The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 01 - I Died That Day

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"Raine Stjorme, Nightshade Concubine and Princess of Drakfjord... I, Sylvos Thorne, Emperor of Thornmont, Sovereign of Fayndor, and Wielder of Briarvex... sentence thee to death."

With those cruel words, he yanked Briarvex from my stomach, the sword's intricately engraved blade glistening with my blood. I sank to my knees, my black gown quickly drenched in crimson.

The entire inner court had gathered in the throne room — including all 100 concubines. It was an assembly I had imagined would herald my coronation as empress. Yet, it became painfully clear that I was the only one mistaken.

My hands trembled as I clutched my stomach.

"How... How could you?" I whispered.

After praying for so long to be blessed...

Tears blurred my vision as I gazed up at Sylvos, my heart breaking anew.

Black eyes that had once gazed at me with love now burned with hollow resentment. His silver hair, which I had caressed only days before, was now crowned with jagged metal.

"How could you!?" I cried louder. "I bear your child! Why would you slay your own heir when fate had denied you of any for so long?"

A shrill, haunting laughter echoed through the vast throne room, chilling the air.

My attention snapped to the silver throne, a grotesque seat of jagged spikes and thick gnarled vines that reached toward the ceiling like a crooked claw.

From the shadows beside the monstrous chair, Isolde stepped forward, a sinister grace in her movements.

Like me, she wore a flowing black gown that marked her as a Nightshade Concubine. Yet hers was embellished with bronze trimmings that glinted wickedly, complementing her fiery red hair.

"You wish for His Majesty to believe the child you carry is his?" she snickered, her voice dripping with malice.

"Of course!" I insisted, my hands clutching my stomach as I fought to stem the flow of blood. Each ragged breath scraped like shards of ice against my lungs.

"Liar." She tilted her head, emerald eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Ser Kaelan Blanc has already confessed that the child is his."

"What?!"

Her words felt like a kick to my already wounded stomach.

Desperate, I turned back to Sylvos and seized his black boot. Still on my knees, my blood stained its polished leather.

Surely, he would see the truth.

"Sylvos... please," I begged, my voice trembling. "You must believe me. This is a lie! I have only ever loved you! I have only ever been faithful to you! For three years... Do you not see? The gods sent us this child as proof of my loyalty!"

A voice like cold steel cut through the throne room.

"Your Majesty, do not be deceived by this traitor's cunning tongue."

I turned toward the speaker — Ser Bastian, Captain of the Briarbound Knights. He stood tall, a wall of black steel, his long obsidian hair framing a face carved from stone.

"Just last week, her sister wed the King of Pyree," he declared. "It's clear that Drakfjord wishes to conspire with our enemies. Treason such as this cannot go unpunished."

Treason?

How could he make such a claim?

My head whirled back to the emperor.

"Sylvos, hear me! You already know this not to be true!" I pleaded. "I've begged you every day to save my sister. She was not wed to that warlord king. She was stolen!"

Tears streamed down my face, and my hands grew colder, more ghostly with each passing moment. But there was no warmth in the emperor's gaze. Not even a flicker of sympathy.

His boot struck my chest, sending me sprawling onto the dark marble floor.

"Your disgrace has not only sealed your own ruin but that of your entire bloodline. Come dawn, the Stjorme monarchy shall find their heads adorning my throne. I'll make sure to leave room for your sister's new husband too."

The court erupted in laughter, their delight echoing off the cold stone walls at their ruler's promise.

With those cruel words, the last vestiges of my strength crumbled into a thousand shards.

I stared blankly at my bloodied hands, the very hands that had clawed their way from the bottom of his harem to attain the coveted Nightshade rank.

What had it all been for?

Why had I prayed each night for the blessing of a child that seemed impossible?

Despite all he had done... The creatures he chained, the wars he waged, and the lives he ruined... Why had I loved him?

All for naught, it seemed.

"Sylvos, I—"

"You shall address me as Your Majesty," he cut in, his voice as sharp as the blade that had torn through me.

My lips quivered. I remembered the night he so tenderly insisted I call him by his given name. I had hesitated, warning him that the court would see it as disrespect. But he only smiled and asked, who would dare deny their sovereign's request?

I could still feel the ghost of his kiss from that night... The warmth that had once soothed me...

"Your Majesty," I croaked, my voice barely carrying. "May I at least ask that my body be sent back to Drakfjord... So I may receive proper funeral rites?"

"Denied."

My gaze shot up, horror twisting my features as his smirk filled me with dread.

He knew.

Sylvos had never been allowed to learn the full truth of our burials, yet he knew how sacred it was to my people. Denying it could bar me from salvation.

"Please... or my soul may never find peace," I begged.

His smile was that of a tyrant's, dark and unyielding.

He raised Briarvex once more, aiming it at my chest.

"Your body shall hang from the fortress walls for as long as I reign," he promised. "But first, I shall tear that unborn bastard from your corpse and feed it to the hounds."

