Chapter Text
The road to the capital wound through the Whisperwood, a forest of ancient pines and clinging mist. The gilded carriage rolled at a leisurely pace, its crimson curtains drawn against the cool twilight air. Inside, Princess Seraphine Valerius reclined on a pile of silk cushions, her eyes half-closed, her long, elegant feet resting on a velvet footstool. Rose-scented oil gleamed on her soles, catching the candlelight.
Lira, her devoted handmaiden, knelt at her side, working the oil into the princess's arches with practiced, reverent strokes. It was a ritual they had performed every evening since Seraphine was a girl.
"Is there something bothering you, Milady?" Lira murmured.
"I'm bored," Seraphine replied, stretching her toes. "The capital is boring. Why do they insist I go there?"
"Because you're the princess, Milady
Seraphine sighed and closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the oil and the gentle rhythm of the carriage lull her toward sleep.
Outside, Valería, Captain of the Royal Guard, rode alongside the carriage on her chestnut mare. Her silver hair was cropped short, her hand never far from her sword. She scanned the treeline with a practiced eye. Beside her rode her second-in-command, a young soldier named Darian, whose eyes were less sharp and whose mind was already on the tavern ahead.
It was Darian who saw the tree first.
"Captain!" he called, pointing ahead.
A massive pine lay across the road, its roots torn from the earth. The carriage halted. The horses snorted and stamped. Valería drew her sword.
"Hold," she said, her voice low and sharp.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then the forest gave birth to shadows. Five bandits emerged from the treeline, their weapons rough and ready, their faces hidden beneath scarves and hoods. The leader, a scarred brute with a rusted sword, stepped forward.
"Hand over your gold and valuables, and nobody gets hurt," he said
Valería did not lower her sword. "You make a mistake, standing in the path of the crown."
"The crown, you say, that must mean you got even more valuables on you than I originally thought," The bandit leader retorted
"Too bad you won't live long enough to enjoy them." Valería said, kicking her heels into her mare's flanks and charging.
The horse surged forward, hooves pounding against the dirt road. Valería lowered her sword, aiming for the bandit leader's chest. She didn't intend to kill the leader; she intended to injure him instead, making it easier to capture him and hand him over to a judge. Although it was likely the judge would impose a death sentence, making an example of him.
The bandit leader's eyes widened. He stumbled back, raising his rusted blade in a desperate, clumsy guard. It would not be enough.
As she charged forward, she noticed movement in the treeline just to the right of where the bandits had appeared. Suddenly, a tall figure burst from the shadows, armored and moving with the speed of a striking serpent. A spear flew through the air, its shaft gleaming in the fading light.
Valería saw it at the last second. She twisted in the saddle, raising her shield to intercept. The spearhead struck the center of her shield with a deafening CRACK.
The force was immense. The impact sent a jolt up Valería's arm, through her shoulder, into her spine. She heard the bone snap before she felt it—a sharp, wet sound, like a branch breaking in a storm. Her shield arm went limp. The shield itself clattered to the ground, the spear still embedded in its face.
She gasped, the pain crashing through her like a wave. Her grip on her sword loosened. Her horse reared, and she was thrown from the saddle, her body hitting the dirt hard.
For a moment, there was only the ringing in her ears and the dust in her eyes.
The warrior, Sylara, who had thrown the spear, stepped out of the treeline. Now wielding a massive double-headed battle axe, its blade gleaming wickedly. She walked toward the fallen captain, her footsteps deliberate, her face expressionless.
Valeria tried to rise. Her broken arm screamed in protest. Her vision swam. She could only stare up at the towering warrior, her sword still in her good hand, but too far away to reach.
Sylara raised her axe. The blade hovered above Valería's neck.
"Don't kill her!" A woman's voice interrupted Sylara's death swing. She obeyed, turning the blade so she hit Valería's temple with the flat of the axe, producing a dull thud. The captain's world went dark as her head lolled to the side, and she slumped into the dirt, unconscious.
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Inside the carriage, Seraphine had been dreaming of the time she had spent in the summer palace at the Azur Moon Lake
Then the carriage lurched, and she was awake.
"What was that?" she asked, sitting up. Her feet slid off the footstool, her toes curling against the velvet.
