Mate 05 - Princess Life

Sage’s Point of View

It had been six years since I was brought to the palace. I had learned to endure, to stay silent in the face of cruelty, and to bury the ache in my chest where my heart used to be. The days blended together, each one colder than the last. But when I hold the locket my mother gave me before she was taken, a fleeting warmth would flicker inside me, reminding me of who I could have been, who I still dreamt of being. A part of me believed that one day, I would escape this suffocating cage of stone and gold, but today . . . today was not that day.

The first time I realized I was unwanted was not when Empress Zaire looked at me like I was dirt beneath her boots. It wasn’t even when my father’s gaze was cold and distant, as though I didn’t exist at all. No, it was when the maids decided I didn’t deserve a title.

I had just returned from my morning etiquette lessons, my fingers throbbing from the tutor’s cane. “A princess does not slouch. A princess does not scowl. A princess should always be proper and prim,” she had repeated for the hundredth time. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t a princess. I didn’t belong here. But I bit my tongue and forced myself to smile, a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

When I stepped into my chambers, something felt off. My bed, which had been meticulously made just hours earlier, was in tatters. The sheets were torn, and dresses were scattered like discarded rags. My heart sank, and the familiar tightness in my chest spread as I took in the damage.

I turned to the maid standing by the door. “What happened here?” I asked, my voice quiet but firm.

She didn’t bow. No, she didn’t even look at me with a shred of respect. Instead, a cruel smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Apologies, my lady,” she sneered. “We thought bastards didn’t deserve their beds made.”

My stomach twisted. The word “bastard” had always felt like a curse, like a weight around my neck that I could never shake off.

“What did you say?” I took a step closer, my voice trembling with anger and humiliation.

The other maids, who had been standing in the shadows, giggled behind their hands. Livia, the one who had always treated me with open disdain, looked at me as though I was nothing more than a nuisance.

“Oh, come now,” she drawled, her eyes full of mockery. “Do you really think you’re one of them?”

My chest tightened, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I didn’t belong here. I knew that. I had always known that. But hearing it spoken aloud by the people who were meant to serve me felt like a knife to the gut.

“You’re not a real princess,” Livia continued. “You’re just the king’s . . . mistake. He keeps you here because he thinks you might be useful one day. But don’t kid yourself. No one here respects you. You’re nothing.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I had learned long ago that words only made things worse. Instead, I turned on my heel, slamming the door behind me with such force that the walls shook. Only when I was alone did I let my hands tremble, my breath ragged.

I had never belonged. And I never would.

The maids treated me like dirt, like a ghost they were forced to serve. They ignored my requests, sabotaged my belongings, and whispered cruel things behind my back whenever they thought I couldn’t hear. When I was younger, I had asked one of them to help me brush my hair. She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before dropping the brush to the floor with a smirk. “Pick it up yourself, little bastard,” she spat.

The empress was no better. She looked at me like I was filth, a stain on the palace’s perfect facade. She would slap me if I angered her or speak cruel words whenever the opportunity arose.

One evening, after I had accidentally spoken out of turn, she hissed. “You are a stain on this family’s legacy.” Before I could react, her hand had slapped my cheek, sending me stumbling backward.

The maids did nothing. They never did.

She would often mock my mother, the woman she despised with every fiber of her being. “A lowly slave girl,” she would say, as though the words disgusted her. “That’s all your mother was. And you . . . you are just the filth she left behind.”

I clenched my fists, but I didn’t speak. I didn’t fight back. I had learned that silence was the only weapon I had left.

Axel and Samuel, my two stepbrothers, were strangers to me. Axel was the perfect Crown Alpha; brilliant and strong, but he never spared a glance for me. He was the embodiment of everything I would never be—important, loved, worthy of respect. Samuel, however, acknowledged my existence but only to issue warnings.

“Stay out of our way,” he had told me once, his gaze cold and distant like I was nothing more than an obstacle in his path. “If you don’t want to get hurt.”

But there was one thing Samuel did that no one else did: he gave me gifts. Strange gifts. Horrible gifts.

He would visit my chambers in the dead of night, always soaked in blood, his armor tarnished and chipped from battle. I would try to avoid him, but he always found me.

“Here,” he would grunt, tossing a bundle at me. “You’ll need these.”

They were monsters. Strange, grotesque creatures that I couldn’t even begin to understand. Some looked like deformed beasts, others like animals that had been twisted beyond recognition. I didn’t know what to make of them. Was this some kind of sick joke? Did he think I would find comfort in these things?

“Why . . . ?” I had once asked him, but he just stared at me, his expression unreadable.