With that, Sylvos drove Briarvex into my heart, the blade tearing through flesh and bone. I gasped, choking on blood as I struggled to breathe. The blade pulsed with wicked magic, and I watched in horror as thorns began to twist from my chest. They coiled around my wound, binding me in agony.

I looked into Sylvos' eyes, and in that moment, something inside me broke.

"I curse you, Sylvos Thorne," I spat, blood staining my lips. "I curse you for a thousand lifetimes. May my soul haunt you for all eternity. Until damnation do us part."

Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the windows.

The court fell into a stunned silence. And for the first time, Sylvos glanced around, his expression unsettled.

I wished I could bring them a true storm.

I wished I had the strength.

I wished I knew better.

I wished I never...

I wished...

I...

I died that day.

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A voice called to me from somewhere far away, piercing the veil of darkness.

I'm so tired...

Please, let me rest already...

I can't... It's already done.... I'm done...

My eyes fluttered open.

A hollow ache lingered in my chest, as though that cursed silver sword of thorns was still embedded within me. I pressed a hand to my heart, expecting to feel the cold bite of steel, but found only a jagged scar.

What... happened?

Had I not died?

How could I possibly survive such a wound?

Taken aback, I surveyed my surroundings. But instead of the dark walls of my sleeping quarter in Nightshade Castle, I was in an open-air chamber. Beyond the salt-stone pillars before me, wisps of clouds drifted lazily. Sheer tattered curtains swayed in the salt-tinged breeze.

I inhaled deeply, the rain scented air filling my lungs.

Instantly, I knew where I was.

"But how?" I whispered in disbelief.

How had I returned to Drakfjord? To the cliffs of Stormgard?

It had been three long years since I last slept in the bed chamber where I had grown up. How could I be back in my father's castle? Had Sylvos sent me back as I begged?

"Raineeee!"

I looked up at the familiar voice and my eyes widened as my little sister leaped onto the bed.

"Skye..." I breathed, my heart wrenched between joy and disbelief.

"Raine, they're here! Aren't you excited? Oh, I hope I get to see him up close!" she chattered, her soft gray eyes sparkling with excitement.

Skye's words became a blur, drowned by the flood of memories that washed over me.Her accent put harsh emphasis on the r's and deepened the o's. How had I forgotten what my own people sounded like?

All I could do was stare at my beautiful sister. My hand gently toyed with one of the braids woven in her dark hair. She looked exactly as I remembered her...

But wasn't she meant to be seventeen this year? And what about the news of her being stolen by that warlord? How was she still here? And how did she look so young?

"Sister, are you even listening to me?" Skye asked, her cheeks puffed in a familiar pout.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, shaking my head. "I'm just... I'm confused. How am I here? At Stormgard? How did I survive?"

"Raine!" Skye scolded, crossing her arms. "Do you really want to leave Drakfjord that badly? I know he's handsome, but at least pretend you'll miss your family."

"What?"

"They're meeting with Father as we speak," a voice cut in.

Skye and I turned toward our eldest sister leaning against the door frame, her short dark hair fluttering in the breeze.

"Claude... you're here..." I blinked at her.

She rolled her steely eyes as she stepped inside. Like Skye, she seemed untouched by time. Dressed in her usual dark leather riding tunic and pants, she was a stark contrast to Skye's pastel frills and chiffons.

"Are you still half-asleep?" she asked, smirking. "Get up already. You shouldn't keep the emperor waiting."

At the mention of him, my body froze.

I tried to steady my trembling hands, but the memory was too vivid. All the color drained from me as I looked at my sisters with wide, panicked eyes.

"We have to run! He'll kill us!" I said.

"What?" Skye frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He's here for an alliance, not war," Claude chuckled. "For now, at least."

I couldn't stop shaking.

"An alliance? He swore to have our heads," I whispered desperately. "Please, we must run! If we fly now, we can be on the other side of the world in no time."

"Raine, I think you've had a strange dream," Skye said, worry creeping into her voice.

"Just last night, you were so eager to meet the emperor. What changed?" Claude asked.

"What?" I breathed, glancing around.

Something wasn't adding up...

Was I still dreaming?

I tugged at my nightgown to see for myself. And sure enough, a jagged scar cut across my heart in a twisted X. It was impossible to miss.

"Look, my scar is still here! He stabbed me through the heart!" I insisted.

But Skye and Claude only frowned.

"What scar?" Skye asked. "Your skin is as smooth as milk."

I dropped my hands, staring at them in disbelief.

"What? How can you not see it?"

"Raine, it sounds like you had a nightmare," Claude said softly, trying to reassure me. "Maybe your excitement got the better of you."

Gradually, the pieces began to fall into place. The way my sisters looked exactly as they had three years ago... The mention of Sylvos coming here for an alliance...

"How old am I?" I asked, dread pooling in my gut.

Skye let out a laugh.

"You've really lost it, Raine," she giggled. "You turned nineteen only yesterday."

