The Price of Noble Blood by Cira Cinder
Commissioner and Writer Information
This story was commissioned by DerMonarch#7127 on Discord, and written by Cira Cinder.
Cira Cinder can be found and hired on Fiverr!
The bustling super metropolis of Coralora was unlike any other in the world. Many cultures blended and clashed with one another over hundreds of years. Silver towers and golden spires lined the streets, all with various banners rich with history. The markets in the streets below were constantly bustling with voices of many languages.
A collective of many classes of people, all intertwined with one another. But two bloodlines had shaped Coralora for hundreds of years. House Calveira and House Tharossin each ate their way to the top of the food chain. Each gained prominence through trade, backroom deals, and considerable bloodshed.
The Calveiras were known for their cold precision. They formed alliances and took out rivals with pinpoint accuracy. It was their calculated maneuvers that got them to where they are today.
The Tharossins were a stark contrast to their rivals. While both were known for their ruthlessness, it was the untamed and bold gambits that got the Tharrossins where they are.
The two families have despised one another for generations. A fiery passion that would never be settled by mere treaties or all the gold in the world. The early stages of Corlora were filled with bloodshed. The two families were often waging open battles within the streets, with the blood of soldiers and innocent people taken constantly throughout their war.
After enough deaths, even these two brutal families realized they had to come up with a more “civilized” way to solve their disputes. Instead of their constant clashes, they decided that each house would select for themselves a champion—but not their strongest warriors. Instead, they would choose a daughter, sister, or niece to represent them in a ritualistic combat that would take place within the cities’ confined temples. These women would fight to the death, and their victory would often be the deciding factor in determining trade disputes and claims to territories.
It had now marked the one-hundredth anniversary of this brutal tradition. Now, Coralora’s largest harbor had the two once again at each other’s throats. The port had become the most important money maker in the city. They had each been splitting the land, but to decide who would fully control it once and for all, the matriarchs of each house were ready to enact tradition and elected to send their daughters into battle.
Lady Virelle Calveira selected her disciplined yet insecure daughter, Isalyn. While the fierce Lady Mordessa Tharossin, who was often disdainful of even her own kin, selected Ziralei, her young and sadistic daughter, who always had a temper and propensity for violence.
Soon, the beautiful marble floor of the Temple would run slick with noble blood. Behind those closed doors, one daughter would emerge triumphant and forever celebrated, but the other would be nothing more than one only referred to in disgrace.
The preparations were made, and the stage was ready for the newest chapter in this greedy battle for wealth and dominance.
***
The large bronze doors of the old temple creaked open, groaning throughout the long halls in an eerie fashion. The air was thick as various nobles, all in silk and velvet dresses and suits, snickered and whispered.
From the Eastern arch in stepped House Calveira. Lady Virelle led with a flowing silver satin dress, lined with emerald threads. Her diamond necklace and rings are the highlights of her outfit.
Behind her was Isalyn. She was tall and poised with an almost too stiff posture. Her dress was similar to her mother’s, slightly lower cut to highlight her long legs. Her brunette hair was cut in a short bob as she stood, trembling a little.
Virelle placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she turned to her.
“Do not falter, my dear daughter… Even fear must be masked with an elegant grace.” Her murmurs were cold but calming.
Just then, at the western archway, walked House Tharossin. They stormed through with a much less elegant walk. As if they had a job to take care of, and that’s all this was. Just business. Lady Mordessa charged through with a crimson velvet dress. Her blonde hair was twisted back, and her smirk was predatory.
At her side was Ziralei Tharossin, who strided in with confidence. Her own crimson dress was cut short at the top and bottom, her rather large chest nearly spilling through the top. Her long blonde hair swayed gracefully behind her.
“Well, well, well. Lady Virelle.” Her loud and obnoxious voice carried across the hall. “You always had a knack for delicate materials. You sure that daughter of yours doesn’t shatter before my girl gets her hands around her?”
Lady Virelle tilted her head up high with a graceful, unwavering smile.
“I’d rather have a precious jewel than a rabid hound. Let us both hope that yours doesn’t embarrass you with her lacking restraint.”
Ziralei let out a laugh under her breath as her icy blue eyes cut through the concerned emerald eyes of Isalyn.
Mordessa leaned and hissed in her daughter’s ear.
“Make no mistake about it, child. I care not for your life. Only the harbor. Do not fail me.”
Ziralei rolled her eyes as the two daughters approached, about 10 feet apart, as their mothers took their place at the top in an upper section of the hall with the rest of the onlookers and families. The two daughters began to take off their heels, tossing them to the side.
