The Daveniri (Gxg)

CHAPTER FIVE

“M-Morven?”

The whispered name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. Morven, a woman who once knew the simple joys of a loving husband and a cherished baby, Aviva, now found herself adrift in a sea of sorrow. 

Aviva was gone, stolen from her by the cruel hand of fate, leaving behind a gaping wound that refused to heal.

Before her life in the Golden Keep, serving Princess Rhaenari, Morven’s world had been idyllic. Or so it seemed. 

The death of her husband and child, orchestrated by her in-laws, shattered that illusion, leaving her heartbroken and lost.

In her grief, she sought solace in the arms of many men, a desperate attempt to fill the void in her heart.  Then she met her.

A dark-haired woman with striking blue eyes, her disguise almost imperceptible, yet instantly recognized by Morven. 

They found solace in each other, a bond forged in shared pain and unspoken desires.  They fell deeply in love, a desperate love born of ashes and despair.

Now, witnessing the princess, the woman she had served faithfully, the woman she had considered a friend and lover, being violated by a stranger, a servant she barely knew, a cold dread gripped Morven. 

The scene was a horrifying betrayal, not just of Rhaenari, but of everything Morven held dear.

“This isn’t what you think I—” Rhaenari’s protest was cut short, silenced by the stranger’s forceful actions. 

The princess’s body, usually so regal and composed, was twisted beneath the assault, a grotesque parody of the intimacy Morven had shared with her lover.

The stranger’s rough fingers violated Rhaenari, forcing a release that should have been Morven’s, a right that had been stolen. 

It was Morven who knew the princess’s body, who had shared its pleasures.  Now, this… this defilement.  This violation of trust, of intimacy, of everything.

A wave of nausea washed over Morven. Rhaenari, her mind clouded, spoke of the greater good. 

But what greater good could justify this brutality?  Had the princess lost her mind? Or was there a darker, more sinister reason behind this act?  The question hung unanswered as Morven watched, powerless, as her world crumbled once more. 

Her perfect life, her desperate love, her unwavering loyalty… all reduced to ashes in the cruel betrayal before her eyes.

The scene unfolded in a suffocating silence, broken only by the ragged gasps of Rhaenari. 

"This isn't what you think I—"  The princess's protest was cut short, swallowed by the stranger's violation. Visenya, her fingers like claws, delved deeper, forcing a release that should have been Morven's alone.

A cold dread, sharper than any blade, pierced Morven's heart.  She had always been the one to bring Rhaenari to that point. Now… this.

"Stop it!" Morven's voice cracked, the sound lost in the suffocating atmosphere of the chamber. 

Tears streamed down Rhaenari's face, but they weren't tears of pleasure, as Morven had first believed. 

They were tears of pain, of violation, of a silent scream trapped within a body bound by circumstance. 

A surge of righteous fury rose within Morven.  Rhaenari, summoning a strength born of desperation, slapped Visenya hard across the face.

The princess then fled, seeking refuge in Morven's arms. 

"No, it wasn't me, I promise, my love," she sobbed, her words a desperate plea for understanding, for forgiveness. 

But Morven's heart, hardened by the sight she'd witnessed, remained unyielding.  "You were there, moaning," Morven accused, her voice a low growl, "How can you deny it?"

"She forced me," Rhaenari whispered, her voice barely audible.  "Then prove it," Morven demanded, the words a challenge, a demand for justice.  "Make her pay. Tell your brother." 

The words hung heavy in the air, a weight Rhaenari couldn't bear.  Not yet.  Not until they were safe, far from the reach of those who would seek to destroy them.  "I can't," Rhaenari confessed, her eyes pleading.  "My love, I'm doing this for us."  A pause, a tightening of her jaw. 

"Go. Don't tell anyone."  She pushed Morven away, a hint of contempt twisting her features.

The truth was a bitter, unforgiving reality.  If not for Rhaenari's actions, Morven would still be alive.  This was Rhaenari's twisted sacrifice, a desperate attempt to save them both. 

As Morven left, Visenya, her eyes burning with fury, stood a few feet away, a silent witness to the unfolding tragedy.

Frost-laden leaves outside seemed to whisper their silent judgment, a mournful counterpoint to Rhaenari's choked sobs.

Rhaenari turned, her bloodshot eyes meeting Visenya's.  "Visenya," she said, her voice trembling, extending a hand. 

Visenya watched, stunned.  Rhaenari, the composed, unflappable princess, was shaking, her usual composure shattered.  It was bizarre.  This wasn't the woman Visenya knew. 

What was this strange connection between Rhaenari and Lady Khafka?  She hadn't realized how deeply Rhaenari loved Morven.  Visenya closed the distance, embracing the weeping princess.

"We're going," she said, her voice firm, despite the turmoil within.  Sadness, despair, and a chilling hatred burned in Rhaenari's eyes.  This wasn't the Rhaenari Visenya knew.  But the plan remained unchanged.  Those who deserved death would receive it.

The following days were a blur of sorrow.  Visenya watched Rhaenari, searching for the familiar glint in her eyes, the sparkle that had been extinguished.

The princess's grief over Morven’s departure far outweighed her sorrow over her father's death.  Rhaenari loved Morven more than life itself.

Rhaenari remained cloistered in her room, refusing to attend her father's funeral.  She would rather face death at Visenya's hands than endure the hypocrisy of the court. 

The arrival of Lady Faith, a red knight and the successor to her father's position, brought little solace.  The King's decision to assign her as Rhaenari's protector was a transparent attempt to control the princess, a move that only served to underscore Rhaenari's isolation.

Rhaenari's thoughts drifted back to their shared past.  Visenya, a slave taken into Rhaenari's household at fourteen. 

The name itself, the distinctive naming conventions of the Daemari and Lorais families, had fueled Rhaenari’s suspicion that Visenya might be a secret relative, a connection that made her both valuable and dangerous. 

Despite Rhaenari’s violent tendencies, Rhaenari had kept her close, a strange bond forged in a crucible of power and cruelty.

As Visenya grew older, she became colder, more distant.  Rhaenari, in turn, had ceased her cruel games, finding solace in a love that had distracted her from her darker impulses.

The journey to Lady Khafka's house was a silent procession.  Morven's handmaiden maintained a discreet silence, unwilling to disturb her mistress's grief. 

Morven, gazing out the carriage window, felt the bitter sting of resentment, a feeling as unfamiliar and unwelcome as a venomous snake.  Rhaenari's actions had poisoned their love, leaving behind a residue of contempt.

The carriage finally stopped.  Morven, her mind fixed on a single purpose, rushed to her chambers.  Letters.  The only way to express the turmoil within, the only way to begin to heal. 

What words would she write?  What truths would she reveal?  The answers lay hidden within the ink-stained pages, a testament to a heart broken and betrayed.