Lira was already pressed against the window, her face pale. "There's a tree in the road, Milady. And—and I think I saw bandits."
Seraphine's heart quickened. She heard voices outside—Valería's sharp commands, the bandit's jeering laughter. Then the thunder of hooves.
And then the crash.
It was a sound like thunder and lightning colliding. The carriage shook violently, the curtains billowing, the candles flickering. Lira screamed and fell back against the cushions. Seraphine gripped the velvet seat, her knuckles white, her bare feet digging into the upholstery.
"What happened?!" she cried.
Lira could only shake her head, her eyes wide with terror.
From outside, she heard the sounds of battle—steel clashing, men shouting, horses screaming. A man cried out in pain. There was a heavy thud, like something large hitting the ground.
Seraphine pressed her ear to the door, her breath held.
Silence.
Then footsteps—heavy, deliberate, crunching against the dirt.
The door handle rattled. Seraphine scrambled back, pulling her knees to her chest, her bare feet tucked beneath her robes. Lira clung to her mistress, sobbing softly.
The door opened.
There stood a woman in leather armor with metal reinforcements and an axe in her right hand; she held Valería by the scruff of her neck. Valería was limp, and her arm was hanging at an unnatural angle, her face streaked with dust and a thin line of blood.
Without a word, Sylara tossed the captain into the carriage.
Valería's body landed on the velvet floor with a heavy thump, her head knocking against the footstool. She did not stir.
Seraphine stared at her guard, her heart hammering. "What—what have you done to her?"
The woman said nothing, merely stepped aside, revealing another woman who had been standing behind her. The woman was tall and lean, clad in dark leather armor that seemed to drink in the candlelight. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe braid, revealing a face of sharp angles and cold calculation. A thin scar ran from her left eyebrow to her temple, and her eyes—a pale, icy gray—held no warmth whatsoever.
Behind her, another woman appeared, shorter and stockier, with a mace hanging from her belt and a crossbow slung across her back. Her auburn hair was cropped close to her skull, and her grin was that of a wolf who had cornered a lamb.
The woman with the scar stepped into the carriage, her boots thudding against the velvet floor. She looked down at Valería's unconscious form with something that might have been satisfaction, then kicked the captain's limp arm aside as if it were a piece of debris. She sat down across from the princess and Lira, on the seat opposite them, and crossed her legs.
"You must be Princess Seraphine Valerius," the woman said, her voice smooth as silk. "I've heard so much about you. They say you're the jewel of the kingdom." She tilted her head. "I am Raven, but you may call me mistress." Those last words were accompanied by a smile on Raven's lips, although there wasn't a single ounce of warmth behind that smile.
Seraphine tried to summon the imperious tone she had been trained to use since birth, but her voice came out as barely a whisper. "What do you want?"
Raven smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "What do I want? I want justice. I want retribution. I want the crown to know what it feels like to lose something precious." She leaned forward, her pale eyes boring into Seraphine's. "And you, Your Highness, are going to help me deliver that message."
Lira let out a small whimper. Raven's lieutenant—the auburn-haired woman—chuckled.
"This one's jumpy," she said, nodding toward Lira. "Want me to calm her down?"
"Not yet, Kael," Raven said, holding up a hand. "We're not savages."
Kael shrugged and leaned against the doorframe, her hand resting idly on her mace. Outside, Seraphine could hear the sounds of the bandits rummaging through the luggage, the clink of gold, and the rustle of fabric. Her dowry. Her gowns. Her jewels. All of it is being pawed over by filthy, grimy hands.
"My guards will come for me," Seraphine said, trying to steady her voice. "When they learn what's happened—"
"Your guards are dead or scattered," Raven interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact. "The ones who ran will take hours to reach the nearest garrison. By the time anyone mounts a rescue, we'll be long gone." She reached out and, to Seraphine's shock, took the princess's bare foot in her hand. Seraphine tried to pull away, but Raven's grip was firm.
"Rose oil," Raven observed, running her thumb across the princess's oiled sole. "How decadent. How utterly, disgustingly decadent." She released Seraphine's foot and wiped her hand on the velvet seat. "The people of this kingdom starve while their princess has her feet massaged with imported oils. Does that seem just to you?"