A priest in black robes stood between them. He carried a polished silver tray with two ancient daggers. Their blades had been so sharpened you couldn’t tell they were hundreds of years old. The gold trim was as fine as the day they were crafted.
“Daughters representing both Calveira and Tharossin… take up your ancestral blades and be ready to create your fate.”
Ziralei snatched up the dagger, giving it a playful twirl before holding it to her side. Isalyn’s white laced gloves trembled as she gently took the blade. She took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and held it close to her heart as the priest stepped away into the shadows and spoke in a deep and commanding voice.
“Let the battle commence!”
Ziralei darted forward, as her skirt twirled below her. The point of her dagger cut through the air, a streak of gold aimed at Isalyn’s side. The Calveira daughter parried the blade clumsily, her ringing as steel met steel. She gasped and took a step back. The blonde began to circle her foe, giggling.
“You’re so slow! Your mother sent you here just to be rid of you, didn’t she?” Her mocking taunts echoed throughout the hall.
“Q-quiet…” Isalyn hissed back, trying to jab at Ziralei, but it was incredibly easy to dodge.
“Awww. Did I strike a nerve? The precious Calveira, never able to do what it takes. What happened to your edge? Your ancestors are watching you, ashamed!”
With that, Ziralei spun and managed to slice right through the side of Isalyn’s belly, drawing a little blood as a thin tear peeled off. A few drops dripping onto the bright marble floor.
“Hmmm.” Ziralei ran her tongue down the side of the blade, licking the blood before spitting it out at Isalyn, staining her dress.
“You disgust me. I was told this would be a challenge.”
Isalyn growled, trying to look for an opening to strike back but unable to find one.
“You talk way too much.” She muttered.
The blonde’s hair gracefully twirled behind her with each dodge as she countered back, swiftly carving more and more shallow slices into Isalyn’s dress.
“Just look at how easily you fall apart. You’re pathetic… even your hands are still shaking. I can wait to snuff you out… I’ll make sure it’s long and drawn out so your whole family can watch you suffer…”
She sliced again at Isalyn up high as her blade grazed off her shoulder, the top of her dress falling as her bra was now showing. The brunette’s face flushed red as Ziralei chuckled.
“Wow… those do look so small, too. You really have nothing impressive about you, hmmm?”
The hall gasped as more whispers broke out.
Isalyn’s face lit up a bright red as she looked down at her torn outfit.
Isalyn’s voice trembled and she gritted her teeth as the women parried each other’s blows, she struck out with calculated strikes, eventually landing some on the blonde until eventually her top was down, her large bust bouncing out in her bra.
“Ugh! How dare you! If you wanted to see more of me, then you could have just asked. You’ll pay for running your mouth. I’ll make it so you’ll never speak again when I’m done with you.” Isalyn spat back.
The women circled each other further, the ruined lace of their gowns trailing the pristine marble floor. Ziralei’s movements were quick and fluid as she began slicing low to try and catch Isalyn’s feet. The brunette would struggle but manage to deflect with each clash of steel that rang out throughout the hall of the temple.
Ziralei’s dagger shot upward, a quick flick meant for Isalyn’s throat. Isalyn deflected poorly, the motion tearing her sleeve as a streak of lace fluttered to the floor. The blonde whipped around again and, with a spin, managed to catch and slice through Isalyn’s right forearm quite badly, blood dripping to the floor as the brunette was caught wide-eyed looking down.
“Uh oh… You’re starting to really ooze now, sweetie… Perhaps I should ruin that pretty little face next!”
With another unexpected high thrust, Isalyn dodges, but the edge of the dagger whistles right past the Calveira daughter’s cheek. Cutting just enough for a little crimson bead to run down her face.
“Mmmm… You’re bleeding so much now… Does it sting? Can you feel it?” Ziralei’s voice was heavy with panting excitement.
“I-I feel nothing… I didn’t plan on winning this unscathed… I’m not foolish.”
Ziralei giggled.
“Oh? So, you’re giving up? Where’s your confidence? You’re pitiful.” Ziralei taunted, sticking her tongue out.
Isalyn growled in retort, her stoic demeanor degrading as the fight continued.
“We’ll see who’s truly pitiful by the end…”
Their blades continued to clash sloppily over and over. Silk and skin sliced as both women’s perfect postures were now gone, sweat dripping down their faces. They each took a moment, their now exposed bellies heaving in and out quickly. Both women’s dresses were now sliding down to the floor by threads. They were now wearing only a pair of black panties and bras.
