Rejected by My Fiancé, I Accidentally Carried His Mother's Heir (GL)

Their attention shifted to Xelvyn as the young demon lordess of the Muntuahry fully emerged from the dark corner where she had been standing, her presence previously masked by the shadows that clung to the edges of the throne room.

Now that she had stepped into the torchlight, her features became unmistakably clear, and Qazaethel found herself studying the woman with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

Xelvyn’s skin was much paler than the typical denizens of the demon realm, a stark porcelain that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light, giving her an almost ethereal quality that contrasted sharply with the brutal surroundings.

Her robes were fashioned from layers of black silk and velvet, the fabric whispered against the stone floor as she moved with a fluid, predatory grace.

The coronet upon her head was a masterpiece of dark craftsmanship—gold and black materials twisted together in intricate patterns that symbolized her position as the northern demon lordess of the Demon Realm.

Small gems, black as polished obsidian, dotted the metalwork, catching the firelight and glinting like malevolent eyes.

Her eyes, a deep violet that seemed almost black in certain angles, swept across the carnage of the throne room with an unsettling calm.

”Have you intentionally come here to kill my aunt Ceprys?” She asked, her voice was devoid of any warmth, any emotion whatsoever. It was a flat, measured tone that betrayed nothing of her thoughts or intentions.

”We mean no harm,” Liv began, stepping forward with her hands raised in a placating gesture. ”But Arielle lost her temper, and the situation escalated beyond anyone’s control. We came only for the Flower of Life, not for bloodshed, I assure you.”

Xelvyn raised a single hand, her fingers were splayed in a gesture that commanded silence. The movement was elegant, almost delicate, yet it carried the absolute authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

Liv’s words died in her throat, and she took a cautious step backward.

The slave who had been hiding in the corner, the trembling omega who had been whipped and tormented under Ceprys’s cruel reign, her body was wracked with violent tremors, and her hands clasped together as if in prayer.

”D-Demon Lordess, please spare me~” the slave begged, her voice was cracking with desperation. Tears streamed down her face, carving tracks through the grime and dried blood that stained her cheeks.

”Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll serve you faithfully, I’ll never try to escape, just please don’t hurt me. Please don’t let her hurt me anymore. I can’t bear it, I can’t bear any more pain—”

Xelvyn looked down at the weeping omega, and something flickered in her violet eyes—a hint of something that might have been sympathy, or perhaps merely acknowledgment of a suffering she recognized.

She sighed, a soft exhalation that seemed to carry the weight of many such encounters.

”I have no plans in keeping you, omega. You’re free to go.” Xelvyn’s voice softened fractionally, losing some of its cold edge. ”My aunt had tormented you your whole life, and all I can do now is to spare you of your agony. You have suffered enough under her hand, and I will not continue her cruelty.”

The omega’s eyes widened, disbelief warring with desperate hope in her expression. She scrambled backward, her hands slid across the blood-slicked floor, and hid behind Arielle’s protective form.

Her thin fingers clutched at the fabric of Arielle’s robes, and she pressed herself against the young noble’s back as if seeking shelter from a storm.

”Don’t come closer, she’s petrified!” Arielle warned, her voice was sharp with protectiveness. She spread her arms slightly, positioning herself between the trembling omega and the approaching demon lordess. ”Give her space, give her time to breathe!”

But Xelvyn did not stop. She continued her approach with measured, unhurried steps, her pale hand extended in a gesture that was meant to be reassuring rather than threatening. ”Do not be afraid, I won’t hurt you,” she said, her voice was dropping to a gentler register. ”I am not my aunt. I do not take pleasure in the suffering of others. I only wish to help you.”

She stopped just short of Arielle, her violet eyes were fixed on the omega cowering behind the young noble. Slowly, carefully, she reached past Arielle and gently took the omega’s hand in her own.

The contact was light, barely more than a brush of skin against skin, but the omega flinched violently, a small whimper escaping her lips.