Seraphine's cheeks burned with humiliation. She pulled her feet beneath her robes, her heart pounding. "I—I didn't—"
"No," Raven agreed. "You didn't think about them at all. That's the problem with all of you nobles. I don't blame you personally; it’s just the way you were raised. However, I do intend to ensure that you pay for the suffering you and the other nobles have caused."
"Kael, would you mind seeing what the holdup is?" Raven commanded her underling.
Kael nodded and stepped out of the carriage, closing the door behind her.
Kael had barely been gone a moment before the carriage door opened again, and a different figure slipped inside.
She was small—almost childlike in stature—with a round face dusted with freckles and wide, honey-brown eyes that seemed far too innocent for the company she kept. Her mouse-brown hair was tied in two messy braids, and she wore simple mage's robes, patched and worn at the elbows. A leather satchel hung at her hip, bulging with scrolls and vials.
But it was her expression that caught Seraphine off guard. Unlike the cold malice of Raven or the wolfish amusement of Kael, this woman looked at the princess with something else entirely—a burning, righteous fury that seemed almost out of place on such a cherubic face.
"Eris, are we ready to go?" Raven asked, without casting a glance in the person's direction
"Yes, we are," The newcomer, Eris, announced, "We should arrive before noon in Thornhaven," Eris spoke as she settled onto the seat beside Raven, her small frame barely taking up any room. But her eyes never left Seraphine. They traced over the princess's silk robes, her oiled feet, the jeweled pins still tangled in her sleep-mussed hair. "So this is her. The princess."
Her tone dripped with contempt.
"You should be on your knees," Eris said, her soft voice trembling with barely contained emotion.
"Eris," Raven called the mage's name, clearly trying to ground her back into reality. "Don't overdo it."
Those words were all that Eris needed.
Before Seraphine could draw breath to scream, the mage moved. There was a blur of patched robes and freckled fury, and suddenly Eris was on top of her, knees pinning the princess's arms to the cushions. The weight was shocking—the small woman was far stronger than she looked.
Cold steel kissed Seraphine's throat.
"Not a sound," Eris whispered, her honey-brown eyes inches from the princess's own. The knife in her hand was small but wickedly sharp, its edge glinting in the candlelight. "Not a single sound, or I'll open your pretty throat right here."
Seraphine went rigid. She could feel the blade pressing against her pulse, feel every frantic beat of her heart thrumming against the steel. Lira let out a strangled cry and lunged forward, but Eris's free hand shot out, fingers splayed, and a shimmering barrier of pale blue light erupted between the handmaiden and her mistress. Lira slammed against it and rebounded, falling back onto the seat with a sob.
"Stay," Eris commanded, not even looking at her.
The mage's other hand—the one not holding the knife—gripped the collar of Seraphine's silk robe. With a savage yank, she pulled the fabric downward. The delicate stitching gave way with a soft, tearing sound that seemed impossibly loud in the cramped carriage.
Then the knife was gone from Seraphine's throat, and Eris was cutting—methodical, precise, utterly uncaring. The blade traced a line from collar to navel, parting the rose-colored silk like a petal. The fabric fell away in two pieces, sliding off Seraphine's shoulders and pooling at her hips.
The cool night air hit her bare skin, and Seraphine gasped—a small, helpless sound. She lay exposed beneath the mage, clad only in her thin silk undershift, the outline of her body clearly visible through the gossamer fabric. Her breasts rose and fell with each panicked breath, her stomach trembling, her legs pressed together beneath the tattered remains of her gown.
Eris sat back, still straddling the princess but releasing the princess's arms before surveying her work with cold satisfaction.
"Look at you," she murmured, running the flat of the blade along Seraphine's collarbone. "Now be a good little princess and strip completely"
Seraphine stared up at her, eyes wide with disbelief and terror. The blade was cold against her collarbone, a thin line of ice tracing across her skin. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
"I—I can't," she whispered. "Please, I—"
"Can't?" Eris tilted her head, feigning confusion. Her voice dropped to a mockery of sympathy. "But you're the princess. You can do anything you want. Isn't that how it works?" She pressed the flat of the blade against Seraphine's cheek, turning the princess's face toward her. "Or does that only apply when someone else is doing the work for you?"
