Chapter 47 - Veronica
There are very few things in this world I do not question.
Very few things I accept without resistance, without suspicion, without the instinct to tear them apart and understand every piece before I allow them near me.
But the few that make that list
They matter.
If Ophelia tells me to take medicine, I take it.
I don't ask what it is. I don't ask what it does.
I don't argue about dosage or timing or whether I actually need it.
If she presses a cup into my hand and tells me to drink, I drink.
If she tells me to sit still, I sit long enough to humor her, if nothing else.
There is something in the way she looks at me when she gives those instructions, soft, certain, unafraid, that makes defiance feel. .. unnecessary.
If Elias says he knows something about someone, I believe him.
Not because I enjoy trusting him. I don't. He is irritating, arrogant, and entirely too entertained by his own intelligence.
But Elias does not guess. He does not speculate.
He collects information like a disease, slow, persistent, unavoidable.
If he says someone is lying, they are. If he says someone is dangerous, they are already planning something worse.
And if Veronica walks into a room bleeding with a sword in her hand
You do not ask questions.
You prepare for war.
So when the guard stops me, his voice tight and his posture just a fraction too rigid, I already know something is wrong before he even speaks.
"My king... the lady Veronica is waiting for you."
Waiting.
That word alone is enough.
Veronica does not wait.
She appears.
She intrudes.
She occupies space like she owns it and leaves before anyone realizes they have been robbed of something important.
If she is waiting
Something has gone very wrong.
I glance once down the corridor.
The ballroom behind me is still alive with noise, with music, with laughter that sounds forced and brittle if you listen closely enough.
Nobles are drinking too much, smiling too widely, pretending they are not terrified of the man who just kissed his wife, as she belonged to him in a way they could not understand.
But two absences stand out immediately.
Elias.
And Ophelia.
Gone.
The stillness that settles inside me is immediate.
Cold.
Precise.
I turn without another word and walk toward my office.
Not quickly.
Rushed men make mistakes. Panicked men lose control.
I am neither.
My boots strike the marble in slow, measured steps, each echo steady and deliberate as servants move out of my way and guards lower their heads. No one speaks. No one breathes too loudly. The palace feels... normal.
Too normal.
Disaster always prefers silence.
The doors to my office come into view.
One of them is stained.
A thin smear of red across polished wood.
I push them open.
And the world shifts.
Veronica stands in the center of the room like a painting no one would dare hang in public.
Blood streaks her dress in uneven lines, some fresh, some already darkening.
Her sleeve is torn open from shoulder to forearm, the fabric soaked through where a blade must have kissed too close.
There's blood at her temple, dried in a crooked path down her cheek, disappearing beneath the curve of her jaw.
She looks
Alive.
Dangerously so.
In one hand, she holds her sword.
In the other
She drags Ophelia's stepmother like something she pulled from a gutter.
The woman stumbles as Veronica releases her, collapsing onto the floor with a sharp gasp as her hands scrape against the floor. She tries to catch herself, tries to gather dignity from the way she sits, but Veronica nudges her with her shoe hard enough to knock her flat.
"Stay," Veronica says lightly, as if speaking to a misbehaving pet.
Her tone is almost cheerful.
Her eyes are not.
I step into the room.
Close the door behind me.
The sound is final.
Then I look at Veronica properly.
Her lips curve.
"I know," she says brightly. "I've had better evenings."
"You're bleeding."
"Yes," she says, glancing down at herself as if noticing for the first time. "But not enough to complain about."
My gaze shifts to the woman on the floor.
Then back to Veronica.
"Where is my wife?"
Veronica's expression stills.
That is worse than any panic.
"Taken."
The word lands clean.
Sharp.
Precise.
Something inside me fractures
Quietly.
Like something that has just decided it will never be the same again.
I walk forward.
The stepmother begins to crawl backward immediately, her breath catching, her eyes wide with something that might almost resemble fear.
As i kneel in front of her, I ask.
"What did you do?"
My voice is quiet.
Flat.
She shakes her head instantly.
"I didn't do anything...."
A lie so immediate it almost disappoints me.