”Shhh,” Xelvyn soothed, her thumb tracing a gentle circle on the back of the omega’s hand. ”I’m going to give you something back. Something that was stolen from you long ago. The memory core my aunt had taken away from you—I’m returning it now.”

Xelvyn summoned a small, glowing marble that pulsed with a soft light on her palm. It was no larger than a thumbnail, yet it seemed to contain an entire universe within its translucent surface—glimmers of images, fragments of sound, pieces of a life that had been cruelly ripped away.

The omega’s eyes fixed on the memory marble, and a shudder ran through her entire body. She knew what it was.

”Please,” she whispered, her voice was barely audible. ”Please give it back. I want to remember. I want to know who I was.”

Xelvyn nodded and gently pressed the memory marble against the omega’s temple. The moment it made contact, the marble dissolved, seeping into the omega’s skin like water into dry earth.

The green light spread across her face, suffusing her features with a warm glow, and then faded as the memories took root.

The omega’s eyes flew wide open, and she gasped as the flood of recollections overwhelmed her. Her hands flew to her head, pressing against her temples as images cascaded through her consciousness—a childhood in a lush forest, a family who loved her, friends, peers, the vilage who was brutally murdered by Cerpys’ cruel invasion.

Tears poured from her eyes in a torrent, and she collapsed against Arielle, her body wracked with sobs that seemed to tear themselves from the very depths of her soul.

”I... I’m not... A slave~” she muttered between sobs, the words emerged broken and fragmented. More tears fell from her eyes, soaking into Arielle’s robes. ”I had a name. I had a family. I had a life. I was someone. I was someone.”

She clutched at Arielle as if she were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly become unmoored, her fingers digging into the fabric of the young noble’s clothing.

”N-No~ I’m dirty~” the omega’s voice quivered, her whole body trembled with the force of her grief and shame. ”I’m so dirty~ she made me do things. She forced me to be with so many demons. I’m sullied, I’m ruined, I’m nothing but a broken thing. I’m so dirty~”

She continued to sob, the words tumbling out in an endless stream of self-recrimination, and Arielle held her tightly, whispering soft reassurances that the omega could barely hear through the storm of her emotions.

Xelvyn watched the scene unfold, her expression was unreadable, and then she stepped forward and pressed two fingers gently against the omega’s forehead. A soft pulse of energy emanated from her touch, and the omega’s sobs gradually quieted, her body relaxing as sleep claimed her.

Her head lolled against Arielle’s shoulder, her breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm.

”Take her away from here,” Xelvyn said, stepping back. Her voice had returned to its earlier neutrality, but there was a softness in her eyes that had not been there before.

”She must go back to the beast realm. That is where she belongs, where her people will welcome her and help her heal from the wounds my aunt inflicted upon her. But if you want to take her, then take her. The choice is yours.”

She turned and began to walk away, her robes swirling around her like shadows given form.

”What is she?!” Arielle called out, her voice sharp with the need to understand. ”What species is she? I’ve never seen anyone like her before. Her ears, her eyes—everything about her is different.”

Xelvyn paused and glanced back over her shoulder, her violet eyes meeting Arielle’s gaze. ”She’s a golden rabbit,” she explained, her tone was a matter-of-fact. ”A rare species, one of the few remaining in existence. They’re prized for their ability to sense danger, to find hidden paths, to navigate the most treacherous terrain. Their kind is gentle, peaceful, and utterly defenseless against those who would exploit them.”

Her expression darkened, and something cold flickered in her eyes. ”She was abducted by my aunt and was taken here to be bred. Ceprys wanted to create a stable of golden rabbits, to sell them to the highest bidder. But it turns out this golden rabbit was barren. She couldn’t produce offspring, couldn’t fulfill the purpose for which she was stolen. So Ceprys decided to make her life more a living hell. She was tortured, humiliated, broken in every way imaginable, all because she couldn’t give my aunt what she wanted.”

