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Prologue: Seven Years Ago
Ceciel
The drip of the blood running down my hands thrilled me. As I look down at the pathetic corpses beneath me, I do not feel anything. I am only fourteen, too young to understand the consequences anyways.
Why should I care nonetheless?
I knew they desired for a son. But I was a better fit for the throne. They raised me to be a whore, but I knew better.
I am a fucking God.
Father were a disgrace to the Qloveras family. Your careless naming of me, your prominent hate for my existence.
Mother were an inherent weakling. All this time, you have done nothing but swoon and love this absolute garbage of a person.
Fierlan, my dearest older brother. I really did love you.
I stand from my seat at the aged mahogany throne, my steps echoing through the now quiet hall. I pull his crown from his hands, a gurgling sound erupting on his throat as I stepped on it with my foot. Blood splattered across my dress.
”Why didn’t you ever play with me, brother?” I whisper, crying for the sad state he was in. “You persist you love me, but I know that was a lie. You filthy fool, taking advantage of my youth and attempting to take advantage of my love.”
No response from the soulless boy.
”Fucking say something, you weak boy!” I scream.
I feel no pulse from beneath my shoe. I scoff.
Weak.
Useless.
A stain.
I feel tears running down my face. What have I ever done to deserve him? This horrid, horrid, horrid excuse of space.
I hear footsteps running down the hallway. I inhale, preparing myself for the inevitable. The guards arrive at the scene. I look at them. I recognize one of them. The old man that tried to fucking touch me with his unworthy hands. I slap him across the face with the hilt of my knife, palm digging into the blade. I ignore the bewildered looks from the other two, stepping back.
“The crown prince and crowns are dead. I am the queen now. Hurry along and announce my ascent, or I’ll make sure none of you get out of Liowesile.”
I never bluffed. I considered it unholy, against the laws of St. Marcill. But perhaps it wasn’t that bad in the end. They ran.
One week later, their heads are were on display in my room.
Two weeks later, I am the most powerful being alive.
No longer do I need to remain feminine and silent, for I am now God. When I look towards my devoted followers, I nearly feel happy.
Yes, I thought.
Desire me.
Love me.
Worship me.
I was no longer a slut, a whoring daughter, a thot.
I was no longer as useless as a scroll to a blind person, invisible as the homeless are to the rich and powerful.
I was feared. Reverent. Worshipped.
It was a good month.