“Mmmm… YES. I can see you unravelling… that composure… your dignity… all evaporating…!”
Ziralei smiled, mouth agape, and her eyes wide as she was clearly enjoying the battle taking place, while Isalyn was in a state of panic and survival.
Their blades locked in one final, furious clash. With a resounding clang, both daggers flew from their hands, skittering across the marble and landing far out of reach.
The daughters froze, chests heaving, gowns hanging in ruined tatters.
Neither made any move to reach or run for the weapons. Instead, they look to their sides at the daggers and back to each other.
Both of them let out primal growls as they stared each other down.
Ziralei lunged first, a feral cry ripping from her throat as her fingers curled into claws. Isalyn barely braced herself before the Tharossin daughter crashed right into her. Sweat flew as their pale skin collided with another. They both toppled over, their torn gowns fluttering uselessly around their hips as they crashed against the cold marble floor.
The two daughters’ limbs were entangled, Ziralei on top for the moment as they lay there. Both women’s busts were heaving in their black silky bras, rubbing together as they each fought to catch their breaths.
Ziralei’s manicured nails found Isalyn’s short brown hair, twisting and digging into her scalp, tight as she yanked viciously. Isalyn shrieked, her neck twisting at a painful angle to the side. Isayln retaliated, clutching hold and easily yanking her head back by her smooth, long blonde hair.
“Stupid little rat!” Ziralei snarled, her voice trembling with rage and pain. “I’ll rip your throat out!”
“I’d love to see you try!” Isalyn spat back, her face still flushed red as the women fought in a degrading fashion.
They rolled across the marble in a snarling heap, both of them raking each other and clutching each other close. Isalyn’s nails dug into the smooth flesh of Ziralei’s back. Ziralei responded by clawing at Isalyn’s stomach, digging her nails hard into her navel.
“Aghhhh! Damn you…” Isalyn groaned as the blonde inflicted red scratches along her thin belly. Ziralei managed to mount her, pushing full force into her foe now.
Ziralei’s tits jiggled above her in front of Isalyn’s face. The Blonde let go of her belly to deliver a loud slap right across the brunette’s face. Isalyn’s head jerked sideways, but she answered with her slap, her palm connecting solidly with Ziralei’s cheek as both women rolled onto their sides. The blonde’s head snapped back, her hair whipping, and for a moment she lay stunned, hair cascading around her now flushed and pissed off face.
“Oh! You’ll regret that!” Ziralei shrieked, baring her teeth as she lunged forward again.
They rolled around the marble floor pressing so close that the sweat running down their chests mingled. Isalyn’s fingers dug into the blonde’s shoulders, shoving her to try and gain control as she pinned her down. Ziralei snarled and leaned forward, sinking her teeth into Isalyn’s upper arm.
“Ahhh! You little bitch!” Isalyn screamed, slapping and punching wildly at Ziralei’s sides until the blonde released her bite.
But Ziralei used the distraction to roll Isalyn onto her back, straddling her rival’s hips. Her long blonde hair hung in a curtain around their flushed faces as she hissed down at the Calveira daughter.
“Now you’re mine.”
Her hands seized Isalyn’s wrists, pinning them hard above her head. Isalyn bucked her hips wildly, their thighs sliding and muscles straining together as Ziralei laughed breathlessly.
“Look at you, squirming like an itty-bitty worm. Your mother must be so proud of you right now.”
“Get… off… me…!” Isalyn growled, her voice cracking back.
With a sudden twist, Isalyn managed to wrench one arm free and slap Ziralei across her bare back with a sharp crack that made the blonde gasp. Seizing the moment, Isalyn clawed at Ziralei’s bra strap, trying to yank her off balance. The two women tumbled sideways in a sweaty heap, rolling again as they fought for dominance.
Isalyn ended up on top this time, her knees digging into Ziralei’s arms to pin her down. She grabbed a handful of blonde hair and yanked hard, pulling her rival’s head back to expose her flushed throat.
“Who’s the worm now?” Isalyn panted, her chest rising and falling in frantic heaves.
Ziralei spat back in her face. “You’re still nothing!”
Enraged, Isalyn raised her hand and slapped her across the face. The sharp sound echoed through the silent temple, nobles leaning forward in breathless fascination. Ziralei’s head turned from the force, her long hair splaying across the marble like spun gold.
But the Tharossin daughter didn’t stay down. With a shriek, she bucked her hips and threw Isalyn off her. Both women scrambled back to their knees.
