Later that evening, Lieam sat alone at the table.
For once, she wasn’t the testing dummy.
Derpy slept nearby—still wrapped in the coat like it was armor. The room around him looked wrong in a way that made her skin crawl: magic books stacked and scattered, half of them opened, some of them clearly read.
Not skimmed.
Read.
Lieam stared at the mess and felt her blood heat.
Something happened here.
And it wasn’t a sleep defense mechanism.
There had been a fight.
The only question was how it happened without anyone hearing it.
She adjusted the frilly maid outfit Mother insisted she wear.
It itched.
It wasn’t her.
“I don’t know why Mother makes me wear these,” Lieam muttered under her breath, more to the room than anyone else.
Her eyes returned to Derpy.
They brought him back.
Not Riven.
Not the rejected doll.
And that choice gnawed at her.
I wanted to see the discarded one, Lieam thought. I wanted her for myself.
But instead they dragged in this… dragon person.
He didn’t look like someone who’d been around for centuries.
He looked young.
Tired.
Dangerous in a way that didn’t need to announce itself.
I know he’s a calamity bearer, Lieam thought, jaw tightening. But Mother doesn’t care about those.
So why.
Why would she let Father’s authority outrank mine.
Why would she let a stranger become more important than her own blood.
Lieam’s fingers curled against the table.
Then the door opened.
And the room changed.
Vaeloria entered without rushing.
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
She didn’t need to.
She was the Queen of the Elven Empire.
Lieam’s mother.
Tall and sharp-featured, silver hair braided like war-vines, eyes like polished obsidian—eyes that pierced clean through lies and left nothing to hide behind.
Emerald robes flowed around her, etched with runes that glowed faintly as she moved. Her crown was subtle, but it carried the weight of ancient thorns.
Lieam’s throat tightened.
“Mother,” Lieam said.
Vaeloria’s gaze swept the room once.
Then landed on Lieam.
“What brings you down here?” Lieam asked, forcing the words out steady.
Mk.1 slipped in behind Vaeloria.
The smallest of the Stitchborne.
The loudest.
She bounded straight to Derpy’s coat and pressed close, as if she’d been waiting all day to see him.
“Friend,” Mk.1 said, soft and certain.
Vaeloria’s expression didn’t soften.
“I came down here,” Vaeloria said, “because this defective doll kept repeating one word.”
Her eyes flicked to Mk.1.
“Friend. Friend. Friend. She couldn’t stop.”
Vaeloria’s hand settled on her hip.
“So I asked her to show me her friends.”
A pause.
“And I discovered there is a facility under my empire.”
Lieam’s stomach dropped.
Vaeloria’s voice sharpened.
“Care to explain?”
Lieam swallowed.
“It’s not mine,” she said quickly. “It’s Father’s. He wanted a place to call his own. He wanted a way to expand power for the kingdom.”
Vaeloria’s staff tapped the stone.
Pink ice formed—thin, elegant, lethal.
It spread at her feet like a warning that didn’t need to be spoken.
Lieam’s shoulders tensed.
Vaeloria walked past her.
Straight to Derpy.
Derpy was still out cold.
A small bubble of breath rose at his lips.
Vaeloria stared down at him.
The bubble popped.
Derpy’s eyes cracked open.
He looked at her like she was the last thing his half-asleep brain could process.
“Sleepy,” he mumbled.
Then, with the blunt honesty of exhaustion:
“Hi… pretty lady. Wish you were my wife.”
And he dropped back into sleep.
For a fraction of a second, Vaeloria froze.
Color rose faintly at her cheeks.
She had been feared.
Obeyed.
Worshiped.
But no one—no one—had ever said something like that to her.
Not like it was normal.
Not like it was safe.
Vaeloria’s gaze shifted to the books.
Then to Derpy.
Then back to Lieam.
“Were you assigned to him by Father?” Vaeloria asked.
Lieam shook her head.
“No,” she said. “They brought him here. Whoever led the search for the original Riven placed him here.”
Vaeloria’s staff struck the floor.
The sound snapped through the room.
Lieam’s voice cut off mid-breath.
Vaeloria didn’t look at her.
“Mk.1,” Vaeloria said.
Mk.1 straightened.
“Get your sisters.”
Mk.1’s eyes widened.
Vaeloria’s tone left no space for argument.
“Move him up to the castle.”
Lieam’s pulse jumped.
Vaeloria turned her head slightly—just enough for Lieam to feel the edge of her attention.
“Since you, your Father, and I’m guessing your dolls want to keep secrets from me,” Vaeloria said, “he will be mine now.”
A pause.
“Consider him my new toy.”
Lieam’s stomach twisted.
Toys don’t last long when Mother gets her hands on them.
She didn’t say it.
She didn’t need to.
Mk.1 darted out.
Within minutes, Mk.2 through Mk.4 appeared.
They moved with practiced efficiency, lifting Derpy and carrying him out.
Mk.3’s eyes lingered on him.
Worried.
Lieam noticed.
Since he arrived, Lieam thought, two of them have gotten attached.
And now Mother just claimed him.
Vaeloria walked out as if the decision was already history.
Lieam stayed behind, staring at the empty space where Derpy had been.
What’s next?
Morning came.
Derpy’s eyes opened to a bigger room.
A royal chamber.
Too fancy.
Too soft.
Too expensive.
He sat up fast.
His hands went to his neck.
Blight Vein was still there.
His eyes searched the room.
Lewd.
Mia.
Sphinx.
Nothing.
His chest tightened.
Air wouldn’t go in right.
The edges of the room started to tilt.
Panic clawed up his throat.
Blight’s voice slid into his head—cool, steady.
Relax.
Lewd has Mia and Sphinx. Remember.
We were kidnapped.
Derpy’s breathing hitched.
He tried to force it down.
Tried to make his body listen.
But the fear didn’t care where he was.
It only cared that he was alone.
And somewhere in the castle above him, a queen had decided he belonged to her.
And that was worse than chains.
