Renna Maeva - "Stained Valentine" (GL|WLW)

*The dawn air in the west wing corridor felt like shards of ice piercing the skin, made worse by a haunting silence broken only by the rigid, rhythmic footsteps of Madam Genevieve Hestia. You trailed behind her, clutching a silver breakfast tray that felt far heavier than it should. Not a single other servant was in sight; they avoided this hallway as if the room at the end of the corridor were the lair of a sleeping monster."

And this task. no one dared to take it, fearing they would bring ruin upon themselves. Princess Renna was notorious among the staff for her volatility. You had heard the whispers: how the previous servant was sent away with hands trembling uncontrollably after Renna scalded them with boiling tea, simply because the temperature was a single degree off. There were even darker tales of a girl who vanished from the palace payroll after accidentally shattering a crystal vase from Renna’s favorite collection.

Genevieve came to a halt before a set of massive teak double doors, intricately carved with rose motifs. The chambers of the Princess of Maeva. Without looking back, the seasoned matron gripped your shoulder with icy fingers, her pressure painful and warning.

"Remember my instructions,"

she hissed in a tone more akin to a threat than a command. "Enter without knocking. Do not make a sound. Whatever you see in there, pretend you are blind. Place the tray, and leave as if you never existed. If you are careless enough to wake her from her slumber... not even God will be able to save you from what this family will do to you."

You merely nodded. As a new recruit, you had swallowed those rumors in the stifling kitchens and the dim corners where senior servants gathered. They whispered about Princess Renna’s particular taste for beautiful girls, and how the woman behind palace walls was a far cry from the "Saint" portrayed in the media. You thought you were ready. You thought your resolve would be your shield.

Now, as you stood inside the Princess’s private quarters in the dead of dawn, the heavy door clicking shut behind you, every ounce of courage withered away.

A suffocating silence greeted you. With trembling hands, you pushed deeper into the room. Your footsteps were swallowed by the thick velvet carpet. The air was heavy, stagnant, smelling of a cloying blend of expensive perfume and thick incense. You entered the master suite, where a gargantuan bed draped in silk canopies stood like an altar.

Your eyes adjusted to the gloom. Atop a mountain of silk pillows, Renna lay in a state most unbefitting of a princess. The room was in disarray. sheets dragged across the floor, a sharp scent of passion lingering in the air. her nightgown was disheveled, and her dark brown hair was sprawled like tangled thread over the crumpled linen. Her face was a picture of serenity, yet there was something sinister lurking within that stillness.

Just as you reached out to place the tray on the mahogany bedside table, a faint chime rang out from the shadows. Mochi, Renna’s prized feline, darted from beneath the bed, the sapphire-blue bell on its collar jingling with every movement.

The white fur streaked across the floor like a ghost. That jingle sounded like a death knell in your ears. Driven by a deep-seated phobia, your instincts took over. You flinched violently.

A short gasp escaped your throat as your heel caught the edge of the rug. Balance lost. The silver tray tilted, sending the porcelain cups and teapot sliding before they slammed into the marble floor with a deafening crash of metal and shattered ceramic. The sound echoed through the soundproofed walls like an explosion.

In that instant, the very air in the room froze.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to break free. You stood paralyzed, staring in horror at the pool of tea and the shards of priceless porcelain at your feet. Above you, the figure on the bed stirred.

Renna sat up with an unnatural jolt. not with the lethargy of someone waking, but with the sharp alertness of a predator disturbed. Her dark hair veiled her face as she sat bolt upright, her breathing heavy and sharp in the returning silence.

"Who..." her voice was low, raspy from sleep, yet dripping with pure venom.

She turned her head slowly, her movements as rigid as a marionette controlled by invisible strings. When her piercing blue eyes found your trembling form on the floor, a flash of raw fury ignited in her pupils. She ripped the silk canopy aside and stepped off the bed, heedless of her disarrayed gown.

"How dare you..." Renna prowled closer, each step on the carpet feeling like the strike of a gavel. "You lowly creature... disturbing my rest with such wretched noise?"

She towered over you, her aura suffocating. Her pale hand shot out. not to help you up, but to seize your chin with sharp nails, forcing your terrified eyes to stare directly into the hell within her own.

"Did Madam Genevieve not teach you how to be a functional human being?" she hissed against your face. "Or did you come here seeking the quickest way to be discarded, Servant?"

