Chapter 227: Blood Upon the Sheets
Chapter 226: Blood Upon the Sheets
Lyria’s POV
I shook my head.
No.
No, this was not real.
My eyes were deceiving me. That was all. The dimness of the chamber, the smell of iron thick in the air—surely they had twisted what was before me into something monstrous.
Patricia was not dead.
She could not be.
I crossed the distance between us so quickly I scarcely felt my feet touch the stone. My hands trembled as I reached for her wrist, pressing my fingers desperately against her skin in search of a pulse.
There was nothing.
I shook my head once more.
I pressed harder.
Perhaps I had done it incorrectly. Perhaps my own heartbeat was too loud in my ears for me to feel hers. Patricia was alive. She had to be alive.
Patricia, whom I had spoken with only recently.
Patricia, whom I intended to leave this dreadful palace with alongside my mother.
Patricia, who had become like a second mother to me.
Patricia, who had taught me my letters and how to recognise them. Patricia, who had corrected my pronunciation with patience instead of cruelty. Patricia, who had taught me strength.
Duke Valenridge had once spoken to me of anchors. Of things one held onto when storms threatened to drag a person beneath the waves.
And Patricia had been one of mine.
And now, no. It could not be.
I pressed my hand against her neck instead.
And it was only then I noticed her body was cold. It was too cold.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
No.
No, no, no—
"Patricia," I whispered.
My voice cracked around her name.
Deep down, I knew the truth. I knew it, but still...
I waited for those warm eyes to blink open. Waited for her to look at me with that same quiet gentleness she always carried despite everything done to her. Waited for the corners of her mouth to lift into that soft smile she reserved only for me.
But nothing happened.
The silence remained.
Patricia was gone.
And I knew just from the chill that clung to her skin that she had been gone for hours.
My breath caught in my throat.
I... I stopped just as my gaze dropped lower. I had no idea how I failed to notice it.
The fabric of her dress was soaked dark with blood, the material torn where a blade had pierced through. The wound sat directly above her heart.
My stomach twisted violently.
Then I noticed the others.
These ones upon her stomach, and it was not just one.
I swallowed as I counted. Goddess knew why I counted. Perhaps to torture myself, or perhaps it was more than that.
There were ten stab wounds.
Ten.
Not counting the one in her chest.
The room spun around me.
I turned away sharply and vomited upon the stone floor.
The taste of bile burned my throat. My knees nearly gave way beneath me, and I caught myself against the edge of the bed with shaking hands.
Who could do such a thing?
Why?
Why would anyone butcher her so viciously?
Patricia had done nothing.
She had remained here, trapped within these walls, enduring years of torment in silence. She had no freedom. No power. No voice left with which to fight back.
Why kill her like this?
Why so many wounds?
It was not enough merely to murder her.
Whoever had done this had wanted her to suffer.
My chest tightened painfully.
"Patricia..." I whispered again.
But there was still no answer.
Only silence.
And blood.
So much blood.
I stared at it for a while, everything becoming a blurred mess. Then I heard a sound.
Someone cleared their throat behind me, and I spun around immediately, my heartbeat slamming painfully against my ribs.
I had not heard anyone enter.
I had not even sensed another presence at all.
A maid stood near the doorway, and she bowed the moment our eyes met.
I did not recognise her.
She was perhaps somewhere near Patricia’s age before imprisonment had worn her down. Her uniform was immaculate despite the filth of the underground corridors, and her expression remained calm in a way that unsettled me.
"Your Highness," she said quietly, "if you wish to survive, you must leave now."
I stared at her.
For a moment, I could not speak.
My thoughts still felt tangled, sluggish with horror.
"What?" I whispered.
The maid lifted her gaze slightly.
"You must leave," she repeated. "Others are coming. And the one who did this would be displeased to find you here."
My eyes widened.
"The one who d-did this..." My voice faltered violently. "Y-you know who d-did this?"
The maid said nothing, but I took a step toward her.
"If y-you know anything," I said desperately, "then p-please tell me. Patricia was—"
My throat closed painfully.
"She was l-like a mother to me."
The maid watched me in silence for a long moment.
Then her expression softened ever so slightly.
"I know who Patricia was to you, Your Highness," she said quietly.
My breathing hitched.
The woman glanced toward my face.
"Perhaps first," she said gently, "you should wipe your tears."
I froze.
Only then did I realise tears had been falling steadily down my cheeks.
I had not even noticed.
My hands rose quickly, wiping at them in embarrassment, though more followed almost immediately after.
The maid waited patiently until I lowered my hands again.
Then she spoke.
"The one who placed Patricia in this situation," she said carefully, "is the same man who imprisoned her in the first place."
The world seemed to stop.
My body went still.
Because I understood immediately.
I knew the answer before my mind could even fully process the words.
The King.
My supposed father.
The King was the one who had done this.
A coldness unlike anything I had ever felt spread slowly through me.
The maid glanced toward the door again.
"You must leave now, Your Highness," she said urgently. "This place will not remain empty for long."
"Why?" I whispered. "Why w-would he do this?"
The maid’s gaze darkened.
"Because he has the power to do so, Your Highness."
The maid stepped closer to me then lowered her voice further.
"You may be a princess now," she said, "but do not mistake your circumstances for safety."
I looked at her.
And for the first time since entering the chamber, genuine fear began creeping through the numbness.
The maid held my gaze steadily.
"The killer’s new obsession," she said softly, "is you."
