The Devil’s Sacrifice

Lysandra’s POV

Long ago, in the distant kingdom of Morvathar, kings and queens craved nothing but power and wealth. Our kingdom was infamous for its cruel traditions and beliefs, setting it apart from all others.

Nothing about Morvathar was ordinary. Legend has it that the kingdom was built by the devil himself and entrusted to powerful rulers, though this had never been truly confirmed—until I, Lysandra came into the picture.

“Tonight is our last night of freedom. Tomorrow, we’ll be stripped of our happiness. The girl child of a commoner is a commoner, they say. We are born to satisfy the desires of royals and the wealthy. Nothing good can come from us. So tonight, we celebrate hard and prepare ourselves for what awaits us tomorrow.”

I recited my speech over and over, my words growing more powerful each time. Mr Henry’s Tavern will be full with lots of girls tonight and I hoped my little speech would offer some comfort to the ones who would be chosen at the castle tomorrow.

“Lysa,” my mother called gently. “Please come out. We need to talk.”

What could they possibly have to say? That they were sorry for obeying foolish traditions and selling their daughter to the king and his wretched sons? Or worse—to the devil himself?

I stepped out of my small room in our tiny cottage, barely spacious enough for the three of us. My father didn’t have gold or riches, but we were a happy family.

As I approached them, the worry and fear in their eyes spoke volumes, yet they were powerless—just as I was.

“I know you’re not happy about tomorrow, Lysa. No one is,” my father murmured. “But these have been the kingdom’s laws for as long as I can remember. We can’t change them. No one is strong enough to challenge them.”

As they continued advising me on how to behave if I was chosen, my thoughts wandered back to the cruel laws that governed Morvathar.

Defying the royals meant death—whether by fire, hanging, or stoning. The kingdom revolved around the king, and from the age of thirteen, every girl was made to understand the inevitable truth:

Every five years, a ceremony was held. Girls who had turned eighteen by the end of the fifth year were taken—not as maids or wives, but as playthings for the king’s six sons. We were forced to remain at the castle for a year, and once the year ended, two of the six girls would be chosen to stay behind—never to be seen or heard from again.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I met my father’s gaze and sighed. “I’ve heard this explanation since I was thirteen, Father. I understand the severity of the situation if I refuse to comply. I’ll do what’s required of me.”

I stood and excused myself, eager to leave. Tonight was my last night of freedom—I had to make the most of it.

Slipping out of my tattered clothing, I changed into something more flattering, though still modest, and ran a brush through my long, silky dark hair before bidding my parents farewell.

I clutched my speech tightly, as I made my way to Mr. Henry’s tavern. It was the best in town—offering music, hearty food, fine cheese, and great beer. I would miss it dearly.

As I walked, lost in thoughts of how memorable the night would be, my eyes landed on a dark figure by the river leading to the tavern.

I squinted, stepping closer. The silhouette resembled a man, but from this distance, I couldn’t make out his face. My feet hesitated.

“I should ignore it and leave. He could be dangerous,” I muttered under my breath.

But what if he was hurt? What if someone had left him here to die? I couldn’t turn a blind eye. Swallowing my nerves, I moved closer, finally closing the gap between us.

And there he was—Prince Arthur—lying motionless by the riverbank, soaked in a pool of his own blood.

A gasp escaped me, my hands flying to my mouth to stifle a scream.

Hovering over his still form, I took in his perfectly chiseled face—now pallid with cold. He was dying.

I scanned the area frantically and spotted his horse tied to a tree. Without hesitation, I untied it, knowing I had to get him to safety.

Lifting him was a struggle, but I somehow managed to hoist his weight onto the horse. Panting, I clutched my chest, trying to steady my breath.

“What am I doing?” I laughed bitterly. “This man could choose me as a slave tomorrow, yet here I am, saving his life.”

As much as I wanted to walk away from this situation, something inside me screamed not to let him die and without another thought, I climbed onto the horse and rode as fast as I could.

Our cottage wasn’t far from the river, and as soon as I arrived, I shouted for my mother.

She rushed out, eyes widening at the sight before her. My father followed closely behind, his expression a mix of shock and fear.

“What happened?” my mother pressed, already examining the prince’s wounds. “Where did you find him?”

“I don’t know what happened to him,” I admitted breathlessly. “I just found him lying there, bleeding.”

Their wary glances told me they doubted my words, but I had no time to argue.

Mother quickly cleaned his wounds, applying herbal medicine to stop the bleeding. Once he was stable, she and Father retreated to bed, leaving me alone with him in the dimly lit room.

The thought of  the ceremony tomorrow had evaded my mind. And all I could think of right now was who had tried to kill Prince Arthur?

I studied his beautiful yet battered face until exhaustion took over and I drifted into sleep.

As dawn approached, the distant crow of a rooster stirred me awake. My body ached from sleeping on the floor, and as my eyes scanned the room, an unsettling emptiness settled in.

The Prince had left. No thank you and no sign that he had been here at all. “What a jerk!” I mumbled. 

Despite my frustration, I could only hope he was alright.

The day passed by quickly and my mind was fixated on the prince and nothing else. Not even the fact that I’d be leaving for the castle soon.

By noon, the rumble of wheels against the dirt road drew my attention. The castle’s carriage had arrived and I knew it was time.

My stomach twisted in dread as a guard stepped down, his polished armor gleaming in the sunlight. He unraveled a scroll and read aloud in a firm voice,

“Lady Lysandra Gardener, you are hereby summoned to the castle for the Ceremony of Presentation at dusk. You are required to follow us at once and prepare for the event.”

I had dreaded this moment my entire life, but I was ready.

I curtsied as custom dictated, allowing the guard to assist me into the carriage. My mother and father followed solemnly.

As the wheels turned, carrying us toward the towering castle on the mountaintop, my heart pounded in my chest.

This was the beginning of the end.