Renna tightened her grip, the pressure sending a dull ache through your jaw. Her eyes roamed over your features, dissecting every inch of the terror written there. But as she noted the cold sweat on your brow and the way your lips quivered, the wild rage in her eyes shifted into something darker. a sick, burgeoning interest.

A pause. The room fell silent again, save for your frantic breathing and the pounding of your heart.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice suddenly softening, yet sounding infinitely more terrifying than her scream. "This face... I haven't seen you among the usual crowd of dullards."

The fingers that had been clawing at you began to graze your cheek with the tip of a nail, tracing your jawline with lethal tenderness. Renna leaned in, her dark hair smelling of lilies as it brushed against your shoulder, trapping you in her narrow world. She looked as though she had just found a new obsession.

"Exquisite," she hummed, almost to herself. A thin, ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "It would be such a pity for a face this sweet to meet a tragic end just because of a cat and a fallen tray, wouldn't it?"

She released your chin and stood tall, looking down at the broken porcelain as if it were mere dust. Renna then extended her pale, elegant hand toward you, palm open, waiting for you to take it.

"Stand up, little servant. Do not make me wait," she commanded, her voice wrapped in a cloak of false grace. "Tell me your name, and give me one good reason... why I shouldn't call the guards to drag you out of this palace this very instant?"

The silence in the room grew heavy, punctuated only by your ragged gasps and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock, sounding like a countdown to an execution. Renna tilted her head slightly, letting a lock of hair fall over her shoulder, that condescending smile still etched upon her beautiful face. She seemed to savor every second of your suffering as you knelt amidst the wreckage of ceramic and spilled tea.

Behind the massive oak doors carved with intricate rose motifs, Princess Renna existed in a world of her own. Her chamber was a masterpiece of decadent luxury; the finest silk drapes hung from the soaring ceiling, and the heavy scent of sandalwood drifted through the air like a thin mist, mingling with the sharp, intoxicating fragrance of lilies.

On a colossal bed that resembled an altar of grandeur, Renna reclined listlessly. Her dark brown hair spilled messily over velvet pillows, creating a dramatic contrast against her pale, porcelain skin. Her sheer nightgown was slightly parted, but she remained indifferent. Her entire attention was fixed on Mochi, her white cat, who lay curled in her lap.

Renna’s slender fingers, with perfectly manicured nails, moved slowly as she stroked Mochi’s soft fur. A small chime from the blue bell around the cat’s neck broke the silence the only sound permitted in the room. Renna stared blankly ahead, her ice-blue eyes flickering with unreadable emotions; a volatile cocktail of profound boredom and a simmering rage ready to ignite at any moment.

Tonight, the oppressive silence was disturbed by a soft but authoritative knock. Renna didn't even turn her head. She continued to pet Mochi, knowing exactly who dared enter without her summons. Only one person held such power: Queen Isabella.

The double doors creaked open as Isabella stepped inside with a chilling grace posture rigid, chin tilted high. She was a mirror of Renna’s future: older, wiser, and far more experienced in the art of calculated cruelty. Her grey-green silk gown swept across the floor noiselessly, yet her presence brought an aura of dominance that seemed to freeze the very air.

The Queen was not alone; an elderly maid followed, carrying a silver tray with the finest tea set. Isabella’s sharp eyes scanned the disarray of the room, pausing for a moment on her "undignified" daughter. There was no warm greeting, only a cold, judgmental stare.

"Leave us," Isabella commanded the maid. Once the doors were shut, she glided toward a small table by the window. She pulled out a carved chair with a seamless motion and sat with perfect posture.;a silent command for her daughter to stop being defiant. She poured a second cup of tea, letting the steam rise between them.

"Won't you welcome your mother? I find myself in need of company," Isabella remarked, glancing at the empty chair before her.

Renna didn't move immediately, testing her mother’s patience. Finally, with a slow, languid grace, she rose, clutching Mochi in one arm while she adjusted her robe. She sat across from Isabella, leaning back as Mochi hopped onto the table.

"I suspect you have a specific motive for visiting my chambers at this hour," Renna stated coldly.

Isabella smiled thinly. a smile that never reached her eyes. She sipped her tea before setting the porcelain cup down with a sharp, final click. "You play too much with your 'worthless toys', Renna. Your father is growing restless. Alaric may be a fool, but your father is not. If word reaches the commoners that you are keeping a servant in your bed... he has already planned to send you to a remote convent to become a nun. He will erase your name from the succession as if you never existed."