“They’re for protection,” he said gruffly, like it was obvious. “You’re the stain of this palace. You need protection.” His words cut deeper than any blade, but they were also strangely comforting. Samuel, a warrior who never showed weakness, was offering me something in his twisted way.

One evening, after one of my lessons, I went looking for my father. I knew better now, but back then, I had been desperate. I had wanted to know why he kept me here, why he even bothered to bring me into his life at all. I didn’t expect much, but I needed something.

I found him in his study. The door was slightly ajar, and I hesitated for only a moment before I heard voices—his and the empress's.

“Why do you even bother keeping her here?” Empress Zaire’s voice was cold, filled with contempt.

His voice was distant, flat. “She’s useful. Eventually.”

“Useful?” Zaire scoffed. “She’s a bastard. A stain. A mistake.”

“She’s of my blood,” my father replied, his voice indifferent, devoid of affection. “That makes her useful.”

My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. I wasn’t his daughter. I wasn’t anything. I was just a tool. A pawn. A thing to be used.

I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even move.

And that was the moment I truly understood my place in this palace. I was unwanted, a burden, a stain.

The words my father had spoken echoed in my mind, louder and clearer with each passing moment. “A tool.” I couldn’t escape them. They weren’t just words. They were the truth. And the truth, as bitter and unforgiving as it was, tore into me like a thousand cuts.

I had been foolish to think I could matter to him. To believe that, for even a single moment, I could belong. But now I know. The Emperor Alpha, my so-called father, didn’t see me as a daughter. He didn’t care about me. I was just a tool, something to use when the time was right, a necessary evil in a game I would never understand.

But it wasn’t just him. It was everyone. The empress, Axel, the maids—they all looked at me like I was something to be discarded. The halls of this palace, once grand and beautiful, had become a cage, each stone suffocating me a little more every day.

That night, after hearing the conversation between the Emperor and Empress, I returned to my chambers, my footsteps echoing through the empty hallways. I passed countless faces, all of them turning their heads or looking away as I approached. No one acknowledged me. No one cared. The palace was a massive, cold place, and in its vastness, I was invisible.

But then, as I reached my door, I saw him.

Samuel.

He stood in the shadows, as he often did, his armor still stained with blood from the battle. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his eyes—something that lingered in the depths of his gaze—a flicker of something that wasn’t hatred or indifference.

“You heard, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

I nodded slowly, not trusting myself to speak. There was nothing left to say. The truth had already shattered me.

He took a step closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. His presence felt like an anchor in the chaos, but it didn’t bring comfort. It only reminded me of how much I didn’t belong here. How much I would never be more than the stain he had so callously named me.

“I don’t care what they say,” he muttered, almost as if to himself. “You’re not nothing. You’re a part of this palace whether they like it or not.” His words didn’t hold the warmth I longed for, but there was a strange kind of sincerity in them.

I looked up at him, confused. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I don’t,” he said bluntly. “But you’re still here. So I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”

The promise wasn’t much. It didn’t change the fact that the palace was a cold, lonely place for me. But somehow, Samuel’s words, the rare moments when he showed even a flicker of care, meant something to me. They were all I had.

The maids were no better the next day. They treated me like dirt, as always, ignoring my requests and sneering when I passed. But now, I had something else in my mind—a flicker of defiance, a stubborn resolve that maybe, just maybe, I could survive this.

That morning, I was summoned to breakfast with the royal family. I entered the dining hall and stood there, alone in the vast room. The emperor and empress were seated at the head of the table, and as usual, their eyes were cold and indifferent. Axel was there, too, his usual aloofness surrounding him like a cloak. No one even acknowledged my presence.

I sat at the farthest end of the table, as far away from them as I could get, and ate in silence. There was no conversation, no exchange of pleasantries. No warmth. Just the sound of utensils clinking against plates and the occasional cough from one of the nobles.

I thought back to my mother, the warmth of her embrace, the way she had looked at me with love. If she were here, this wouldn't be my life. But she wasn’t. And this was all I had.

At some point during the meal, Samuel appeared. He walked in with his usual commanding presence, his boots loud on the marble floor. The room fell silent as he approached the table. He glanced at me briefly, but when his eyes met mine, there was nothing there but coldness. I didn’t know why I had hoped for something different.

"Father," Samuel greeted, bowing his head in respect, though his eyes never left me. It was almost as if he was daring me to respond, to show any emotion. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The emperor nodded in acknowledgment, but there was no warmth in his gaze. “Samuel. You’ve returned.”

Empress Zaire didn’t even spare him a glance. She continued to sip her wine, clearly uninterested. Axel, as always, didn’t even look up from his food.

I was invisible.