Arielle’s face paled, her arms tightening protectively around the sleeping omega in her arms. ”That’s monstrous. How could anyone do that to another living being? How could any of you allow it to happen?”

”Because in this demon realm, every demon ruler cannot go against the other,” Xelvyn explained, her voice flat. ”We have our own laws here, our own systems of governance. Each territory operates independently, and interfering in another ruler’s domain is strictly forbidden. If one demon lord or lordess breaks the laws of their own territory, it is their right to do so. If the other one breaks that law—if they cross the boundary and try to interfere—death is the penalty. I could not save her, even if I wanted to. To do so would have meant war, and war would have cost more lives than I was willing to sacrifice.”

Arielle stared at her, trying to process the information. She had never heard about a golden rabbit before, had never encountered any mention of such a creature in any of the texts she had studied.

The demon realm was vast and filled with countless species and peoples, and the sheer scale of the horror she had just witnessed was difficult to comprehend.

”What is your name?” Qazaethel asked, stepping forward. Her voice was measured, her gaze was steady as she studied the young demon lordess.

”Xelvyn,” came the reply. ”Lordess of Muntuahry, northern demon realm.” She offered a slight inclination of her head, a gesture of acknowledgment rather than deference.

Liv’s eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze examining Xelvyn with undisguised suspicion. ”This is the first time I’ve seen you,” she observed. ”I’ve traveled to the northern demon realm several times over the years, for diplomatic purposes and information gathering. I’ve never encountered any mention of a Lordess Xelvyn.”

”I just started to rule the northern demon kingdom thirty years ago,” Xelvyn said, her tone was carrying a note of weariness. ”I’m still new here. Before me, my mother ruled, and before her, my grandmother. The transition was... Complicated. There were those who did not wish to see me take the throne, and they made their displeasure known. It took time to consolidate my power, to establish my authority, to make my presence known to the wider realm. But now I am here, and I will not be moved.”

She looked around the throne room, taking in the destruction that littered the space—the bodies of Ceprys’s servants and guards, the shattered furniture, the blood that had soaked into the stone floor.

Her expression was difficult to read, a mixture of satisfaction and something that might have been sorrow.

”Ceprys is dead,” she said, stating the obvious. ”Varnara is now mine. The land, the people, the resources—all of it falls under my control.” She turned her gaze to Arielle, and then to Qazaethel, her violet eyes was sharp and calculating.

”Thank you for finishing the work for me. I had been planning to remove Ceprys for years, but she was cunning, and she had allies who protected her. She was careful, never giving me an opportunity to move against her without provoking a war. But you—” she gestured to Arielle, ”—you gave me the opening I needed. She attacked you, and you defended yourself, and now the problem is solved without any blood on my hands.”

Xelvyn reached into the folds of her robes and withdrew a small, crystalline vial. Within it, a single flower floated in a luminescent liquid, its petals shimmered with an iridescent light that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat of its own. The flower was small, no larger than a fingertip, but it radiated an energy that filled the room with a sense of warmth and vitality.

”The Flower of Life,” she said, holding it out. ”I always carry one with me. It’s a precaution, a safeguard against the unexpected. I’ve had this one for several decades now, keeping it preserved and ready for a time of need.”

She extended her hand, offering the vial to Qazaethel.

Qazaethel accepted it, her fingers closed around the cool glass. She studied the flower within, feeling the pulse of energy that emanated from it, and a wave of relief washed through her. This was what they had come for. This would save Eiravelle.

”Why are you giving this to me without asking something in return?” Qazaethel asked, her voice was carrying a note of suspicion. She had been in politics long enough to know that nothing came for free, especially not something as valuable as the Flower of Life. ”What is your true intention? What do you want from us?”