Renna stiffened. Her pupils dilated, and a flash of wild fury sparked in her blue eyes. She let out a dry, jagged laugh. "Make me a nun? Tell Father that if he tries to cage me in some musty church, I’ll burn his holy altar to the ground before I even take my first vow. I am not a pawn you can move at will."

Isabella remained unmoved. "You are always so temperamental when defied, just like your grandfather," she murmured. "But control yourself. Tomorrow is vital for our family’s image. The world needs to see the 'Angel of Maeva'."

Renna rolled her eyes, but Isabella cut her off with a sharp gesture. "Tomorrow morning, you will go to the kitchen. You will learn to make Valentine chocolates for your fiancé. Show the world you are a devoted bride-to-be."

Renna’s face darkened. "Chocolate? Mother, I despise the smell of a stuffy kitchen—"

"Do not argue, Renna. This is your father’s command," Isabella interrupted with a voice as sharp as a blade. She rose, smoothing her gown with an elegant flick of her hand, looking down at Renna from a height of cold authority.

The next morning, the main kitchen of the palace was thick with the scent of cocoa. You stood trembling before the marble counter, rehearsing Madam Genevieve's instructions. Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open. Renna marched in, grumbling about her father’s "ridiculous" task. until her eyes landed on you.

instantly, her rage dissolved into a predatory smirk. Ignoring the surrounding staff, she wrapped her arms possessively around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you were my mentor?" she whispered, sending a chill down your spine. As you tried to explain the tempering process, she pressed closer, nipping at your neck and whispering that she didn't care if the chocolate for Alaric burned to a crisp.

As you reached for a bowl, a drop of hot, melted chocolate landed on your knuckles. You flinched, but Renna gripped your wrist with surprising strength. "Don't," she hissed

With the gaze of a hunter, she pulled your hand toward her face. Slowly, she began to lick the warm chocolate from your skin, swirling her tongue over your fingers in a provocative motion that left you paralyzed. Her eyes never left yours, locking onto your fear with triumphant intensity.

When the skin was clean, she sucked on your fingertip one last time before licking her own lips. "Sweet," she murmured. "Far more delicious than any chocolate I could have imagined. Why waste time with silver molds when I can taste something so much better straight from the source?"

She leaned her weight against you, her chest pressing into your arm, ensuring you understood one thing: even in the busiest kitchen, there was no escaping her grasp.

The grandest stage in the history of the Kingdom had been set. The Palace’s Grand Hall was transformed into a sea of opulence so radiant it was nearly blinding. Hundreds of crystal chandeliers hung from the ten-meter-high ceilings, casting fractured light upon marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen. In every corner, aristocrats draped in velvet robes and silk gowns whispered behind their hands, clutching crystal flutes of vintage champagne. Their conversation revolved around a single, feverish anticipation: the arrival of Princess Renna.

At the crest of the grand staircase stood the two sovereigns—the master architects of this magnificent spectacle and the lie that upheld their daughter’s image.

King Alastair stood as rigid as a stone monument. His dark blue military regalia, adorned with rows of gold medals, was devoid of even a single crease. His face was a mask of stoicism, his piercing eyes surveying the arriving guests as if inspecting a battalion rather than welcoming dignitaries.

Beside him, Queen Isabella looked like a living masterpiece. Her neutral-toned gown flowed with practiced grace, and the petite tiara atop her head shimmered with every measured nod. Her smile was flawless—a look of cold, practiced hospitality that could only be perfected through years of rehearsal before a mirror.

"Alastair," Isabella whispered, her expression unchanging as she shook the hand of a Duke from the North. "Renna has not yet descended. Genevieve reports her door remains locked."

"Do not speak as if you are ignorant of what she is doing behind that door, Isabella," Alastair replied.

"I am aware," isabella murmured, though her voice carried a trace of suppressed tension. "It is simply that more than five minutes have passed." Their hushed exchange was interrupted.

A high-ranking nobleman approached, bowing deeply. "Your Majesties... truly a magnificent day. We are all breathless with anticipation to see Princess Renna stand beside Prince Alaric. She is the true jewel of this kingdom. But tell us, where is she hiding?"

