Chapter 10: Thorns Beneath the Bloom
Lios made his way through the grand halls of the royal palace of the Kingdom of Elves.
The palace was a marvel of beauty and magic—carved not merely by hand, but by song and mana. Walls of translucent crystal pulsed gently with natural light, and flowering vines glowed faintly along the arches, swaying without wind. Every stone step sang faintly beneath one's feet, tuned to respond to Elven blood. The air was rich with the scent of moonblossoms and old mana.
The castle stood as a symbol of Elven elegance and restraint—a structure grown in harmony with nature, guarded by magic older than human memory. It was a fortress of peace, of grace, and of legacy.
The kingdom itself was vast and sacred. Elora stretched between luminous rivers and endless groves, a sanctuary of harmony between civilization and untouched land. Creatures of myth roamed freely in the distant woods, watched over by druids and spirits bound to the old world. For outsiders, it was paradise.
For Lios, it was a stage.
His steps came to a halt before a towering door inlaid with golden runes. He raised his hand and knocked once.
No answer.
He knocked again. Still silence.
But instead of frustration or anger, his smile widened.
With a gentle push, the heavy door creaked open, and he entered.
---
The Queen's Chamber.
A soft yellow glow filled the room, filtering through the translucent canopy overhead. The walls were etched with softly glowing enchantments that pulsed in rhythm with the breath of the one who lay upon the bed.
Emily Measter, Queen of the Elven Kingdom. Lios's mother.
She lay still, her face pale but breathtaking—long blonde hair fanned out over her pillow, skin white as moonlight, ears sharp and proud even in slumber. Her hourglass figure was partly hidden beneath golden silk sheets, but no covering could dim her natural allure. Yet her beauty looked fragile, distant—a flower preserved in glass.
At either side of her sat two women.
Radiant. Otherworldly. And furious.
To the right sat Olivia, the second princess. Her posture was perfect—back straight, shoulders poised. Her emerald green eyes, framed by flowing blonde hair, stared at her mother with worry and exhaustion.
To the left sat Emma, the fourth princess. Her golden eyes gleamed sharply beneath her loose, flowing locks. Her body was relaxed only in appearance—beneath it, tension coiled like a whip.
As soon as their eyes fell on Lios, their expressions twisted.
Disgust. Filth. Hatred.
Before words could form, Emma rose to her feet, voice sharp.
"Why are you here? I swear, if you don't turn around and leave right now, I'll beat you until even the palace walls forget your name."
Lios's grin faltered for a fraction of a second. A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He knew well how hotheaded Emma was.
But before the confrontation could escalate, Olivia stood.
Her tone was calm. Measured.
"Emma. Don't."
Emma clenched her fists. "He shouldn't be here. He doesn't care. He just wants..."
"I know," Olivia said quietly. "But not now. Not here."
Reluctantly, Emma sat down again, her glare never leaving Lios. Her teeth ground together.
Lios exhaled slowly, regaining his smile.
The tension in the room crackled—not just from the siblings' presence, but from what lingered behind their eyes.
Guilt. Pain. Helpless rage.
Because they knew the truth.
---
Two months ago...
Lios had stood in this very room, bold and shameless. He had approached Queen Emily with a request.
A demand.
He wanted to marry his sisters.
Emily, despite her condition, had laughed in disbelief.
"That tradition is dead," she had said. "Your father, the late King, abolished it for a reason."
"It was our culture," Lios had insisted, smiling. "You can't erase it just because of moral fashion."
"I can and I will," she had snapped, more fire in her voice than she'd shown in weeks. "And you are no king yet."
The discussion ended.
Or so she thought.
Days later, Emily fell ill. Suddenly. Strangely.
And the one poisoning her. Her own son and blood.
Lios had the antidote.
He didn't use force. He used fear.
He blackmailed his sisters.
"Marry me," he had said, voice too sweet. "Or she dies."
Bound by blood and terror, Olivia and Emma agreed.
Because what other choice did they have?
---
Back to the present.
Lios moved forward, the grin slowly returning.
"She looks better," he lied.
Olivia did not answer.
Emma looked away.
He stood between them, gazing down at his mother, then at the two women he obsessed over.
"I came to check on you," he said softly.
But they knew.
Every smile he wore was a mask.
Every word was poison dressed in gold.
And beneath the beauty of Elora's heart... something rotten pulsed.
He turned and began walking toward the door. But just before he stepped out, he paused.
"Oh," he added casually, looking over his shoulder. "Did I mention? Gianna will be arriving tomorrow."
Then he left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Silence fell.
But the air had changed.
Olivia and Emma stared at the closed door.
Emma was the first to speak, her voice hesitant.
"Do you think... he was telling the truth?"
Olivia remained quiet for a moment.
Then she answered, voice soft but steady.
"Maybe. Or... maybe not."
She glanced toward her sister. "But I wish it's the second one."
Emma frowned. "Why?"
Olivia's gaze fell back to their mother.
"Because if she really is coming back... it will only ruin her. It would be better if she never returns."
The doubt lingered in their minds like an old wound reopened. Their eyes returned to the pale, silent figure of Queen Emily.
And the air in the chamber turned colder.
But they didn't knew, the one they were wishing to never see again, was moving towards them with radiant smile.
----
Elsewhere...
Inside a dense forest veiled in shadows and golden mist, a carriage moved silently over mossy stone paths. Behind it followed a second, less grand, yet noble in its bearing. A squad of guards on horseback flanked them with practiced formation.
It was past evening, and the forest had grown still.
The Forest of Twilight Veins lived and breathed magic. The trees groaned with ancient weight, leaves whispering secrets. Low fog drifted along the roots, and soft glows from fungi lit the path where sunlight could not reach. The birds had gone quiet. The predators, alert.
They weren't alone.
Eyes glared from the shadows.
Predators—magical beasts, and worse. Magic beasts with Elementals.
But none dared approach.
They felt it. The pulse of something primal.
Their instincts screamed.
Do not interfere. Do not approach. You will die.
Some glanced toward the second carriage.
A shiver ran down their spines. And they shivered.
Because it felt alive.
As if the carriage itself was watching them.
Inside, Jones sat comfortably. His back straight, his gaze closed. A faint pulse of aura rippled around him like a coiled dragon at rest.
And not one creature in the woods dared test it—
.
.