Realization crashed over me.

Somehow, I'd been sent back three years...

To the day I met Sylvos Thorne.

"I don't wish to meet him anymore," I insisted, clearing my throat. "I changed my mind."

"Don't make me drag you to the throne room by your hair," Claude joked, though her grip as she helped me from the bed was firm. "We can't escape this betrothal. I'd have taken it myself if I weren't Father's heir. And Skye is only fourteen."

Maids flitted into the room as they prepared a bath, others went to change my bed sheets.

"I'll do it! I don't mind," Skye giggled, her eyes taking on a distant, dreamy glaze. "I caught a glimpse of him earlier. Though I was so high up, and the sky is always so misty, all I really noticed was his silver hair."

Claude's steely eyes turned on her with a smoldering glare.

"What were you doing in the sky? We're keeping the dragons hidden today for a reason! Do you understand what this betrothal means?"

Skye's gaze fell.

"I wasn't riding Starscale," she insisted softly. "I was only watching from the tower..."

Claude's face softened, but only slightly.

Memories from this day slowly returned to me.

The betrothal with Sylvos was nothing but a ploy to divert his hungry gaze from our island. Offering our capital's storm-forged gems in an attempt to hide our dragons. How many beasts had he enslaved in his pursuit of dominion over the Fayndor continent?

We had even arranged for his arrival during winter, when our dragons slept the months away in their caves. Though he only arrived after my birthday in early spring. Any day now, the dragons will begin to rouse.

"Help Raine pick a dress," Claude ordered Skye. "She must look the part of an empress."

They busied themselves with my attire as I stepped into the bath and sank into the warm water.

It was impossible to make sense of my thoughts.

Was this truly a second chance?

Part of me longed to send Sylvos away empty-handed and stay here, safe with my family. But I knew that wasn't an option. This union was meant to save my kingdom from him. And even if I knew now it was futile, refusing him at this point would only result in a war we weren't prepared for.

My gaze dropped to the crooked scar that marked my chest, my fingers tracing the wound as though it still bled.

How could they not see it?

Or was this mark a harbinger of what was to come? A reminder to me alone?

My touch traveled lower, to my stomach where I had a scar to match. This one was smaller... But hurt so much more. The back of my eyes burned as my palm rested over the pinkish wound.

It had only been four months... But I still carried his child...

I dipped my head below the surface of the water, letting the warmth engulf me as I fought the urge to drown.

With the help of the maids, I got dressed and presentable. Though Skye had always been the prettiest one, even she flushed to a warm pink the same shade as her gown.

"Perfect," Claude nodded in approval.

I turned to the mirror.

The dress was angossamer gray gown, intricately woven with lace that cascaded down like the mist that clung to our island. Its off-the-shoulder sleeves were in Drakfjord fashion, revealing my pale collarbones.

"We can't forget her tiara," Skye insisted as she reached to place my crown upon my dark hair.

Like all our storm-forged gems, the jewels of my silver tiara pulsed with their own life, like the lightning that so often danced across our skies.

"Let's meet him then," I sighed, steeling myself.

I would not tremble before him.

Not again.

Though our castle lacked the jagged fortifications of Sylvos' fortress, we possessed a throne room worthy of any royal lineage.

Perched atop the mountains, Stormgard Castle offered a breathtaking view beyond the pillars, as if we were seated within the clouds.

The walls, hewn from the pale salt-stones of our island, held an ethereal quality.

I stepped through the grand double doors, my sisters trailing behind me. Upon the sea-salt throne sat my father, his smile proud. My mother stood beside him; her beauty only rivaled by Skye's. But their presence faded in the wake of what truly mattered.

My gaze locked onto the figure standing before my father. The silver hair, the cold, steely contours of his armor, and the billowing black cape — all unmistakable.

But what set my blood boiling was the cursed sword sheathed across his back. Briarvex. Its thorn-laced hilt and intricate silverwork gleamed cruelly in the light. The blade was spotless, yet in my mind, I still saw my blood smeared across its edge.

The emperor turned toward me, his sharp crown catching the pale light. And upon his face, my heart lurched violently, as if he had driven that cursed sword through me all over again.

He looked exactly the same as when I met him three years ago, his face bright with that youthful spark. Gone was the dark circles and rough beard he'd worn at the end of my life.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Raine," he greeted, inclining his head slightly. "I am Sylvos Thorne, Emperor of Thornmont and Sovereign of Fayndor."

For a good few moments, I fought the incessant urge to grab his own sword from him and be off with his head. My nails dug into my palms so hard I was sure I drew blood.

By a miracle, or some divine hand, my body moved with restrained grace, sinking into a stiff curtsy.

"The pleasure is mine," I managed through gritted teeth.

His eyes flashed with a wolfish gleam at my tone, his smile curling with a tyrant's charm.

"I look forward to this betrothal," he smirked.

"As do I."

It was only half a lie.

Though I dreaded this union, I was looking forward to bringing his empire down with him.

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