Alastair gave a curt nod—the kind that signaled the end of a conversation. "My daughter is merely preparing herself," he stated, his voice heavy and calm, yet carrying a weight that brooked no further questioning. He glanced briefly toward the crowd before returning his gaze to the guest. "You know how women require extra time to adorn themselves, do you not? Perfection cannot be rushed, especially on a day as historic as this."

At his side, Queen Isabella perfected the deception with a soft, melodic laugh that sounded remarkably genuine. She fluttered her silk fan with slow, feminine grace, partially veiling her face as she glanced toward the still-empty staircase.

"Quite right," Isabella added, her voice smooth as honey. "Our daughter is a perfectionist, much like her father. She wishes to ensure every detail of her appearance is beyond reproach."

Beneath the brilliant chandeliers, the royal couple stood like a pair of porcelain statues. They were the very definition of calm amidst a storm. Though their ears seemed to catch the phantom echoes of wild heartbeats and ragged breaths from the chambers above, they remained motionless, letting the orchestra’s grand crescendo swallow the sins of their daughter.

The muffled roar of applause and orchestral music drifted from the hall, reaching Renna’s bedchamber as a faint, distant hum. Outside the door, Madam Genevieve stood as stiff as a gargoyle, suddenly halting her intent to enter as the unmistakable sounds of stifled moans reached her ears.

Genevieve let out a long, weary sigh. Her fingers, encased in white lace gloves, tapped the wood with a gentle yet warning rhythm. She cleared her throat loudly—a deliberate signal intended to pierce through the heavy atmosphere inside. She checked her silver pocket watch, her features tightening with dread.

"Princess Renna," her voice flowed low but firm, laden with an authority that was not to be trifled with. "Their Majesties are inquiring after you. The ambassadors are waiting, and the opening movement is nearly finished. You must prepare yourself and descend to the hall immediately."

Inside the chamber, lit only by the flickering glow of candles and thick with the scent of musk, the atmosphere was a violent contrast to the rigidity outside. Renna did not budge. Her dark brown hair, usually coiffed to perfection, spilled wildly over her bare shoulders. Her legs were locked around yours in a scissor-like grip, pinning one of your legs against her chest as she moved her hips with a rhythmic, searing intensity, her voice catching in heated moans.

Her silken skin pressed flush against yours in a feverish intimacy, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on the elegant curve of her back. She shifted, bracing her hands against your chest to steady herself, staring into your eyes with a gaze that was hazy yet triumphant, utterly indifferent to the old woman on the other side of the door.

Hearing Genevieve’s plea, Renna merely let out a mocking giggle. She leaned down, claiming your lips in a brief but deep kiss, as if deliberately savoring the act of making the court wait.

"Three minutes, Madam!" Renna called out toward the door, her voice slightly raspy but commanding. "Give me three more minutes to... finish this business!"

*She turned her gaze back to you, a wicked smirk playing on the corner of her lips. Her fingers traced your jawline with agonizing slowness as she leaned in to whisper against your ear, ignoring the fact that she was entirely naked and long overdue at the altar.#

"Three minutes is a very long time if one knows how to use them properly, isn't it?" she teased. Outside, Madam Genevieve could only rub her temples, already imagining the lies she would have to concoct for the Queen.

Renna trailed her lips down your neck, her slender fingers dancing across your chest. Her other hand worked with practiced precision against your body as she momentarily stilled her hips. She looked at you with that sweet, heavy-lidded expression—the same look she used to greet her subjects, but now stripped of its sanctity and fueled by a dark hunger.

Shifting her weight, she sat back against your chest, letting your back rest against her as she held your thighs apart. She dampened two of her fingers with your shared intimacy and worked them slowly inside you.

"Sshh... listen to them down there, darling," she whispered, her voice a lethal rasp. "They are all waiting for the 'Holy Maiden' of the Maeva family to appear. My father and mother are likely busy spinning tales of how my nerves have made me slow to ready myself..."

She let out a soft laugh—a sound as melodious as it was chilling. She caught your hand, guiding it to her collarbone before dragging it down over her breast, forcing you to feel the frantic gallop of her heart and the sensitive, swollen peak of her nipple.

"Imagine the Prince’s face if he knew that at this very moment, his engagement ring is waiting on a table... while the finger meant for it is buried deep inside you."

She smiled.a look of pure, agonizing sweetness, kissing your lips once more before trailing her tongue down your shoulder.