They locked their fingers above their heads, both women’s bra straps struggling to stay on their breasts. Their eyes were locked together, each with scratches and slight blood-stained slices over their pale, smooth skin.
Their fingers locked together above each of their heads. Their palms were both sticky with sweat. Both women knelt on the marble floor, their trembling thighs spread wide for balance as they pushed forward.
Isalyn’s brunette bob clung damply to her flushed cheeks, her teeth clenched as she fought to hold her ground. Across from her, Ziralei’s long blonde hair clung to her shoulders in damp strands, her lips curling into a feral grin.
Their black bras and panties were plastered to their skin with sweat, darkened where moisture had soaked through the delicate fabric. Beads of perspiration slid down the slopes of their chests, dripping between heaving breasts that strained against their thin straps.
“You’re shaking already,” Ziralei sneered, her voice husky from exertion but still dripping with mockery. “Is this all the strength House Calveira can muster?”
“Shut… up…” Isalyn growled, her arms trembling as she forced Ziralei’s hands back an inch.
The blonde hissed, baring her teeth as her fingers tightened painfully around Isalyn’s. “You’re weak, Isalyn. Pathetic. And everyone’s watching you fail.”
Isalyn let out a sharp yell as she shoved forward, her shoulders straining, the muscles in her arms quivering under her pale skin. For a moment, Ziralei wavered, her balance shifting slightly as their sweat-slicked bodies pressed dangerously close.
Isalyn growled as she pushed her arms forward, her shoulders nearly popping out. For a moment, the balance shifted as Ziralei’s chest bounced.
But Ziralei’s grin only widened.
“That was cute,” she murmured, her voice low and taunting her foe.
With a guttural growl, Ziralei dug her knees into the marble floor. She flexed her lean muscles as Isalyn’s eyes widened from panic as she tilted back in pain.
“No..!” Isalyn cried and she gritted her teeth.
“Oh, yes…” Ziralei moaned back, her hot breath across Isalyn’s face. “You’re finished.”
The Calveira daughter let out a guttural groan of frustration, her voice breaking as Ziralei’s strength overwhelmed hers. She collapsed backward, her back smacking the cold marble with a hollow thud.
Ziralei wasted no time. Straddling her fallen rival, she pinned Isalyn’s wrists hard to the floor, their fingers still interlaced in a humiliating display of dominance. Ziralei’s long blonde hair cascaded down around their flushed face as she leaned over her rival, her large bust jiggling slightly above Isalyn’s face with every heaving breath.
“Look at you,” Ziralei purred, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. “Pinned like a little bug… all that noble pride flattened under me.”
Isalyn thrashed weakly beneath her, her legs kicking against the marble, but Ziralei only tightened her grip on her rival’s hands.
“Do you feel how helpless you are?” Ziralei whispered, her smirk deepening. “This is where you belong, Calveira brat—flat on your back, staring up at someone better.”
Isalyn let out a frustrated growl, her face burning as her chest heaved in her sweat-soaked top.
“I’m not… done yet… filthy Tharossin…” She spat back.
“Oh, yes, you are,” Ziralei murmured to her. Her voice was low as sweat dripped down upon the squirming brunette. “Perhaps you just haven’t realized it yet.”
Ziralei lunged, wrapping and locking her arms around Isalyn’s neck for a strange chokehold. But Isalyn twisted to her side, grabbing a handful of blonde hair and yanking her rival to the floor right down on her face, her nose smashing down as she yelped, a little blood trickling down onto the floor.
“Ugh!” Ziralei growled back, quickly turning and squeezing the brunette’s breasts tightly through her top.
“Ughnnn… L-let go!” Isalyn groaned out
Before she could recover, Isalyn threw her leg over Ziralei’s back and leaned all of her weight down upon her, causing a loud gasp to escape her lungs.
Ziralei shifted her position above Isalyn. She yanked Isalyn’s head up violently before slamming it back down multiple times, Isalyn’s nose now leaking blood down to the floor.
“You don’t deserve the air you breathe!” Ziralei yelled, her voice a mix of ragged breath and cruel delight. “How about I show you how us Tharossin women finish the weak.”
With a sudden, deliberate motion, Ziralei leaned forward, her large, sweat-dampened breasts pressing down over Isalyn’s face.
“Wha—What are you—!?” Isalyn’s muffled cry was cut off as the suffocating warmth of Ziralei’s chest engulfed her nose and mouth.
“Shhh,” Ziralei teased, her long blonde hair falling in a curtain around their faces. “Just give in… let me smother the fight right out of you.”