From the opposite seat, Raven watched in silence. Her pale eyes were unreadable, one leg crossed over the other.
Seraphine's hands trembled as she reached for the hem of her undershift. The thin silk was the only thing left between her and complete exposure. Her fingers fumbled at the fabric, clumsy with fear and humiliation.
"Faster," Eris commanded, tapping the blade against the princess's jaw. "I haven't got all night, and neither do you."
A sob caught in Seraphine's throat. She gripped the hem of her shift and pulled it upward, inch by agonizing inch. The silk slid over her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. She had to lift her hips to free the fabric, and Eris watched every movement with those burning honey-brown eyes.
Finally, the shift came free. Seraphine pulled it over her head and let it fall to the velvet floor beside the tattered remains of her gown. She sat there, utterly naked, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest, her knees pressed tightly together. The candlelight flickered across her bare skin, painting her in shades of gold and rose.
Lira wept quietly behind the magical barrier, her hands pressed against the shimmering blue light, unable to reach her mistress. Valería still lay motionless on the floor, her broken arm next to her at a strange angle.
Eris climbed off the princess and stood over her, surveying her work. She reached down and gathered the discarded silks.
"Kneel," she said.
Seraphine didn't move. Her body was frozen, her mind reeling, her dignity shattered into a thousand pieces.
" I said kneel." Eris's voice hardened. She grabbed a fistful of the princess's hair and yanked downward. Seraphine cried out and slid off the seat, her bare knees hitting the velvet floor with a soft thud. She knelt there, naked and shaking, her hair tangled in the mage's grip.
"Better," Eris murmured. She released Seraphine's hair and stepped back, bundling the silks under her arm. "You won't be needing these anymore."
Eris turned to Raven, her arms full of ruined silk, her cherubic face alight with something between anticipation and hunger.
"The torment can begin now," Eris said, her melodic voice tinged with eager anticipation. "What would you have me do first?"
Raven considered the question with the same detached calm she might give to choosing a vintage of wine. Her pale eyes drifted over the kneeling princess—the trembling shoulders, the arms wrapped protectively over her breasts. She took a moment to take in the sight before answering Eris's question.
"Start with her feet," Raven said emotionlessly.
Eris followed Raven's gaze, and her own smile widened. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, yes. I see."
She laid the bundled silks on the seat beside Raven before stepping into the narrow space between the benches. As she knelt before the princess, Seraphine instinctively shrank back until the carriage wall pressed against her shoulders.
"Your feet," Eris said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Put them in my lap. Now."
Seraphine shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please, no. I'll do anything—"
"You'll do everything I tell you to do." Eris's honey-brown eyes hardened. "Feet. Lap. Now. I'll cut off a toe for every second you make me wait."
Eris reached for the princess, but the cramped carriage immediately proved impractical. Valería's unconscious body occupied most of the floor, her broken arm twisted at an unnatural angle, her blood-matted silver hair catching the candlelight. Every time Eris shifted, her knee struck the captain's ribs, and there was no room to settle Seraphine's legs comfortably across her lap.
"This is ridiculous," Eris muttered, rising with an irritated huff. She pointed sharply at the opposite bench. "Up. On the seat."
Seraphine scrambled to obey, her naked body trembling as she climbed onto the velvet cushion.
Eris returned to Raven's side. Raven shifted just enough to make room as the mage settled beside her, the two women now facing the princess across the narrow carriage. Even then, the compartment felt oppressively crowded; it had never been designed for four occupants, least of all with one lying unconscious across the floor.
Eris patted her lap expectantly.
"Now," she said, smiling. "Your feet."
Seraphine hesitated only a moment before extending her legs across the gap between the seats. Her extraordinary feet came to rest in Eris's lap—those five prehensile toes, the translucent nails with their bluish undertone, the delicate webbing between the second and third digits. The remnants of rose oil still clung to her soles, making them gleam faintly in the candlelight.
Eris wrapped one hand around both of Seraphine's ankles, her grip firm and possessive. With her other hand, she gestured irritably at the two other occupants of the carriage—Lira, still weeping behind the shimmering blue barrier, and Valería, motionless on the floor.
