Royal Bastard’s Bloodstained Regression

Vexen's jaw clenched. The sight of Nyxtriel beside Dameon—it twisted something in her chest. Not jealousy. Not exactly.

No, it was the memory.

She had once dreamed of wearing the crown. Not as a servant. Not as a shadow in someone else's court. But as queen.

Back then, her name was Verena Elowen Raventhorne, daughter of House Raventhorne—one of the most powerful viscount families in Varyndor. Her father was a proud, upright man. Too proud, maybe. Because when the rotten nobles needed a scapegoat, they framed him for treason. He was executed in public.

Only her mother's friendship with the former queen saved her. Verena was taken in, renamed Vexen, and quietly raised inside the palace walls. The promise was whispered: One day, you may wear the crown.

She believed it. Especially after meeting Prince Aleric. Back then, he was a kind, naive boy who snuck away from his tutors to walk the garden walls. That's where they met. And where they kept meeting. Every stolen moment wove them closer.

But everything changed when the prophecy came.

The holy church announced it: the demon king and the hero would be born—both from royal bloodlines. Panic spread. The queen's court turned cold. Vexen, once praised as a potential bride, was now a threat. The nobles whispered that she might bear the demon king.

So they stripped her of everything.

She was just fifteen when they arranged her marriage to a minor baron in the west. A political exile. No ceremony. No farewell. Just a locked carriage and silence.

She had cried that night—cried until her throat went raw. She prayed to the goddess to fix it. To take her back. To make someone, anyone, see the injustice.

But no answer came.

Only silence.

A few months passed.

Prince Aleric was married to Bianca Donovan, daughter of the Marquis of Eastmere.

And with that, Baroness Vexen's final hope shattered.

She had no choice but to accept the marriage arranged for her. Her husband, Baron Ellard Thorne, was a bitter, aging man whose first wife had died in childbirth. He had a son—stubborn, cruel, and barely a year younger than Vexen. Their relationship was as cold as the stone walls of Thorne Estate.

Still, she endured. Because pain was familiar. Because in her heart, she knew there was no salvation for someone like her. But maybe... there was purpose.

Maybe there was a way to watch the world burn just as it had burned her.

And so she found herself in the one place where even despair was quiet: the holy temple.

She attended every day. Rain, snow, and sun. She served in silence. She prayed in silence. Eventually, she was noticed. And welcomed.

There, she met two women who would change everything: the former Saintess, and an old, blind woman who once served in the High Temple archives. The three became close—closer than anyone in the temple ever noticed.

It was the blind one who told her the truth.

The prophecy wasn't just a fable. It was real. The Demon King and the Hero would both rise from royal bloodlines. The child of destruction... and the one who would save them all.

The temples knew the truth. They just kept the fairy-tale version for the public.

With that knowledge, Vexen acted.

She quietly made contact with a group of underground loyalists—followers of the old Demon King, long thought scattered and dead. They whispered of revenge. Of salvation. Of a new dawn.

Vexen returned to the palace at age 21. Her noble title allowed her to serve as a maid-in-waiting. On paper, she was nothing more than a refined handmaiden. But in truth, she watched everything.

And then... she used what she learned.

She approached the former queen in private. Told her of the hidden cult worshipping the Demon King. Of her "devotion" to the temple. She lied, of course—said that eliminating the cult might stop the prophecy.

It worked.

The queen sent Aleric to lead the purge. And it was during that mission, in a ruined church just outside the city, that he "miraculously" saved a young maid.

Her name was Rose.

Vexen watched from the shadows.

She saw how Aleric—the once-naive prince—fell for the maid named Rose. Slowly. Secretly. Deeply.

Rose was... strange.

She carried a presence that didn't belong in the mortal world. Her beauty was unnatural—flawless white skin like porcelain, lips the color of fresh blood, and eyes that glowed with a crimson hue that seemed to pierce through the soul. Her hair was darker than pitch, like the absence of light itself. Men stared. Women whispered. Everyone noticed her, but no one truly understood her.

No one, except Vexen.

Bianca certainly noticed. And hated her for it.

