I sank to my knees before the throne, my head bowed in submission. The cold marble floor seemed to seep into my very marrow, chilling me to the core. I didn't dare to look up, fear clawed at my chest, constricting my breath with each passing second. My lips trembled beneath my teeth as I bit back a whimper.
The Lycan king's footsteps echoing through the hall like death call. The air thickened with his dominant energy, weighing upon me like a physical presence. His gaze settled on me, and I felt the weight of his piercing gaze. My body trembled, betraying my desperate attempt to appear strong.
He lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"I hope you don't disappoint me," he said, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down my spine. His lips curled into a sly smirk.
But then, his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the bruises and scrapes covering my skin. A frown creased his brow, and for a moment, I saw a hint of concern – a fleeting softness that left me questioning his true intentions.
"Seems like they didn't treat my new toy very nicely," he muttered, his tone darkening. "Should I teach them a lesson?" It wasn't a question; the words hung in the air, a veiled threat.
I sensed protectiveness in his tone, but it only added to my confusion. Why would the Lycan king care about my well-being? What did he plan to do with me?
His gaze dropped to my wrist, where the bondage chafed against my skin. He reached out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist to examine it. I felt a jolt of panic and yanked my hand away. My heart pounded against my chest as I struggled to breathe.
The king's eyes flashed with curiosity. "Why hide it?" he asked, his voice low.
I couldn't meet his gaze. Shame burned in my cheeks; I didn't want him to see the wound or know about it.
He stared at me for what felt like eternity before breaking the silence with a question. "What's your name?" He asked, a smile stretching across his lips.
I hesitated, unsure on how much information to reveal. "Layla," I whispered.
His eyes gleamed. "Layla, you're mine now. And I protect what's mine."
His words sent cold chills down my spine. Was I his prisoner or his possession?
The Lycan king's gaze lingered on me, as if assessing his new possession. "Sabastine," he called out.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" Sabastine replied.
"Take Layla to the east wing and prepare the room next to mine." The Lycan king's voice was firm and commanding.
Sabastine bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
The Lycan king's attention returned to me. "You'll find everything you need in your quarters."
I nodded, not sure on what to expect.
Sabastine gestured for me to follow him. I rose, my legs trembling slightly.
As we walked, the oppressive silence between us made me uneasy. I felt Sabastine's eyes boring into my back.
We reached a lavish room, furnished with velvet curtains and intricately carved furniture. A large, four-poster bed dominated the room.
"Your quarters, Miss Layla," Sabastine announced, his voice formal.
I entered, feeling a mix of relief and unease.
"Should you require anything, simply ring the bell," Sabastine instructed, gesturing to a nearby cord.
With that, he left, leaving me alone.
I approached the bed, running my fingers over the soft linens. This wasn't my home, and I was far from free. But for now, I had to play along with whatever twisted game the Lycan king had planned, while waiting for the perfect moment to escape.
A soft knock on the door broke the silence. "Enter," I called out.
A gentle-faced maid, with a warm smile, entered the room. "Miss Layla, I've brought the salve for your wound."
She approached me, a small, delicate bowl in her hands, filled with a fragrant ointment.
An intense silence hung in the air as I stared at it, my gaze filled with suspicion.
"It's for your wound," she repeated nervously.
"I can apply it myself," I said, reaching for the bowl.
The maid's hands hesitated, then firmly grasped mine. "No, miss. Please, allow me. The king's orders."
My brow furrowed as I pressed my lips together .
"Besides," she added, "you shouldn't strain yourself. You're exhausted."
I let out a deep exhale. Be calm Layla if you want to improve your chances of escape, It would be best not to seem rebellious. You get it?! You will need to keep a low profile and avoid arousing suspicion.
I let a smile slip through my lips. "Very well," I relented.
The maid's skilled fingers gently cleaned and applied the ointment to my wound. Her touch was surprisingly soothing.
"Thank you," I said.
"Not at all, miss," she replied. "Now, would you like to bathe? The water's ready."
I nodded eagerly, desperate to wash away the dirt and painful memories of the past few days. A warm bath seemed like the perfect balm, and I hoped it would help me forget, if only for a little while.
"I'll help you, miss," the maid insisted, already guiding me toward the bathroom.
"I can manage," I protested.
The maid's expression turned firm. "The king's orders, miss. You're to have assistance."
I couldn't help but suspect there was a motive behind how persistence she was being. Was this kindness or surveillance?
"Fine," I conceded.
As the maid helped me into the warm bathwater, a sense of relief washed over me. Her gentle hands massaged my hair, and for a moment, I let myself relax.
"What's your name?" I asked, breaking the silence.
"I'm Elara, miss," she replied, her smile warm and gentle.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Elara, what does the king want from me?"
He seemed to be unaware that I was supposed to be his bride, leaving a crucial question unanswered: why had he bid for me?
I can't help but wonder if my presence here was mere coincidence or part of a larger scheme.
"Elara?" I called out, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, Elara's lips parted, then closed, as if reconsidering her words.
Please… say something.