The bath chamber echoed with chaos as maids scrambled to restrain Seraphina, their shouts mixing with her furious cries. The silver-haired princess thrashed against their grip, her limbs flailing despite the mana suppressors clamped tightly around her wrists and neck.
"Kyaah!" one maid screamed as she stumbled backward, landing hard on the tiled floor.
"Hold her down, you fools!" barked the head maid, a woman of stout build and an iron will that seemed to infect her underlings with fearful obedience. Her voice cut through the noise like a blade, commanding attention. "Do you think His Majesty will tolerate her in this state?"
Seraphina's light blue eyes burned with defiance as she kicked at the maids grappling her, refusing to yield. "I won't let you—!"
Her protest was cut short as the head maid grabbed a fistful of her silver hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to meet her gaze. "How dare a filthy elf like you resist the High Sovereign's orders?" she sneered, her lips curling into a malicious grin. Without waiting for a response, she shoved Seraphina into the tub of cold water, submerging her head.
The shock of the water sent Seraphina into a panic. She hadn't been prepared, and with her mana sealed, her body felt impossibly weak. Her lungs burned almost instantly, and fear clawed at her as she thrashed, desperate for air. Just as the edges of her vision began to darken, the head maid yanked her up by her hair.
Seraphina gasped, coughing and choking as she gulped down precious air, her chest heaving. Her defiance hadn't wavered, but the terror had crept into her heart, its icy tendrils wrapping tightly around her resolve.
"You'll learn your place," the head maid hissed, her tone dripping with contempt. She shoved Seraphina under again, holding her down longer this time.
When Seraphina was dragged up again, her strength was ebbing. She barely managed to glare at her tormentor, but the fight in her eyes had dulled. The cycle repeated, over and over, until the princess's spirit cracked beneath the weight of exhaustion and humiliation. Her resistance faded, her limbs going limp as the maids roughly scrubbed her skin and hair.
"You should feel honored," the head maid said smugly, yanking at the strands of Seraphina's silver hair as she worked shampoo into them. "An elf like you, chosen to warm His Majesty's bed. You're getting more than you deserve."
Seraphina's stomach churned, disgust mingling with despair. "Kugh," she groaned, her voice weak.
The head maid's response was to pull harder, making Seraphina yelp in pain. "Disgusted, are we? You'll learn gratitude soon enough."
One of the younger maids hesitated, her gaze falling on the delicate ring on Seraphina's right hand. "Should we… remove it?" she asked tentatively.
Tears welled in Seraphina's eyes, spilling down her cheeks despite her best efforts to suppress them. She bit her lip, trying to steel herself against the hopelessness that threatened to consume her. Her fingers twitched, instinctively curling as if to protect the ring—a fragile piece of defiance in a sea of powerlessness.
"No," the head maid replied with a cruel chuckle, waving dismissively. "Leave it. His Majesty will find it amusing."
The laughter that followed was like shards of glass scraping against Seraphina's ears. Her heart sank deeper into despair, her thoughts spiraling. 'I can't fight. I can't win. I can't even hold on to hope.'
The head maid's cruel gaze bore into her, stripping her of what little dignity she had left. "Look at you now," she sneered. "Nothing but a broken doll."
Seraphina Zenith, a princess of Mount Hua and a warrior of high Ascendant-rank, had faced countless trials. But this—this was something else entirely. This was degradation. This was helplessness. This was despair.
Arthur had promised her he would always protect her. Yet now, as she sat in this cold, merciless chamber, she couldn't stop the thought that pierced through the fog of her anguish:
'He isn't coming.'
The tears spilled faster, silent and bitter, as her body trembled. She had been trained to be strong, to endure, to stand tall in the face of adversity. But in this moment, she felt every inch of her humanity—fragile, breakable, and utterly alone.
The head maid laughed, her coarse chuckle grating against Seraphina's ears as she gestured to the younger maids. "You have to admit," she said, her voice dripping with mockery, "there's a reason His Majesty chose her."
One of the younger maids, envy etched across her face, muttered, "She's got that elven beauty. No wonder."
"Not just beauty," the head maid shot back with a smirk, her gaze sweeping over Seraphina with a mix of disdain and amusement. "It takes a certain… quality to even be considered." Her eyes narrowed. "Now then, tell me. Are you a virgin?"
Seraphina stiffened, her jaw tightening as she refused to meet the maid's gaze. Her silence earned her another punishment. The head maid's hand pushed her head underwater again, the cold sting enveloping her, filling her lungs with panic.
When she was finally dragged back up, gasping and coughing, her resolve cracked just enough for her lips to move. "…No."
The head maid's grin widened, venomously triumphant. "Finally answering, huh?" She leaned closer, her voice a mock whisper. "Not a virgin… well, your value just plummeted."
The words hit Seraphina like a slap, but she refused to show the humiliation coursing through her veins. Disgust twisted in her stomach, a coiled viper ready to strike. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as her mind screamed in rebellion.
'You're nothing but filth,' she thought, directing her fury at the head maid. 'You could never understand what it means to be cherished by someone.'
Seraphina knew her worth. She knew she was beautiful—not just because of her half-elven features, which blended her mother's delicate grace with the strength honed through years of training, but because Arthur Nightingale had made her feel beautiful. With him, her beauty was more than skin deep; it was her courage, her loyalty, her strength.
But here, her body was a commodity. A thing to be used, measured, and diminished. And that was unbearable.
Because there was only one person Seraphina would give herself to. Only one person who could look at her with both desire and reverence and make her feel like the most precious thing in the world.
Arthur.
The memory of him burned bright, a flicker of hope she clung to even as despair clawed at her. She was terrified—every fiber of her being rebelled against what was happening—but she knew she couldn't stop it. Not alone. Not here.
"Good," the head maid sneered as she yanked Seraphina to her feet, her grip bruising. "At least now you're learning." The maids moved quickly, pulling garments over Seraphina's damp skin, their hands rough and indifferent.
The clothes they dressed her in weren't meant to protect or dignify. They were meant to expose. A thin nightgown clung to her body, revealing more than it covered. It was designed to highlight her elven beauty, to turn her into a spectacle.
"Careful," the head maid scolded one of the younger maids, who hesitated as she adjusted the fragile fabric. "This gown is worth more than she is."
The maids laughed, a cruel chorus that rang in Seraphina's ears. She stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror they shoved in front of her, barely recognizing the figure staring back. Her silver hair, damp and limp, framed a face painted with basic makeup, just enough to highlight her delicate features. The nightgown felt like a cage, its revealing cut making her skin crawl.
Every moment felt like an eternity. She tried to will herself into numbness, to suppress the trembling in her hands, but the disgust was unrelenting. The thought of another man looking at her like this, treating her as a prize to be claimed, made bile rise in her throat.
Her mind whispered a prayer she didn't know she still believed in: 'Please, Arthur. Come for me.'
But the seconds dragged on, and the palace remained intact, unshaken by the chaos she longed for. No explosions, no shouts of rebellion, no sign of her knight.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, she held onto the faintest glimmer of hope. Even as the head maid adjusted her hair with a smug smile, even as her captors reveled in her vulnerability, she whispered to herself:
'He will come.'
Even if the world around her screamed otherwise.