"Why did we even bring these two?" Eris asked, her tone edged with frustration. She shifted again, trying to find a comfortable position in the cramped quarters. "They're taking up space. The captain, I can kind of understand—she's military. She might have useful information about troop movements, garrison locations, and patrol schedules. I can see how that information will prove useful." She nodded toward Lira, her honey-brown eyes narrowing. "But the maid? What possible use could she have?"
Raven turned her head slowly, her pale gray eyes settling on Lira with cold consideration. The handmaiden pressed herself further into the corner of her seat, her sobs quieting to terrified hiccups under that merciless gaze.
"The captain is a strategic asset, indeed," Raven agreed, her voice smooth and measured.
She paused, her thin lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I am sure the maid will prove useful as well; if not, she'll make for a suitable toy."
Eris considered this, then shrugged. "Fine. But if she becomes a nuisance, I'm turning her into a frog."
Lira let out a fresh sob at that, and Eris shot her a death glare—those wide, innocent-seeming eyes suddenly hard as flint. The handmaiden shrank back, her hand pressed over her mouth to stifle any further sounds.
"Speaking of which," Eris said, her voice brightening as she turned her attention back to the matter at hand. She looked directly at Lira, her smile returning—sweet and terrible. "You. Handmaiden. Give me one of those candles."
Lira stared at her, frozen. The magical barrier had dissolved when Eris had moved, but the handmaiden was too terrified to run, too terrified to do anything but shake her head in desperate, reflexive refusal.
"Now," Eris said, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
Lira's gaze darted to Seraphine—her naked, trembling mistress, her feet already trapped in the mage's lap. With a choked whimper, the handmaiden reached for the nearest candle sconce. Her fingers shook so badly she nearly dropped it, hot wax splashing onto her own hand. She didn't even flinch. She simply extended the candle toward Eris, her arm trembling, her eyes streaming with silent tears.
"Good girl," Eris said, taking the candle. She turned back to Seraphine, holding the taper so the flame cast dancing shadows across the princess's extraordinary feet. "Now. Where were we?"
She tilted the candle, and the first drop of hot wax fell onto the delicate webbing between Seraphine's second and third toes.
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Eris chided, tilting the candle again. Another drop fell, this time on the arch of Seraphine's left foot. The wax spread in a tiny, scalding pool before cooling to a milky white patch. "I'm barely getting started."
She worked with a methodical patience, letting the wax fall, a single drop at a time; she decorated the princess's feet—across the arches, along the elegant length of each prehensile toe, around the delicate nail beds with their bluish undertone. The wax hardened quickly, creating a patchwork of pale splotches against Seraphine's skin. The rose oil that still clung to her soles seemed to taunt the flame, sizzling faintly with each new drop.
Seraphine writhed on the velvet seat, her hands gripping the cushion, her naked body twisting with each fresh shock of heat. But she did not dare pull her feet away. Eris's grip on her ankles was iron, and the threat of worse punishment hung unspoken in the air.
"You know," Eris said conversationally, as if discussing the weather, "I find it fascinating that you oiled your feet before traveling. Rose oil, no less. Do you know how much rose oil costs? A single vial would feed a family for a couple of months. Maybe even a year." She tilted the candle and let the wax pool build before releasing it all at once across the princess's toes. Seraphine whimpered, her extraordinary digits twitching and curling. "But you used it to make your feet soft. Soft and slippery and—" Eris paused, bringing the candle closer, "—delightfully flammable."
The flame dipped lower, skimming just beneath the ball of Seraphine's right foot. The princess could feel the heat radiating against her oiled skin, intense and immediate. She tried to pull back, but Eris held firm.
"Please," Seraphine gasped. "Please, I'll do anything—"
"You already said that." Eris moved the flame in a slow, lazy circle beneath Seraphine's arch. The oil on her skin seemed to warm, to shimmer, to invite the fire closer. "And I already told you—you'll do everything I say regardless. Currently, I want you to keep your feet in my lap."
Eris brought the flame closer still. The heat intensified until Seraphine was certain her skin would blister, certain she would smell her own flesh burning—
Eris pulled the candle back at the last possible moment.
"But I'm not going to roast your feet," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Not yet, anyway. That would be wasteful. No, I think I'd rather play with them a little longer." She tapped the candle thoughtfully against her chin, feigning deep contemplation. "Though I have to wonder, Princess—if you didn't want your feet roasted, why did you oil them up so nicely? You practically seasoned yourself for me. It's almost like you wanted this."
