The sleepy girl opened her eyes slowly. The room was dark—dark enough to make the shadows hide, yet somehow as loud as when they roamed freely. She sat up on the bed instinctively, afraid of whose screams tore through the night... and of who—or what—might be behind them.
Her father's voice echoed faintly from the corridor, each word a tremor that urged the little princess to rise and follow her fear. Her bare feet brushed the cold, polished floor. Step by step, tracing a dangerous path into the dark.
Here and there, the faint glow of half-burnt candles flickered, lit by the servants long ago. The tall white walls stretched like an endless labyrinth: rigid, cold, and painfully familiar. A map etched into the child's mind. She followed the dreadful cries that made even the scent of lavender turn nauseous.
Step by step, tracing a dangerous path into the dark... she left safety behind.
She peeked down the stairs leading to the underground prison. The sounds echoed even louder below, bouncing off the stone walls in endless waves. The princess felt the rough, dusty air gently scratch her face, and for a moment, hesitation dimmed the curious light in her eyes. But a thirteen-year-old's curiosity, and her lack of survival instinct, couldn't be tamed that easily.
She went down.
Step by step.
Her father's voice grew clearer now: "How dare you lie to me?!"
As she descended, the lavender scent was replaced by the stale dampness of stone and mold. Her small foot caught in her nightdress, and before she could react, she fell... hard. Her knees hit the stone with a dull crack, scraping raw against the rough surface. A thin trickle of blood began to slide down her shins, unnoticed. She bit her lip, forcing back a cry. Her legs trembled, but she stood again. The voices were closer now... and she kept walking. Step by step, tracing a dangerous path into the dark.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber faintly lit by torches. Valerie froze behind the corner, her small hands clutching the cold stone wall. The scent of smoke and sweat filled the air. Chains clinked somewhere ahead. Her father stood in the center, his cloak drawn back, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade. A man knelt before him: torn clothes, trembling shoulders, blood dripping from his lip. The guards flanked him, their boots firm against the gray though stone. Valerie just watched quietly as the man was tortured.
- How much is missing?
The King glanced at his advisor. The papers showed a clear deficit in the month's grain count. After scanning the records once more, the King's voice rose louder.
- The books don't lie. Thieves do! Hit him again.
- Okay, okay! I will talk but please—spare my life, Your majesty. My family... My boys... My seven boys are starving. I had to do it. I'm just a grain hauler—I only took enough to bake one loaf.
- The amount is more than enough for a single loaf.
- Th-they are seven energetic boys... They need to eat every day...
Two guards made themselves heard from a dark corner.
- I've heard the servants complain about the eggs. Perhaps he stole those too.
- And the potatoes we eat after training are disappearing as well.
The King's face hardened, his jaw tightening until his teeth ground audibly. His shadow stretched long across the marble as he took a step forward.
- Feeding seven boys, are you? Seven hungry mouths... and a father with soft hands. You expect me to believe this is mere theft? No... you're helping the rebels, aren't you?
Sneaking my grain into their filthy camps. Under the name of mercy.
The man shook his head violently, his words breaking between sobs.
- No! I swear, Your Majesty. I would never... I only wanted to feed my children! Please...
The King raised his hand, and the guards whispering immediately fell silent.
- Enough. Mercy has its limits. Seven boys, you say? Then seven blades you shall have!
The man was accused of treason for stealing barely enough grain to bake a single loaf each week. He would grind the grain with a stone, mixing it with water and salt stolen from his own tears, baking the dough over dying embers as his children waited in silence for the scent of bread. That was all in the past now. At the last knife piercing his abdomen the man's screams stopped. Seven mouths fed by a crime worth six and one deadly blade.
Valerie watched — and learned that in her father's eyes, mercy was a crime only the poor could commit.
Valerie recoiled, her heart racing, watching the scene without fully understanding, but feeling a chill of repulsion crawl up her spine. The blades cutting down the man... the obedient silence that followed... every gesture from her father reflected a mercy that had never existed for the poor, a justice that only seemed to serve the powerful.
Frightened, she turned and ran to her room, her small feet barely touching the floor. She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow and pretending to sleep, while listening to the weight of the king's sandals approaching. He paused at the bedside, eyes scanning her sleeping face, making sure she had heard nothing.
The next morning, the man's family arrived at the castle gates, pleading for answers, but the guards barred them harshly. Valerie was passing by on her way to the city and her beloved library. Seeing their desperation, she felt a mix of fear and disgust at her father's so-called justice. She turned her face away, climbed into the carriage in haste, and said nothing. Every movement, every glance that morning reinforced the certainty in her young heart: this was a merciless path she would never choose to follow.