the other Realms, high ranking envoys, apparently. Who knows Val? Perhaps one of them possesses the magic or medicine to cure those dreadful nightmares of yours."

That caught my attention, A cure. The word echoed in my mind like a lifeline. All I wanted in this life was a single night of uninterrupted, peaceful sleep a night free from the terrifying visions of blood soaked battlefields, soaring monstrous shadows, and fragmented memories I couldn't explain. More than anything, I craved the truth about my early childhood. My mother spoke of those early years constantly. She swore that when I was a little girl, my father had cherished me above all else, holding me with a gentleness he showed no one else. But as the heavy wooden carriage lurched forward along the cobblestone road toward the inner city, a dark thought crossed my mind, was any of it real? Or had my mother simply invented a desperate fairy tale to keep her own heart from breaking under his neglect?

The grand iron gates of the royal palace loomed ahead as our carriage ground to a halt, It was a cruel absurd irony, we carried royal blood in our veins, yet we were banished to live outside the high palace walls in a modest estate. Not that I minded the exile. If anything, it was a blessing. It gave me peace, keeping me far away from the toxic politics of the court and my half-siblings, assuming the village rumors were false and they were actually his children at all, rather than the bastards everyone whispered they were.

Speak of the devils.

As we crossed the grand threshold into the marble reception hall, three familiar figures emerged from the shadows near the pillars. Whispers halted, and cruel sneers instantly formed on their faces as their eyes landed on us.

I steeled my spine, adjusting the cuffs of my sleeves as they closed the distance. I really didn't have the energy for their games today, Cassia and Caius. The imperial twins, and the bane of my existence since childhood. Twin blood ran thick through my family’s lineage, so much so that I was almost surprised I hadn't been born with a shadow attached to my own side.

Together, they had stripped everything from us, power, authority, my birthright, and ultimately, my father. They left me with nothing to my name, not that I particularly cared about the lost titles or grand estates. In truth, I had grown to appreciate the quiet simplicity of our exiled life, It wasn't adorned with gold or attended by bowing servants, but it brought something far more precious to my mother and me, peace, no more working till the dead of night, no more suffocating pain, no more living under constant blackmail.

Yet, our quiet surrender was never enough for them. My stepmom Hecate, the self proclaimed Queen in particular would never rest, not until I was entirely erased and the threat I posed was neutralized. I found it almost laughable, I hardly viewed myself as a threat, and certainly no one else in the realm did either. How could they, when none of us, not even I understood who or what I truly was? And that horrifying truth was the very reason I had returned to step foot inside this cursed palace once more.

It brought my mind crashing back to that fateful day. The day my mother was humiliated beyond measure, stripped bare, cast out of these majestic halls, and thrown onto the dirt streets like a common beggar, that part of the story wasn’t famous. I could still see my father’s cold, unblinking eyes as he stood beside the throne, watching passively while the other nobles made vile eyes at my mother's exposed form. She had wept and begged on her knees, pleading not for her own dignity, but merely for my young life to be spared and secrets to be buried, I always wondered what the secrets were.

And my crime? My offense was simply looking different, Unfamiliar, Altered from the rest of them. Tell me, is looking strange a justification for a father to decree the death of his own blood? Pathetic.

Right then, as a child watching in the cold mud, I made a silent, binding vow to the cosmos, the next time I crossed the threshold of this palace, it would be to strike them down myself, or to dance on their graves, But I guess the gods weren't ready to call them home, they were never on my side to begin with.

I clamped my hand around my mother’s wrist and practically hauled her away before she could utter a single word. Left to her own devices, she would have paused, bowed her head, and offered them a soft, polite inquiry about their wellbeing. She would have practically handed them a golden invitation to hurl their usual casual cruelties right at her face. And today? Today, my nerves were stretched far too thin, I knew with absolute certainty that if they opened their mouths, I wouldn't have the restraint to keep mine shut.

As we hurried down the vaulted corridor, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, sometimes I genuinely wondered if she played the victim on purpose, acting all meek, gentle, and subservient, letting them trample over her dignity as if her life carried no value at all.

I had confronted her about it more times than I could count, had observed her, analyzed her, looking for some hidden tactic, but her defense was always exasperatingly simple. It is an act of kindness Valeria, she always said, but I called it what it truly was, sheer foolishness in broad daylight. It was a passive, self-destructive role I had zero intention of playing in, steeling my spine, I swallowed the bitter metallic taste of my own rising anger. Avoiding them entirely was already taking every ounce of self-control I possessed, my stepmother and her spoiled bloodline had better not expect a single crumb of "kindness" from me.

Navigating the grand hall of the throne room felt surprisingly manageable. We had been banished from high society for so long that most of the noble court no longer recognized our faces, a blessing I had meticulously planned for. I had pulled my hair back into a tight, unassuming knot and worn a plain, embossed gown, ensuring we blended into the background like shadows, It allowed us to slip through the dense, whispering crowd unnoticed and claim our assigned seats. Fortunately for me, our alcove sat hidden in the dim periphery of the room, far from the central spotlight.

My mother, however, made no effort to hide her disappointment. She had harbored grand hopes for this evening hoping to mingle, reclaim her social standing, and step back into the world she once belonged to. Deep down, I knew she expected far more from this gathering than a mere royal banquet. She still held onto a naive, desperate fantasy of him, of us somehow becoming a real family again. I would rather swallow glass than let that happen.