Samuel’s visits grew more frequent after that day. He still brought me the monsters—strange, grotesque things that seemed to have a purpose I couldn’t understand. But the gifts became less about protection and more about something else. Something unspoken.

One day, as he handed me another gift—a twisted, winged creature that hissed and spat like a cornered animal—he looked at me with something like regret.

“Do you ever wonder,” he asked, voice low, “what you would have been if things were different? If you weren’t . . . here?”

I didn’t know how to answer him.

But I knew one thing for certain: I didn’t belong here. And I never would. But I would find a way to make it through, no matter how dark the path became.

Samuel’s departure was swift and without warning. One moment, he was in my chambers, speaking of protection and safety, giving me monsters, and the next, he was gone, swept away by the tides of war that had called him away yet again.

The palace seemed emptier without him, though it had never been full. The weight of his absence pressed down on me more than I’d expected. Samuel had never been a source of warmth—his presence was often cold, even distant, but he was a reminder of something, someone who cared just a little. Without him, I felt the deep ache of loneliness once again, more intense than before.

The maids didn’t change in his absence. They still treated me with disdain, ignoring me when they could and whispering behind my back when they thought I wasn’t listening. Each glance from them stung each act of cruelty, a reminder of how unwelcome I was in this place. I was a shadow, a stain, as they liked to call me, and nothing had changed. Nothing would change.

The emperor still didn’t care for me. The empress still hated me. The maids still looked down on me. I had no one. I was nothing.

One evening, when the loneliness felt too heavy to bear, I wandered through the palace’s empty corridors, trying to find some distraction, something to fill the silence. It was late, and most of the palace had settled into an uneasy quiet, but the echo of my footsteps was all I could hear.

As I passed by the grand dining hall, I stopped. The table was set, but no one was there. The emperor and the empress were probably enjoying their lavish meal in the privacy of their chambers or perhaps in some secret meeting. Axel, as usual, was nowhere to be found. I hadn’t seen him in days.

I stared at the empty chairs, imagining what it would be like to sit there with them. To be part of their family. To have a place at the table, a place in their lives. But those thoughts were always fleeting. In this palace, I was never going to be anything more than the unwanted daughter.

The pain of being forgotten, of being invisible, gnawed at me. I should have been used to it by now. I should have learned to embrace the isolation. But tonight, the weight of it all felt too much.

I turned away from the dining hall and kept walking down into the darker halls where few people ventured. The further I went, the more the palace seemed to close in around me, as though the walls themselves were conspiring to remind me that I didn’t belong there.

In the solitude of the cold stone corridors, I found myself in front of a familiar door—the library. I had spent countless hours there, escaping into the pages of books that offered a world far removed from this one. The library was a rare solace in this place, a sanctuary where no one could hurt me, where I could be lost in someone else’s world.

I pushed the door open and entered, greeted by the familiar scent of old books and polished wood. The library was vast, with shelves that reached all the way to the high ceiling, filled with books on every subject imaginable. I loved the silence here. The quiet was comforting, even if it was only temporary.

I walked through the aisles, running my fingers along the spines of the books, searching for something that would take my mind off the aching void inside. But nothing could fill it. The emptiness lingered.

As I reached the back of the library, I found myself staring at a large portrait hanging on the wall—a painting of the royal family, the emperor and empress flanked by Axel and Samuel. Their faces were regal and proud. And there I was, standing at the edge, forgotten in the corner of the frame.

It hit me then, harder than ever, how utterly alone I was. The painting, the way I was positioned in it, was a perfect reflection of my life here. A footnote. A ghost in the background, overlooked and insignificant.

I sat down on the floor, my back against the cool stone wall. I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and closed my eyes.

The silence was deafening.

I thought about my mother, the life I could have had if I had never been brought to this palace. Would I have been happy? Would I have found love? Would I have had a family who cared for me, a family who saw me as someone worth protecting? But none of those things mattered anymore. The past was gone, and all I had was the present. The present was cold and dark.

I stayed there for hours, lost in my thoughts until I heard footsteps echoing through the hall. I didn’t have to look up to know it was one of the servants, likely searching for me to ensure I was where I was supposed to be. They didn’t care why I lingered here or that I had been abandoned by the world.

I rose slowly, wiping away the traces of tears that I hadn’t realized had fallen. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not in this place where everything was a weapon to be used against me.

The footsteps grew louder, and I forced myself to stand up and walk back to my chambers, where the coldness awaited me once again—another lonely night.

As I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I tried to tell myself that I would endure. That this would not break me. But deep down, I knew that loneliness would never stop hurting. I would never stop wishing for something more. I would never stop hoping that one day, someone would see me for who I was—not a tool, not a stain, but a person.