The silence of the Duke's estate was more suffocating than the raucous noise of the execution grounds. The moment the heavy doors closed behind me, the weight of my new reality sank in. I had been spared, yes, but the price of that mercy was yet to reveal itself.
The air in the Duke's chambers felt different—colder somehow, though I wasn't sure if it was the chill of the room or the icy dread settling in my bones. My wrists were still raw from the iron shackles, and though I had been unchained upon entering his estate, the bruises and marks were a constant reminder that I was far from free. Yet, oddly enough, as I stood alone in the chamber, I began to feel something I had not felt in a long time: a flicker of relief.
I glanced around the chamber. The lavishness of it all was suffocating—rich velvet curtains, dark mahogany furniture, and a large bed draped in silks. It was everything my life had never been. And yet, it felt like a prison more than anything else. But was it worse than the cramped quarters I had shared with the other slaves at the palace? The endless days of back-breaking labor, the whips that cracked through the air with a sickening finality, and the uncertainty of my fate? Here, at least, I was safe—for the moment.
The Duke had left me here, alone, without a word. His men had pushed me into this room with instructions to wait. For what, I didn't know. My heart still raced from the whirlwind of events—one moment, I had been staring at the blade that would end my life, and the next, I had been taken away, sentenced to serve this man who seemed to take pleasure in prolonging my suffering.
I thought back to the execution grounds, to the roaring crowd, the sound of the axe being lifted. The terror of that moment still clung to me, as if I were caught in a nightmare I couldn't wake from. The Duke's voice had cut through the noise like a knife, stopping the execution with a cold command that left no room for defiance. He had claimed me as his, though I couldn't fathom why.
Was this mercy? Or something worse?
There was a knock at the door—a soft, almost polite tap that contrasted with the brutality I'd come to expect from the world around me. The door creaked open, and a servant entered, a woman with tired eyes and a tray of food. She set it on the small table by the window without meeting my gaze.
"You'll eat," she muttered, her voice low, almost robotic. "You'll need your strength for… whatever he decides."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Her words struck me with an eerie sense of foreboding. I waited until she left before inching toward the table. The smell of the warm stew was almost too much to resist, but I hesitated, wondering if there was some cruel trick at play. Was this a test? A false kindness? But the rumbling in my stomach won the battle.
I sat down and ate quietly, each bite feeling heavier than the last. What strength did I need? And for what? My mind raced, trying to piece together the Duke's intentions.
As I chewed, I glanced out the window. The Duke's estate stretched far beyond what I could see, with manicured gardens and thick forests framing the horizon. It was a stark contrast to the cramped quarters I had shared with the other slaves at the palace. But no matter how grand the surroundings, I was still a prisoner.
Yet, in this room, I felt a strange sense of sanctuary. The chaos of the palace—the yelling of the guards, the crack of the whip, the fear that hovered in the air—seemed far away. Here, the worst I faced was the uncertainty of what the Duke might want from me. That uncertainty felt less daunting than the brutal reality of my previous existence. I was wary, yes, but also strangely relieved.
My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening again. This time, it was him.
The Duke stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an almost palpable intensity. He hadn't changed out of the formal attire he wore at the execution, though the shadows now clung to him in a way that made him seem darker, more dangerous. His eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—settled on me, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"Stand," he ordered, his voice low and unyielding.
I rose slowly, my legs trembling beneath me. He crossed the room with a measured grace, his boots tapping against the stone floor. He stopped a few feet in front of me, his gaze never wavering.
"Tell me," he began, his tone deceptively calm, "do you understand why you are here?"
I shook my head, unable to find my voice. My throat felt dry, as though the words had been swallowed up by the oppressive atmosphere of the room.
The Duke's eyes flickered with amusement, though it never reached the rest of his face. He took a step closer, his gloved hand reaching out to tilt my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. The touch was light but commanding, as though he could break me with a thought.
"You are here because I have decided to keep you alive," he said, his voice like silk over steel. "And that, Anastasia, is both a gift and a curse."
His use of my name startled me, though it shouldn't have. He was a man of power—of course he knew who I was, even if I was just a slave. But hearing it from his lips felt like something more, something far more dangerous.
"Do you believe that you deserved to die?" he asked, his hand still holding my chin in place.
I blinked, trying to comprehend the question. Did I deserve to die? For something I hadn't done? My mind raced, the memories of that day—the hooded stranger, the accusation, the execution grounds—swirling like a storm. I had been sentenced to death for a crime I had no part in, but whether I deserved it? I didn't know how to answer.
"I don't know," I whispered, the words barely audible.
The Duke's eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought I had said the wrong thing. He released my chin, stepping back, his expression unreadable.
"You are caught in something much larger than you realize," he said, turning his back to me. "The court, the crown, the nobles—they all play their games. And you, Anastasia, have become a pawn."
His words sent a chill through me. A pawn? I had no power, no influence. How could I be part of their games?
"You were seen with the hooded man," he continued, his voice now cold and detached. "That alone made you a threat."
I felt my stomach twist. The hooded stranger. The man I had encountered only briefly. How could such a fleeting interaction have led to this?
"But you spared me," I said, the confusion spilling out. "Why?"
The Duke was silent for a long moment, his back still turned to me. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, but no less dangerous.
"Because death would be too easy for you."
My breath caught in my throat. Too easy? What could be worse than death?
He turned back to face me, his expression unreadable once more. "You will serve me now. As my personal slave. That is the price for your life."
I felt the weight of his words settle on me like a boulder. His personal slave. The implications of that statement were clear, but there was something in his tone that hinted at more than just physical labor. There was a darkness to his gaze, something cold and calculating that made my skin crawl.
Yet even amid my fear, I felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being away from the palace. The thought of escaping the daily brutality, the constant fear of punishment, filled me with an unexpected sense of hope. I had no idea what the Duke would want from me, but it had to be better than the life I had left behind.
I opened my mouth to protest, to plead, but no words came. What could I say? I had no choice. I had no power. And the fear of what might happen if I resisted kept me silent.
"You will learn obedience," the Duke said, stepping closer again. "You will learn your place. And in time, you may even find your purpose here."
I felt a tear slip down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away, refusing to let him see my fear. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not ever.
"Get some rest," he said, his voice suddenly softer, as though he had tired of the conversation. "You'll need your strength."
And with that, he turned and left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. I stood there for a long time, staring at the closed door, my mind spinning with everything that had just happened. My new reality was beginning to take shape, and it terrified me.
I wasn't dead. But in many ways, I felt like I had been condemned all over again.