Of course, a few of the older aristocrats did recognize her. How could they forget? She was, after all, the true born princess and the rightful queen of this kingdom. Yet not a single one of them possessed the courage to approach or speak to her. Instead, they pointedly turned their heads, their lips curling into smug, rehearsed expressions of disdain, a cold heat surged through my veins. Seeing their contempt made my blood boil. After every sacrifice my mother had made for this realm and its ungrateful people, this silent humiliation was her reward. And the most infuriating part of it all? She sat there, head bowed, refusing to feel a single spark of anger, It was utterly heartbreaking.

I lifted my eyes toward the elevated dais where the thrones sat, and there he was.

His dark gaze was fixed entirely on my mother, who was engaged in quiet conversation with a nobleman seated near us someone clearly new to court, likely an arriving guest from out of town. My father's stare lingered on her with an unreadable intensity, perhaps driven by a twisted curiosity about how she had survived without him.

Then, slowly, his eyes shifted to me.

The very man who had shattered my world, who had forced me to rebuild myself from the wreckage of who I used to be. A cold, piercing look washed over me, sharp enough to freeze the blood in standard veins. Yet as our eyes locked, I felt nothing, no flinch, no tremor, only the quiet burning certainty of how deeply I hated him.

He was the first to break the staring contest, torn away as Cassia glided up to the throne. She slipped gracefully into the grand chair to his left and deliberately intertwined her fingers with his. In response, he offered her a rare, approving smile, a silent compliment that made her preen with satisfaction. I knew why she did it, It was a calculated, petty display designed to provoke me, to spark a flame of jealousy, but the joke was entirely on her. Whatever part of me that could be hurt or envied had died long ago on a freezing winter day. She could hoard his favor, his throne, and his empty affection all she wanted, I couldn't care less.

The gathering officially commenced the moment Hecate made her entrance, gliding into the hall with a calculating grace that instantly set the room ablaze with hushed rumors.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire, some claiming she was the soon to be queen, while others quietly disputed it. Naturally, a few timid nobles pointed secretive fingers toward our hidden alcove, casting glances to gauge our reactions. Spineless fools. If they had even an ounce of real courage, they would walk right up to my face and say whatever was on their cowardly minds.

Truthfully, no one in the grand hall knew the genuine purpose of this gathering aside from the King and his inner council. The prevailing rumor insisted it was an unannounced coronation ceremony for Hecate, a concept so pathetic it almost made me laugh. If only these brainwashed aristocrats knew the truth of her actual origin.

Yet, even if it were a coronation, something I couldn't care less about, it still failed to account for one glaring anomaly, the high ranking envoys arriving from foreign and immortal realms. Why go to such extraordinary lengths for a simple crown?

A cold, familiar instinct flared deep within my chest. This felt entirely like a setup. There was a hidden, treacherous agenda at play, especially considering the surreal fact that my mother and I had been granted an official invitation after years of cold exile. Well If this is a game, I thought, steeling my nerve as the trumpet horns blared to mark the opening rites, they had better be prepared, because two could play it.

"Welcome, my people of Pompeli," the King’s voice boomed across the vaulted hall, rich and commanding, instantly choking out the murmurs of the crowd. "It has been far too long since we gathered in such grand numbers, and I am well aware of the curiosity burning in your hearts regarding tonight's agenda. Rest assured, all will be revealed soon. I have heard the whispers and the rumors circulating through the city and yes, some of those rumors are true, if not all."

From across the elevated dais, Hecate practically beamed, her chest swelling with smug pride and unearned victory.

"However," the King continued, his tone cooling to a razor's edge, "there are certain matters of order that must be put in place before we can truly commence." His eyes shifted away from the court and landed squarely on me, cold, calculating, and heavy, before slowly drifting down to rest on my mother.

As if on cue, half the congregation followed his gaze. Hundreds of eyes locked onto her, heavy with judgment, pity, and malicious curiosity, In that terrifying instant, a sickening realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest, was I about to watch my worst nightmare unfold for a second time.

The suffocating memory of that ice-cold winter day rushed back, the shame, the public humiliation, the cruelty. My breath hitched, my heart hammering against my ribs so violently it felt as though it would break them. Sensing the sudden spike in my pulse, my mother gently reached over and slipped her trembling hand onto my thigh. It was a silent gesture meant to soothe me, meant to whisper that she wasn't going anywhere. But deep down, in the darkest corners of my soul, I knew the bitter truth, i couldn't protect her from what was coming.

The grand banquet faded into a blurring haze of grief and dread. I couldn't focus. I couldn't think. Panic clawed at my throat, threatening to drag tears of helpless frustration from my eyes. What terrified me most was the surreal horror of everyone else, including my own mother, appearing so utterly calm, casually sipping their wine and smiling as if we weren't sitting on the edge of a blade. I couldn't care less about the royal introductions, the elaborate music, or the dancers gliding across the floor. I was drowning in my own helpless rage, trapped in a room full of monsters dressed in silk.

Then, a sudden, thunderous blast of iron trumpets shattered the noise.

The master of ceremonies stepped forward, his voice straining with an ominous weight as he made the grand announcement. The massive oak doors at the end of the hall groaned, swinging wide open to reveal the shadow of the threshold.

In walked the delegates from the foreign realm, the air in the room instantly thinned, turning metallic and cold. I had read about them in forgotten texts and heard their horrors whispered in the dark, but I had never seen a creature from the other realms in person. They were half transformed and moved with an unnatural, predatory grace, their towering frames radiating sheer power and a threat so absolute it made every human breath in the hall catch in fear.