"I didn't—I wasn't—" Seraphine's words dissolved into a sob.
"Shut up," Eris said with an irritated huff. "All this crying is getting tiresome. I've seen babies show more courage than you."
Eris lowered the candle again, letting the flame dance between Seraphine's second and third toes—right where the delicate webbing connected them. The heat was excruciating there, the skin impossibly thin and sensitive. Seraphine bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
"If you insist on speaking," Eris murmured, "make it worthwhile. Compliment my work... or ask me to continue, you can even request specific penenaces."
Seraphine stared at her through tear-blurred eyes.
Eris released Seraphine's ankle, which she had been holding onto to make sure the princess didn't pull away. Before she reached for the candle sconce mounted on the carriage wall beside her. The taper there was nearly fresh, thick, and white, with a deep pool of molten wax already gathered at its base. Eris plucked it from its holder with practiced ease.
Eris sat down and seized the princess's ankle, pulling her foot back into her lap. She clearly had neither the patience nor the confidence to wait for Seraphine to obey.
Then she tilted the candle sharply. A cascade of hot wax poured onto the princess's foot, covering her arch, her toes, the delicate webbing, all in a single, searing wave. Seraphine screamed
Eris set the candle aside and grabbed Seraphine's wax-coated foot, her fingers digging into the hardening shell.
"What did I just say?" she hissed. "What did I just tell you about screaming?"
"I—I'm sorry, I couldn't—it was—"
"Couldn't help it?" Eris released her foot and stood, her small frame looming over the cowering princess. "You couldn't help it? You've been catered to your entire life. You've never had to help with anything. And the one thing I ask of you—the one thing—and you can't even manage that?"
Seraphine flinched back, her arms coming up instinctively to shield her face, but Eris didn't move toward her. Instead, she turned the blade over in her hands, her honey-brown eyes glittering with cold fury.
"I think," Eris said slowly, "that you need a reminder of what happens when you disappoint me. You have ten toes, Princess. That's ten opportunities for you to learn this lesson. Do you want to start with the little one, or would you prefer the big one? I'll let you choose. See how generous I am?"
"Please—please, I'll be quiet, I promise, I'll be quiet—"
"Promises from a Valerius." Eris rolled her eyes. "I'd sooner trust the horse dung outside."
Eris reached down and grabbed Seraphine's left foot and brought the knife close to the webbing between the second and third toes.
"So," Eris said softly, tapping two of Seraphine's toes with the tip of the knife, "which one will it be? I already gave you a choice. In hindsight, perhaps I was too generous. Ten options were clearly too overwhelming for someone of your stature."
The knife was lingering over the two toes in question.
"Let's make it simpler. The second... or the third?"
She smiled.
"Choose." Her voice remained almost playful.
" And if you can't, I will. To make certain I don't remove the wrong one..." She gave both toes another light tap. "...I'll simply cut off both. That way, I can't possibly make a mistake."
Seraphine was shaking so violently that the whole carriage seemed to tremble with her. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
"No answer?" Eris tilted her head, feigning disappointment. "I don't suppose you want to choose which one I cut off first, either." She sighed dramatically, the knife still poised between the second and third toes. "Very well, I'll decide that for you as well."
She lifted the blade slightly and began to tap it back and forth between the two toes—second, third, second, third—in a rhythmic, almost musical pattern. Then she began to chant, her voice lilting and childlike:
"One for sorrow, two for mirth,
Three for a funeral, four for a birth.
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never told.
Which little piggy stays with you?
Which little piggy bids adieu?"
The knife stopped. It rested against the third toe—the one connected to its neighbor by that delicate, translucent webbing.
"This one," Eris announced brightly. "The third toe on the left foot. An excellent choice, if I do say so myself. You'll hardly miss it." She pressed the edge of the blade against the base of the toe, just hard enough to indent the skin without breaking it. "Hold still now. This will only hurt for a moment. Well—no, that's a lie. It will hurt for quite a long time, actually. But the initial cut? That's quick. I promise."