Xelvyn smiled, a thin, mirthless expression that did not reach her eyes. ”You have killed Ceprys,” she said simply. ”And I will be able to attain Varnara. The Northern Kingdom and the Eastern Demon Realm will be able to merge now, to become something greater than the sum of their parts. This is a union that has been sought for generations, but Ceprys refused to consider it. She wanted to maintain her independence, to keep her power separate from our family of the realm. Now she is gone, and I can do what she would not.”

She paused, her smile faded into something more serious. ”And once the council finds out what has happened here—once they realize that Ceprys is dead and that I have absorbed her territory—of course they’ll get mad. They’ll see it as a power grab, a violation of the established order. They might declare war, might try to reclaim Varnara or punish me for my ambition. So be prepared, Qazaethel. This is your doing as much as mine, and you will be caught in the consequences.”

Qazaethel nodded, understanding the implication. ”We will deal with whatever comes. What matters now is returning and making sure Eiravelle will live. Everything else can wait until she is safe.”

She tucked the Flower of Life into the inner pocket of her robes, pressing her hand against the spot where it rested to assure herself that it was truly there. The warmth of the flower seemed to seep through the fabric, a comforting presence against her skin.

But before she could turn to leave, Xelvyn moved with startling speed. Her hand emerged from her robes, a dagger gleaming in her grip, and before anyone could react, she plunged it into her own upper left chest. The blade sank deep, and blood erupted from the wound, splattering across the floor.

”What the hell?!” Liv shouted, her eyes were going wide with shock. She started forward, her hand reaching for her own weapon, but Qazaethel caught her arm and held her back.

Qazaethel herself was frozen, her heart pounded in her chest as she watched Xelvyn stagger, blood pouring from the wound. The demon lordess’s face twisted in pain, but there was no fear in her eyes—only a grim determination.

Then, impossibly, Xelvyn straightened. She pulled the dagger from her chest with a wet sound.

Qazaethel’s breath caught in her throat. ”What—”

”This is the evidence,” Xelvyn said, her voice was strained but steady. ”That you had assaulted me. That you came into my throne room and attacked me without provocation. And so you escaped, fleeing before my guards could capture you. Do it now, before more demons come.”

She turned away, pressing her hand to her chest as if testing the new wound. ”Go. Take the Flower of Life and return to your kingdom. And be ready for what comes next.”

Arielle adjusted her grip on the sleeping omega in her arms, her muscles are straining under the weight. But she did not complain, did not slow down. She rushed out of the throne room with Qazaethel and Liv close behind, their footsteps are echoing through the corridors of Varnara as they fled.

Behind them, the doors to the throne room slammed shut, sealing Xelvyn alone with the carnage.

Xelvyn stood in the center of the throne room, surrounded by the bodies of her aunt’s servants and the debris of battle. The blood that soaked the floor was both familiar and foreign—she had seen her share of violence, had even shed blood herself, but this was different. This was the end of an era and the beginning of something new.

She walked to the throne that had once belonged to Ceprys, a massive construct of black stone and twisted metal that loomed over the room like a malevolent presence.

She ran her fingers along its armrest, feeling the cold stone beneath her touch, and then turned to face the empty room.

”Varnara is mine,” she said aloud, her voice echoing off the walls. ”Just wait, Yhamir. Just you wait. I will come and get my revenge. I will make you pay for what you did to my family, for what you took from me. I will burn your kingdom to the ground, and I will dance on the ashes of your ambition.”

Her violet eyes blazed with cold fury, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with dangers and obstacles, but she did not waver. She had waited centuries for this moment, and she would wait centuries more if she had to.

But first, she needed to consolidate her power, to secure her position as the new ruler of Varnara. She needed to rally her allies, to eliminate her enemies, to build an army that would be capable of facing the challenges ahead.

And then, when the time was right, she would strike.

She walked to the window that overlooked the vast expanse of Varnara, the dark landscape stretching out to the horizon.

The stars above were cold and distant, indifferent to the schemes unfolding below, but Xelvyn did not need their approval. She had her own purpose, her own drive, and her own destiny to fulfill.