Isalyn’s hands flailed for a moment, her fingers clawing desperately at Ziralei’s sides. But Ziralei’s thighs clamped tightly around her ribs, locking her in place.
“Listen to them watching you,” Ziralei taunted, grinding her chest down with sadistic slowness. “Your precious mother. Her perfect little toy… about to be snuffed out between her enemy’s tits… how humiliating for the Calveira’s…”
Isalyn’s muffled screams grew weaker as her hands pounded futilely against Ziralei’s back. The blonde let out a low laugh, rolling her shoulders to press her breasts harder against Isalyn’s face.
“Pathetic little gasp,” she whispered. “It’s almost cute. This is how you’ll die… to a superior woman’s bust… just let it happen…”
Isalyn’s lungs screamed for air. Her vision blurred as she thrashed beneath Ziralei’s weight, her chest heaving helplessly under her soaked bra. The sounds around her faded—the murmurs of the watching nobles, the slap of sweaty skin—until all she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
Isalyn’s vision got blurry as she fought for air, her body squirming and convulsing pathetically. Her sounds were fading as whispers of the nobles got louder. The brunette began to hear her heartbeat pound in her ears.
I can’t… breathe… I can’t go out like this… she thought to herself.
Ziralei smirked down, feeling Isalyn’s struggles weaken beneath her. “That’s it. Just slip away. Let me end this with a little elegance.”
But in her overconfidence, Ziralei loosened her grip for just a moment—enough for Isalyn to find one desperate opening.
With her knees pinned down for so long, Isalyn managed to slide and drive one knee with her last strength right into Ziralei’s crotch.
“AGHHHHHH!” The blonde cried in pain, that smug grin now a face of pure anguish as she toppled to the side, clutching her panties.
Isalyn’s belly and chest heaved as air finally reached back into her lungs. She coughed and gagged as she clutched her throat. Both women had slight tears welling in their eyes and blood still running down their noses.
“Y-You think you can do that to ME?! How dare you!” Isalyn’s voice shook with more pain and anger than she had ever felt in her life. A twisted mix of hate and determination.
“So… you like humiliating others so much… How does it feel when the tables turn?” Isalyn whispered in her rival’s ear as she started clawing and gripping her opponent’s crotch tightly, eliciting more squeals from the blonde.
“Hmph. Perhaps there is something… rather enjoyable about destroying an enemy…” Isalyn smiled, licking her lips as she crawled over her foe. Ziralei clawed desperately at the marble floor to no avail as Isalyn put one hand over her face, pinching at her broken nose and twisting it. She sat up over her, digging nails of one hand hard into her throat. Their eyes did not break contact.
“Isn’t this what you wanted? We can be just as cruel… it just takes the right moment to bring it out. And you thought you were superior… all that trotting around in a serious fight. You thought you had me, didn’t you?”
“G-get off of me… s-stop… AGHHHHHH!” Her voice cracked and groaned as the blonde’s bloody nose was twisted by her foe.
“You don’t get to say anything to me anymore,” Isalyn growled back, tightening her grip so that Ziralei’s breath came in high, wheezing gasps.
“All that running your mouth and for what? To come up short. Your arrogance has made you a petulant waste of skin.”
Ziralei’s body bucked hard, her hips rising off the floor in a frantic attempt to throw Isalyn off. But the Calveira daughter only pressed down harder, her thighs clamping around Ziralei’s ribcage.
“Such fight still in you,” Isalyn mocked, leaning close so her lips brushed Ziralei’s ear. “But now you’re weak. Now you’re nothing.”
Ziralei’s face was turning crimson. She began to claw at Isalyn’s forearms, scratching them badly in desperation as the brunette began to push all her weight down, choking her on the ground with both hands, shaking her a little as her right bra strap started coming down.
“P-please,” Ziralei groaned, her voice trembling and weak now. “I… I don’t want to… die.”
“Funny,” Isalyn whispered coldly. “You were so high and mighty a few minutes ago. Now you’re begging for your life. I’d never stoop so low.”
Ziralei’s nails dug one last time into Isalyn’s arm before falling away limply. Her blue eyes, once so sharp and mocking, now glistened with pathetic tears that slipped down her reddened cheeks.
Isalyn chuckled low in her throat, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. “Now this feeling… is just so good… You made me this way.”
She moved up on the blonde, letting the choke go but looking almost stoic as she wiped the blood from her face, her warm panties smothering Ziralei’s face. She quickly turned, transitioning her into a head scissors as she smiled at the crowd, her nipples poking through her top as she began to get such a rush… a sadistic feeling.