Seraphine felt the cold steel against her skin, felt the pressure increase, felt the sharp promise of what was about to happen. Her bladder, already strained from hours of terror, finally gave way.
A warm trickle ran down her thigh, pooling on the velvet cushion beneath her. The sharp, acrid scent of urine cut through the rose-scented air of the carriage.
Eris froze. Her nose wrinkled. She looked down at the spreading stain on the velvet, then up at Seraphine's face—flushed with humiliation as deep as any of the torments Eris had inflicted.
"Did you just..." Eris's voice trailed off, disbelief replacing her playful cruelty. She pulled the knife back and stood abruptly, stepping away from the princess as if she were something contaminated. "You did. You actually did. You pissed yourself. Like a baby."
Her lip curled in disgust. The righteous fury that had burned in her eyes was momentarily eclipsed by something far more mundane: sheer, unadulterated revulsion.
" By the gods, you really are pathetic," Eris spat. "I've seen babies with more composure than you." She gestured at Seraphine with the knife, her voice rising. "This is the jewel of the kingdom? You are supposed to become our queen someday."
Then Eris stepped forward again and whispered in the princess's ear, "Don't worry, princess. I'll make sure that dreaded day never comes to pass."
She turned to Raven, her expression caught somewhere between outrage and incredulity. "Are you seeing this? She's soiled the entire seat. Now the entire carriage reeks."
Raven, who had been observing the entire ordeal with her characteristic detachment, allowed her gaze to drift to the stain spreading across the velvet. Her nose twitched—the only sign of distaste she permitted herself.
"I see it," she said flatly.
Eris shook her head, stepping further back until her shoulders brushed the carriage wall. The knife hung loosely in her grip, the toe-cutting momentarily forgotten in the wake of this new, unexpected development.
"Unbelievable," she muttered. "Absolutely unbelievable, I didn't even do anything yet, how pathetic can you get?" She glared at Seraphine, who had curled into herself even further, her face buried in her hands, her entire body shaking with sobs of shame. "Stop crying. You don't get to cry. You did this to yourself."
Seraphine only wept harder, her shoulders heaving.
Eris let out a sharp breath through her nose. Her grip on the knife tightened, then loosened. She looked at the blade, then at the princess's trembling form, then at the waxen shell encasing the right foot. The left foot remained bare and untouched, still glistening faintly with the last remnants of rose oil.
A cold smile crept back onto her face.
"You know what? I'm not going to let your lack of bladder control ruin my fun." She sheathed the knife with a decisive click and reached for the candle sconce once more. The fresh taper burned steadily, its base pooling with molten wax. "We were in the middle of something, and I intend to finish it."
She settled onto the seat beside Raven, who had been watching the exchange with silent, clinical interest. Eris patted her lap with one hand while the other held the candle aloft.
"Feet. Back in my lap. Now."
Seraphine didn't move. Her hands remained pressed to her face, her body wracked with sobs.
Eris's smile vanished. "I said now." She seized the princess's ankle herself and yanked the bare left foot back into her lap, ignoring Seraphine's startled yelp.
Immediately tilting the candle over the princess's left foot, resulting in a liquid curtain of hot wax cascading over her arch and toes. Seraphine's whole body went rigid. Her hands fisted in the velvet cushion. Her jaw locked. The scream built in her throat, but she forced it down.
Eris set the candle aside and admired her handiwork. "Well, this won't do. Your left foot looks so much prettier than your right. We really should fix that, shouldn't we?"
Eris stood up, grabbed a fresh candle from the opposite wall, then sat back down again, smirking at the scared princess. Seraphine didn't dare move. She barely dared breathe. Her foot throbbed inside its wax prison, the heat slowly fading to a dull, persistent ache.
To torment the princess even further, Eris started to tilt the candle above the princess's right foot, but just before the stream of molten wax poured down, she tilted the candle upright again.
Lira had been watching the entire ordeal with growing horror. Her hands were pressed over her mouth, her eyes wide and wet, her whole body trembling. She had obeyed Eris's earlier command to stay silent, but something in her was breaking. Something in her couldn't watch this anymore.
"Stop it," Lira whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, just stop it. She's had enough. Can't you see she's had enough?"
Eris turned her head slowly. Those honey-brown eyes were fixed on the handmaiden with the cold precision of a hawk spotting a mouse.