Bianca—the same girl who once called Vexen a friend—now stood as queen, full of pride and jealousy. Watching her fume every time Aleric so much as glanced at Rose brought Vexen an almost sick kind of joy. She would dance alone in her room after those moments, pouring wine and smiling till the sun rose.

Rose—short for Rosemary—wasn't just a maid. She was a mystery. A woman who worked hard, never caused trouble, but still somehow attracted it. Beauty like hers was a curse.

So Vexen helped her. Guided her. Shielded her from palace gossip. She became the bridge between her and Aleric. Arranged moments. Set up "accidental" encounters. It hurt, of course. But it was necessary.

Because only Vexen knew the truth.

Rose had once belonged to the cult—the same group that worshipped the Demon King. The same ones Aleric was ordered to eliminate. She was spared because of Aleric's foolish heart.

Bianca, to her credit, wasn't blind. She saw what was happening. She tried to kill Rose more than once. And every time, Vexen was there—"accidentally" interrupting. "Coincidentally" saving Rose's life. Watching Bianca's rage boil was the reward.

The cherry on top?

Bianca was infertile.

And then Rose became pregnant.

It was everything Vexen had hoped for—and more. Finally, the scales were tipping. With help from Lady Yvaine, a noblewoman without children of her own, they whisked Rose away to a secluded cabin beyond Varyndor. There, she would carry her child in secret.

Of course, Vexen made sure Bianca found out. Whispered it to her like a secret too heavy to carry. And when Bianca panicked, Vexen offered her the perfect lie:

"Say it's your child."

So Bianca spent the next nine months stuffing cloth under her gowns, pretending. All while the king, heartbroken and forbidden from seeing Rose, lived in silent torment.

Vexen's revenge was complete.

And to make sure the old queen didn't interfere? Well, a broken carriage wheel and a delayed route handled that. A "tragic accident," the report said.

But Vexen knew better. She had planned it all.

Shortly after, Vexen became pregnant—carrying the Baron's child.

But even in the quiet moments of her pregnancy, unease clawed at her. What if Rose didn't give birth to the Demon King? What if, by some cruel twist of fate, she bore the hero instead?

Everything Vexen had gambled—her life, her pride, her revenge—would collapse.

Still, life was a gamble. She'd already set the game in motion, and it was far too late to back down now.

Nine months later, the sky turned dark in the middle of the day. An eclipse. A sign.

It was as if the heavens themselves screamed in warning.

The prophecy had begun.

But had the Demon King been born—or the Hero?

She needed to know.

So, she acted. Two assassins were sent—silent blades tasked with wiping out everyone in the cabin where Rose had given birth. Their orders were clear: kill everyone, take the child, and bring it to the palace.

Meanwhile, Bianca, alone in a chamber deep within the palace, was surrounded by her loyal maids—each one sworn to secrecy. None of them would ever reveal that her swollen belly had never carried a child.

Then the assassins returned.

With twins.

One with pale-blonde hair and soft red eyes—quiet, almost gentle. The other... jet black hair, and eyes the color of blood. That one didn't cry. He simply stared—silent, unblinking. Watching the world like it owed him something.

Gabriel and Dameon.

The eclipse brothers.

Soon after, Vexen gave birth to her own son—Tomas. Her husband, already sick, died shortly after. Though few knew the truth: she had poisoned him slowly, to secure her place at court. But her plan to claim power through marriage failed when her stepson drove her out. Still, she had another way back in—through the palace. Through Dameon.

Vexen remained in the capital. Close enough to monitor the boys. Especially the black-haired one.

At age five, she was certain: Gabriel had to be the hero. So she tried to eliminate him. She sent Tomas, her own son, to carry out the deed.

Tomas died instead.

And that's when she saw it—Dameon's eyes, filled with cold intelligence far beyond his age. He had figured it out. The truth. And he punished her for it—cut off her fingers without hesitation.

That was the moment she realized: he was the dangerous one. Not Gabriel.

From that day forward, her plans shifted. She tried to kill Dameon instead. But even then, he survived.

Then, at twelve, his baptism revealed what she had long hoped for.

He wasn't just a prince. He was the one.

The Demon King reborn.

And yet, despite the danger, Vexen smiled.

Because her masterpiece was almost complete.