"I was attacked," she continues, her voice trembling as she points toward Veronica. "She came at me out of nowhere—"
Veronica laughs.
Soft.
Delighted.
"Oh, we're starting there?" she says, clearly entertained. "That's bold. I like bold."
I don't look at her.
I keep my eyes on the woman in front of me.
"Where is she?"
"I don't know!"
Another lie.
I grab her jaw.
Her words cut off instantly, her breath hitching as her head jerks slightly under the force.
"You will answer carefully," I say, my voice still quiet. "Because I am losing interest in listening to you."
Her eyes fill with tears.
It does not move me.
Behind me, I hear Veronica shifting.
There is a soft metallic sound as she sets her sword down somewhere nearby, followed by the rustle of fabric.
I close my eyes for half a second.
When I open them, I release the woman's jaw.
"Explain," I say.
Veronica steps closer.
And I feel it.
That shift.
That thing she does.
The air around her changes not heavier, not darker, just... wrong.
She tilts her head, studying the woman as a child might examine something interesting.
"They left the ballroom," she says conversationally. "The queen wanted air. Elias followed. I stayed behind because I made a very unfortunate assumption that a courtyard full of guards meant safety."
She sighs.
"I hate being wrong."
The stepmother sobs.
Veronica crouches beside her.
"Oh, don't cry yet," she says sweetly. "We haven't even started."
Then she looks at me.
"They had numbers," she continues. "Fifteen, maybe twenty. Six went for Elias immediately...smart choice, honestly. He broke one's jaw. Very satisfying sound, by the way."
She gestures vaguely.
"Then someone hit the queen from behind. Very Rude."
My hands curl slightly at my sides.
Veronica doesn't stop.
"I was briefly occupied by a man who believed very strongly in his knife," she adds. "He's no longer with us. Emotionally or physically."
She smiles.
Bright.
Sharp.
"By the time I reached them, things had gotten messy. I killed eight, injured a few others, lost sight of them for approximately twenty seconds...which I do not recommend and when I found the path again..."
She gestures toward the woman.
"...the carriage was already gone."
Silence fills the room.
Thick.
Heavy.
Then Veronica leans closer to the stepmother, her smile widening.
"But the best part," she says, her voice dropping to something almost playful, "was finding you."
The woman shakes her head frantically.
"I didn't do anything!"
Veronica's hand snaps out and grips her chin, forcing her face up.
"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs, delighted. "You're going to have to try harder than that. I've already decided you're guilty......it's just a matter of how entertaining you make this for me."
She glances at me, eyes bright.
"Can I keep her?"
"No."
"A shame," she says, pouting slightly before the expression vanishes completely. "I would've taken very good care of her."
The stepmother begins to cry harder.
"You have one chance," I say. "Tell me where they took her."
"I don't know!"
"Oh, we're lying again!" she says, clapping her hands together lightly. "Good, good, I was hoping we'd get to the fun part."
She stands.
Rolls her shoulders slightly.
Then looks at me with something dangerously close to excitement.
"May I?"
I don't answer immediately.
I don't need to.
She sees it in my face.
And her smile
Her smile sharpens into something almost feral.
"Oh, this is going to be lovely," she breathes.
She crouches again, this time closer, invading every inch of the woman's space.
"You see," Veronica says softly, almost kindly, "most people think torture is about pain."
She tilts her head.
"It's not."
Her fingers brush lightly against the woman's hand.
Gentle.
Almost affectionate.
"It's about understanding exactly how much someone can lose before they start telling the truth."
The stepmother sobs, shaking her head.
Veronica sighs.
Then looks up at me.
"Where would you like me to start?" she asks, like a child standing in a candy shop. "We have fingers, of course. Always a classic. Or we could do something more creative....oh! I haven't done joints in a while. That's always fun. They make such interesting sounds when they..."
"Veronica."
She stops.
Look at me.
Still smiling.
"Yes?"
I pause.
As we make eye contact.
"Do what your heart desires."
Veronica inhales sharply.
Delighted.
"Aww, I always knew you loved me."
The woman screams before Veronica even touches her.