30

  Lionel sat on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling so violently he could barely steady them. The night was supposed to be a celebration, a union of families, a culmination of years spent together. The castle was still alive with distant ughter and music, remnants of the grand festival that marked the betrothal of the young princess Margaret. She had been his childhood friend, his confidante, the one person who had shared his dreams and fears since they were children running through the castle gardens of Paragua. Over the years, friendship had blossomed into love, pure and steadfast, until it became impossible to imagine life without her.

  That night, Lionel had waited patiently for her, knowing she would wash before bed. He imagined her stepping out of the bath, the scent of jasmine and rosewater lingering in the air, the warmth of her skin against the silk robe she would wrap around herself. His heart beat with a quiet anticipation, a joy that had nothing to do with the political significance of their union. It was theirs, their private happiness, unspoiled and sacred.

  But before Margaret could reach him, the door burst open. Lionel froze. The heavy tread of boots echoed in the room. The king entered first, his father, a man whose visage had always commanded respect, but now reeked of something darker. Behind him came the his brother, his cousin, and two guards, each movement purposeful and predatory.

  “Lionel, my son…” the king said, voice almost gentle, masking the hunger beneath.

  Margaret emerged, the silk robe clinging to her like water, transparent in the flickering torchlight. Her bare body was visible under her white silk robe. Lionel’s breath caught. She looked divine—ethereal, untouchable, every ounce of innocence and beauty amplified by the cruelly exposed moment.

  His father’s hands itched, not with paternal pride, but with desire. Lionel’s brother and cousin mirrored the same leering hunger. The prince’s heart thudded in terror, in disbelief, in a pain so raw he could hardly breathe.

  “Father…” Lionel whispered, his voice breaking, but the words were swallowed by the room’s thick tension.

  The king ignored him, and the guards moved to restrain Lionel, holding him at bay while the rest approached Margaret. Lionel’s brother and cousin, faces twisted in anticipation, reached out, and his eyes could not look away.

  The king lustfully reaches the princess. His brother and cousin hold her. The king licked her neck, her breast. The king was like a beast savoring every inch of her. The king removed his clothes and bend her down. He put his inside her, she gasp in pain and delirium. The king did it over and over again until he ejacutes. The king was ecstatic, he can still feel the pleasure even after he removed his. The king standup and the other two did it until they are satisfied.

  He watched. Every movement, every stolen touch, every gasp of the princess. Moans and ughter of the king and his brother and cousin disabling his ears. His body betrayed him, frozen in helplessness, paralyzed by the horror of witnessing the woman he loved vioted by those he should have trusted to protect her.

  The weight of the helplessness crushed him. His mind screamed for intervention, but the guards’ hands were iron, their force undeniable. Lionel felt himself cracking, fragments of sanity splintering in the shadows of that room. His father’s voice—commanding, approving, lustful—reverberated in his skull. The man he had revered as king, as protector, now a predator.

  The ordeal sted what felt like hours. One by one, the father, the cousin, the brother—they took what they wanted, leaving Lionel helpless, his sanity unraveling with each passing second. Margaret’s soft cries and the silent agony in her eyes seared themselves into Lionel’s memory, etching a trauma so deep that he could not imagine life afterward.

  When they finally left, dragging themselves from the room like beasts sated by a feast, Lionel remained by the bed, trembling, staring at the empty space where Margaret had been, the scent of her fear and the echoes of her voice lingering in his mind. His hands shook, his knees buckled, and tears burned hot against his cheeks. He could no longer speak, could no longer breathe properly. The world had shifted beneath him; nothing felt safe, nothing felt real.

  And then—the voice came. Soft, sweet, and yet den with malice.

  “You watched them all,” it whispered, winding through the darkness like smoke. “You saw all the eyes that sought her. You allowed them to desecrate what is yours. You are aware, Lionel, of what they are. And yet, you did nothing.”

  The darkness thickened around him, curling like living shadows. Lionel felt it wrap around his body, and with it, a strange calm settled over his frayed mind.

  “You can take back what was stolen. You can punish those who lust, those who prey on what is sacred. I can show you how.”

  The voice continued, insinuating, filling every part of him, feeding on the rage and despair that had taken root in the young prince. His father’s lustful gaze, the betrayal of his kin, the helpless cries of Margaret—they became fuel, igniting something dark and feral within him.

  The shadows seemed to seep into his flesh, into his bones, reshaping him. He felt the fracture of his old self, the careful, gentle boy, splinter and fall away. When the darkness withdrew, Lionel was no longer just the prince of Paragua. He was tempered in rage, forged in the anguish of betrayal and the lust of others, a creature whose heart now beat in cadence with vengeance.

  His eyes, once warm and trusting, now carried a chill precision. His hands, once soft and unsure, now felt the strength to enforce what he had been powerless to stop.

  The voice whispered one final thought, a lingering promise:

  “All the eyes that lust, all the hands that take, all who look upon her as property—they will pay. And you… you will be reborn. A new man.”

  Lionel exhaled, his chest heaving. The room felt emptier, yet somehow full of possibility. He turned slowly toward the bed, the st trace of tears still on his cheeks, the memory of Margaret seared into his soul. And somewhere deep within, a cold ember of resolve began to burn.

  The darkness receded slightly, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his pain, and the unspoken promise of vengeance.

  Lionel, prince of Paragua, was gone. In his pce was something new. Something dark. Something unstoppable.

  The room was silent except for his quiet, steady breathing. And for the first time since that night, he felt… powerful.