“Ughnnn… Ughnnn…nmmmm”
Ziralei was nearly passed out, now a pool of drool escaping the corner of her mouth, when in a shift motion, Isalyn shifted her body and in a fluid—CRACK she snapped her foe’s neck.
Isalyn released her grip, pushing the lifeless body aside as she rose on shaky legs. Her hands shook, her chest heaving as her bruised arms hung heavy at her sides.
The nobles above stared in stunned silence. Lady Mordessa’s face contorted with rage but not grief for her daughter, but fury at the loss of the harbor.
Lady Virelle, by contrast, allowed herself a faint, satisfied smile.
“You’ve done well,” she said softly to herself.
But as Isalyn gazed down at Ziralei’s ruined form, a strange heat curled in her chest—not relief, not even pride.
It was something darker. Something thrilling.
She had won. And deep down, she wanted to feel this power again. She had loved this sick feeling nothing more and wanted to do it again.
The body of Ziralei Tharossin was dragged across the marble floor, her long blonde hair leaving streaks in her mingling fluids. Her limp arms trailed behind her, her pale skin marred by scratches and bruises.
The attendants moved in silence, their white robes brushing the floor as they carried out their grim task. They were efficient, as if accustomed to this by now. They lifted Ziralei’s body onto a ceremonial spot and draped her with a black cloth marked with the crest of House Tharossin. Her once-beautiful figure seemed small and diminished now.
A pathetic banner of her family’s failure.
Isalyn barely stood on the marble floor. Her hands pressed against her bruised belly, fingers trembling as the ache of her wounds caught up to her. The adrenaline that had carried her through the fight was now drained as she felt nearly ready to collapse.
All around her, the temple was silent except for the soft shuffle of the attendants mopping away the evidence of smeared blood and clumped hair.
From the gallery above, Lady Mordessa Tharossin’s eyes burned with cold fury as she watched her daughter’s body being carried away. Her lips curled in a sneer as she turned her gaze to Lady Virelle Calveira, standing poised and perfect as ever.
“This isn’t over,” Mordessa said, her voice low and venomous. Enjoy your harbor. I’ll make a better choice next time.”
Lady Virelle tilted her head slightly, her devious smile as delicate as ever. “Oh, Mordessa… do let me know when you’ve picked another daughter worth sending to her death. Hopefully, she won’t be as reckless as the last.”
Mordessa’s hands tightened on the railing, her nails digging into her palms. But she said nothing more as she quickly stormed off.
The hall seemed to breathe again as House Tharossin departed. House Calveira’s kin and retainers broke into muted celebration, exchanging nods and murmured words of approval.
Lady Virelle descended the marble steps to her daughter’s side, her gown trailing behind her like a dark shadow. She stopped a pace away, her eyes sweeping over Isalyn’s battered body. For a long moment, she said nothing, and the air between them hung heavy with unspoken expectation.
Isalyn forced herself upright, her legs wobbling beneath her. She was still clutching her bruised belly, her knuckles white against her pale skin.
“I… I did it, Mother,” she said softly, her voice hoarse.
Virelle’s sharp eyes softened by a fraction, and she inclined her head. “You did. House Calveira triumphs today because of you.”
Her words carried no warmth, but the faint curl of her lips hinted at satisfaction.
Isalyn took a shaky step forward. For a moment, she hesitated, a little unsure of what to do.
It was awkward, two cold women unsure how to bridge the distance between them, but Isalyn felt it all the same. Her body trembled as she clung briefly to her mother in a strange hug.
As they parted, Isalyn glanced over her shoulder at the temple floor where Ziralei had fallen. The marble gleamed again, spotless and silent. It was as if her rival had never existed.
And yet, Isalyn could still feel her—the desperate writhing beneath her grip, the choked gasps, the final slackening of her limbs.
A strange shiver ran through her.
It wasn’t just pride. It wasn’t relief.
It was something darker.
It felt too good to take the life of her enemy for her family. To dominate, to destroy, to know, she had crushed not only Ziralei’s body but her spirit in front of everyone.
The realization made Isalyn’s lips curve into a small, almost sadistic smile.
She had never imagined herself capable of such savagery… but now, she wasn’t sure she could ever let go of the thrill.
House Calveira had won the harbor. And Isalyn had discovered something about herself that both frightened and excited her.
“I wonder… if I’ll ever feel this alive again.” She whispered under her breath.
The End