"What was that?"
" I said stop it." Lira's voice grew stronger, fueled by desperation. She rose from her seat, her hands shaking but her chin lifted. "I don't care what you do to me. I don't care if you turn me into a frog or cut off my toes or kill me. But I won't watch you torture her anymore. She's not her father. She's not the king. She's just a girl who never hurt anyone, and you're—you're monsters. All of you. Monsters!"
She lunged—not at Eris, but toward Seraphine, her arms outstretched as if she could somehow shield her mistress with her own body.
She never made it.
Eris's hand snapped up, fingers splayed, and a burst of shimmering blue energy erupted from her palm. It struck Lira square in the chest and sent her flying backward. The handmaiden hit the carriage wall with a sickening thud, her head cracking against the wooden frame. She crumpled to the floor like a discarded doll, landing in a heap beside Valería's unconscious form.
"Lira!" Seraphine's scream tore free before she could stop it, her promise of silence forgotten. She lunged forward, nearly tumbling off the seat, her wax-encased feet clunking awkwardly against the floor. "Lira, please—no, please—"
Lira didn't move. A thin line of blood trickled from her temple, but her chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. Alive. Just barely.
Eris lowered her hand, her expression one of mild annoyance. "I told her. I told her what would happen if she became a nuisance." She glanced at Raven. "You see? This is why I asked why we brought her. Nothing but trouble."
Raven studied the fallen handmaiden with the same detached calm she had maintained throughout the entire ordeal. "She is not dead. But do try to be more mindful, Eris. Healing broken bones is a tedious process, and setting them incorrectly causes... complications. I would rather not waste precious resources on our captives."
Eris clicked her tongue in annoyance but dipped her head in acknowledgment. "Fine. I'll try not to break anything important next time. No promises, though." She glanced at Lira's crumpled form, then shrugged. "I don't think I broke anything, did I?"
Raven said nothing, merely returning her pale gaze to the scene before her. She shrugged, clearly not caring about the maid's faith or well-being.
Eris turned back to Seraphine, who was still straining toward her fallen handmaiden, tears carving clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks. "She'll live," Eris said flatly. "Probably. Whether she wakes up with all her wits intact is another matter, but that's her own fault for interfering." She seized the princess's ankle and yanked her back into position. "Now stop your sniveling. We're not finished."
She tilted the candle over Seraphine's right foot. This time, there was no teasing pause, just a stream of hot wax coating the princess's right foot almost entirely. Seraphine bit her lip and forced the scream down, her whole body trembling with the effort.
"There," Eris said, setting the candle aside. She admired the matching set—both feet now encased in identical, gleaming shells. "Perfect. Now for the reveal."
She drew her knife.
The blade caught the candlelight as she pulled Seraphine's left foot into her lap. With surgical precision, she slid the edge beneath the wax at the ankle and began to peel. Long, curling strips of white fell away, piling up on the seat beside her like shed skin. The wax came away cleanly—the rose oil that had once seemed such a decadent indulgence now proved its worth, preventing the wax from adhering too firmly to the princess's flesh.
Beneath the shell, Seraphine's skin had bloomed. Where the wax had been, her foot was now a warm, rosy pink—flushed from the heat, sensitized from the prolonged confinement. The long, prehensile toes emerged one by one as Eris peeled the wax from each digit, the translucent nails catching the light. The delicate webbing between the second and third toes was revealed last, pink and tender.
"Lovely," Eris murmured, running a fingertip along the flushed arch. Seraphine flinched at the touch, her sensitized skin prickling with every brush of contact. "Not as red as a rose—not yet, at least—but we're making progress."
She moved to the right foot and repeated the process. The knife glided beneath the wax, peeling it away in long, satisfying strips. Soon, both feet lay bare in her lap, pink and warm and trembling. They looked almost innocent now that the wax was removed. Only the faintest suggestion of their ordeal remained in the heightened color of the skin, the slight puffiness around the delicate webbing.
Eris set the knife aside and wrapped both hands around Seraphine's feet, her thumbs pressing into the warm arches. The princess whimpered but didn't dare pull away.
"There," Eris said, her voice almost gentle. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She smiled, her honey-brown eyes gleaming. "And the night is still young."