Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 208

Chapter 208: A Curse (Special Chapter)
Fiorensia stood in the center of the ancient chamber, her crimson robes pooling at her feet like liquid dusk.

The air was thick with incense, curling in ghostly tendrils as the flickering light of the enchanted torches cast elongated shadows across the stone walls.

This place had not been used in centuries, hidden beneath the Mors estate, waiting for the rightful wielder of its dark power to awaken it once more.

The nobles stood before her, fifteen of them, their faces a mix of greed and apprehension.

They had come willingly, drawn by promises of wealth, longevity, and power, gifts that Fiorensia alone could bestow.

Each of them bore a golden sigil upon their hands, an ancient mark signifying their participation in the ritual. None of them fully understood the price they would pay. At the center of the chamber lay a massive sigil carved into the stone.

Symbols of old power, of forgotten gods, twined together in intricate patterns, waiting to be activated. Fiorensia raised her hands, her voice low and steady as she began the incantation.

“By the decree of the Serpent and Dragon, by the covenant of shadows and fire, let the pact be sealed.”

The torches dimmed, their flames shrinking into mere embers before bursting into violet fire.

A gust of wind rushed through the chamber, though no doors were open. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation. One by one, the nobles stepped forward, kneeling before Fiorensia.

She took a ceremonial dagger, its blade forged from obsidian and laced with the venom of the Zenesus Serpent, and sliced a shallow cut into their palms.

Their blood dripped onto the sigil, absorbed into the stone as though it were alive, drinking in the sacrifice.

Fiorensia did not flinch as she moved from one noble to the next, ensuring each one played their part in sealing their fate.

The glow beneath them grew stronger, the chamber vibrating as a deep hum resonated from the walls. Then, she spoke the binding words.

“For eternity, until the bloodline ends, let this curse be woven into the fabric of your kin. As long as your blood flows, so too shall the chains of fate remain unbroken.”

A terrible force surged through the room. The nobles gasped, their bodies arching as the magic took hold.

Dark tendrils slithered from the sigil, wrapping around their limbs, marking them with the unseen weight of their decision.

They had traded their freedom for power, willingly shackling their descendants in exchange for prosperity. But Fiorensia was not done.

She moved to the center of the sigil, kneeling as she placed a single hand against the cold stone floor. Her voice softened, but the weight of her words was absolute.

“To protect my sons, I call upon the decree of the Mors bloodline. Let the betrayer bear only daughters, let no female child rise to claim the northern throne.”

A pulse of energy shot through the chamber, an invisible wave sealing the curse into reality.

Lotisia, no matter how many times she bore children, would never give birth to a son. And the Mors Dukedom, by law and tradition, would never allow a woman to inherit the title of Duke.

Fiorensia’s lips curled into a faint smile. It was done.

The nobles, panting from the effects of the ritual, began to regain their composure. One by one, they turned to her, their eyes filled with a new sense of reverence and fear.

They had been changed, bound to a fate they could never escape. But the gifts they would receive in return would make them gods among men.

They did not question her will. They did not dare. Fiorensia rose to her feet, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“The Mors Dukedom will remain in my control. You may enjoy your wealth, your power, your extended lives… but remember, this bond will never break. Not as long as your lineage remains.”

The nobles bowed, acknowledging the price they had paid. And Fiorensia, the true ruler of the North, turned away, stepping into the shadows once more.

Fiorensia had just returned from the ritual chamber, the lingering traces of dark magic still thrumming beneath her skin, when a piercing scream shattered the air.

It was sharp, raw, and unmistakably filled with terror. Her body stiffened, and before she could even think, her feet were already moving, rushing down the stone corridors of the Mors estate.

She knew that voice. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she ascended the grand staircase leading to the west wing.

The marble floor was cold beneath her hurried steps, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw next.

Rohzivaan lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, his small body unnaturally twisted. The golden light from the chandeliers above cast a ghostly sheen over his pale face.

A thin trickle of blood ran down from his forehead, staining his dark curls. His tiny chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. A strangled cry left Fiorensia’s lips.

She dropped to her knees, gathering his frail body in her arms, feeling the warmth of his skin against her trembling hands. His eyelids fluttered weakly, a soft whimper escaping his lips.

“Who did this?” Her voice was sharp, deadly.

The servants around her remained silent, fear evident in their lowered gazes.

“Who let this happen?” she demanded, her tone colder than ice.

One of the maids hesitantly stepped forward, her entire body shaking. “Your Grace… the young master was playing on the stairs… He… he suddenly fell. No one pushed him, I swear…”

Fiorensia’s sharp gaze snapped to her, and the woman flinched as though she had been struck.

“Then tell me,” Fiorensia whispered, her voice laced with venom. “Why was no one watching him?”

The maid opened her mouth to speak but could not find the words. Fiorensia clenched her jaw. It did not matter if it was an accident. It did not matter if no one had pushed him.

Rohzivaan had been hurt in her home, under her watch, and that was unforgivable.

The air around her darkened, shadows stretching unnaturally against the stone walls. The torches flickered violently as though cowering before her rising fury.

She turned to one of her trusted knights, her voice a chilling command. “Find out who was responsible for his safety and bring them to me.”

The knight bowed and disappeared instantly.

Fiorensia held Rohzivaan closer, pressing her forehead against his. His skin was warm but clammy, his breath uneven. She could feel the fragile beat of his heart against her palm.

“My son…” she murmured, brushing a stray curl from his face. “No one will ever harm you again.”