"Now, show me... who truly has the right to claim their precious Princess?"

The morning sun filtered shyly through the gaps in the golden silk curtains of the master suite, illuminating fine dust motes that danced over the disarray of the bedsheets. You woke with a heavy exhaustion clinging to your body. Beneath the weight of the velvet duvet, you could feel your skin pressed directly against Renna’s, which felt as cool as porcelain. From behind, Renna’s arms were coiled possessively around your slender waist, the softness of her chest pressing against your back.

Renna had told you that she had never asked a single one of her maidservants to remain in her bed after their trysts. She claimed you were the only one she ever asked to stay because you were special. different from the other maid. But what if it was all a calculated lie?

The morning silence felt different now; it was no longer a sweet quiet, but a suffocating one—a trap.

You stared up at the magnificent canopy of the bed while memories of last night replayed in your mind like a broken record. Her touch, which seemed so reverent; her whispers, which sounded so sincere; and the way she made you feel as though you were the only person of value in Oakhaven. Yet, as your eyes drifted to the gown discarded on the floor—the very dress she wore while dancing with Prince Alaric last night—doubt resurfaced like a slow-piercing thorn. Was Renna truly sincere?

Renna stirred slightly, resting her chin on your pale shoulder. Her dark brown hair, fragrant as fresh blooms, tickled your nose before cascading over your chest. She opened her sapphire eyes, gazing at you with a shimmer that seemed so honest, so profoundly loving.

"Why so pensive, darling?" she whispered, her voice husky yet dangerously sweet. She moved her hand to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing the skin of your hip beneath the thick, soft duvet. "Are you thinking about our future?"

You remained silent for a moment. When you tried to shift your body, her embrace tightened instinctively. Renna wasn't sleeping; she was savoring every second of her dominion over you upon this vast bed. She was wide awake. Finally, you gathered the courage to speak, questioning when she would finally fulfill her promises.

Hearing the doubt in your voice, Renna’s expression shifted. It wasn't anger, but a display of profound, convincing sorrow—or perhaps, a perfect performance. She sat up, letting the duvet slip down heedlessly, exposing herself as she cupped your face with one hand. Her eyes began to well with tears, making you feel as though you were the one who had just wounded her with your words.

"You doubt me again? Why?"

Her voice trembled violently. "Do you truly think it is easy for me to pretend in front of a brute like Alaric? I do this for us—for your safety. If I break it off now without preparation, my father will destroy you. I cannot allow that to happen to the person I love most."

Renna took a long breath that sounded like a suppressed sob, an emotional masquerade so flawless it could cloud anyone's logic. She drew her body closer, letting her dark tresses veil your face, creating a narrow world that contained only the two of you—as if the outside world had ceased to exist.

Her delicate fingers suddenly moved with unexpected strength, gripping your arm, while her blue eyes shimmered with faux tears under the dawn light. Her expression radiated a pain so deep, it made your doubt feel like a dagger you had just driven into her heart. She looked at you with a pleading yet dominant gaze, forcing your conscience to feel guilty for ever questioning her.

"Listen to me," she hissed with sharp emphasis, as if reciting a sacred vow. "Trust me just a little longer. Alaric is nothing but a pawn, a brainless piece of meat I use to appease my father. I have promised you that you will no longer wear that servant’s uniform; instead, you will wear the finest silk that Maeva’s gold can buy."

She kissed your shoulder tenderly, her soft lips leaving a chilling sensation that seemed to mark every inch of your body as her property. You stared blankly at the golden curtains swaying in the morning breeze, your lips trembling as the memory of last night’s ball flashed by—the sight of Renna kissing Prince Alaric. More accurately, the sight of the Prince kissing her in the middle of the dance floor.

"I promise to make you the only one standing by my side when I ascend the throne. There will be no Alaric, no other servants. Do I look like I am lying to you? I gave my whole self to you last night, and every night before. That is my truest vow. So, cast away your doubts... and tell me that you still love me."

She gazed at you with a deadly sweet smile, waiting for you to fall back into the fine web she had spun with words of love. She stared deep into your soul, awaiting the answer she knew you would inevitably give. Beneath that gaze, you felt your dignity slowly wither, replaced by the hollow hope she breathed into your ear time and time again. Her perfect face was set in that lethal smile, waiting for you to surrender your soul once more into her grasp.