Valeria couldn't sleep. After the king left, she sat up in bed and swung her legs to the floor. Slowly, she made her way to the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—a pale, gaunt face framed by unkempt hair. A faint bruise marred her cheek, likely from when the king struck her yesterday. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now wrapped in bandages. Even though they were clean, she could still feel Gloria's blood seeping through her skin. The memory clung to her like a curse.
She didn't know what to do. There was no one she could confide in—not after what had happened to Gloria. She was too afraid to let anyone get close, terrified they would meet the same cruel fate. But she swore to herself one thing: she would find a way to rescue Selena, Gloria's daughter, from that despicable old lord. Even if it meant begging the king, she would do it. She owed Gloria that much. The maid had only ever shown her kindness, and she'd paid for it with her life.
The days that followed blurred into one long stretch of isolation. The king locked her in her chambers, cutting her off from everyone. Gloria was gone, and her other maid, Beth, had been dismissed from service. It was as though the king was punishing anyone who had dared to show Valeria a shred of humanity.
Meals were delivered three times a day by a different maid each time, none of whom stayed longer than necessary. Their faces betrayed their fear—terrified, it seemed, that even glancing in her direction might provoke the king's wrath. Valeria had begged one of them for news about Beth, only to learn that she had been sent away. She never found out what happened to Gloria's body.
Two weeks passed in lonely isolation, marked by barely any human contact. She sat by the window most days, staring at the mocking view of the outside world. Freedom was right there, yet impossibly far away. She barely ate, barely lived, consumed by grief for the lives ruined because of her.
She was seated in her usual spot at the window when the door suddenly opened. She didn't bother to turn around, assuming it was another maid. But then a familiar voice cut through the air, and her blood ran cold.
"You will eat dinner with us tonight. Get up."
She didn't know who he meant by "us", but it didn't matter. She didn't move. Every fiber of her being resisted the idea of complying with him, not after what he had done to Gloria. Obeying him now felt like spitting on Gloria's grave. But the king, as always, had no patience for defiance. He stormed over to her, grabbing her arm with a force that left her no choice but to stand.
"I don't want to. Let go of me," she said, her voice cold and distant.
"Stop being a brat and behave," he snapped, dragging her into the corridor. He stopped abruptly, his gaze darkening as he leaned in close. "Was the maid's death not example enough? As long as you listen to me, no one else will get hurt. I don't want to be cruel, Valeria. I love you. I love your fiery attitude, but you need to learn your place."
Rage boiled inside her, threatening to spill over. She wanted to scream, to claw at him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he had caused. Instead, her voice emerged as a cold, venomous hiss.
"Why? I never wanted this marriage… so I will not fucking behave."
The king's lips twitched into an infuriating grin. "I didn't know you could curse, my dear. Always full of surprises." He was mocking her, not taking her seriously at all.
Tears she hadn't realized she was shedding rolled down her cheeks. The king reached out, brushing one away with a gentleness that made her skin crawl. His lips curved upward, as though her tears were a source of amusement.
"Don't cry, my dear. Come now, I have a surprise for you—to make up for killing that maid," he said with a grin that made her stomach turn. Before she could protest, he grabbed her hand and began dragging her down the hall.
She knew better than to hope this "surprise" would be anything good.
The king led her to a grand dining room. Seated around the long table were his other wives. Aisha sat stiffly, her expression as cold and distant as ever. Lydia and Athena whispered to each other, their faces alight with disdain as their gazes flicked to Valeria. Only Lara looked at her with something resembling pity.
It wasn't until she caught sight of herself in a polished silver platter that she realized how she must look. Her nightgown was the same one she'd worn for two weeks, wrinkled and stained. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes red and swollen from crying. The bruise on her cheek had mostly faded, but its ghostly outline was still visible.
"Come, sit," the king said, pulling out the chair beside his own and practically forcing her into it before taking his place at the head of the table. His chair was more a throne than a seat, a testament to his inflated sense of self-importance.
"I have an announcement," he began, his voice commanding as he surveyed the room. "And I thought it only fitting that you all hear it first."
A tense silence settled over the table. Valeria's stomach twisted with dread. Whatever this was, she knew it couldn't end well.
The king smiled, his voice smug as he delivered his proclamation. "I have decided that Valeria will be my queen. The coronation will take place in one month."
The clatter of silverware broke the silence as someone dropped their cutlery in shock. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Athena's shrill voice cut through the air.
"What?!"
Valeria sat frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Queen? She didn't want this—she had never wanted this. How could he think this was a good idea? The other wives, all of whom were far better suited for the role, stared at her with varying degrees of outrage, disbelief, and scorn.
And yet, as she sat there, she couldn't bring herself to care about their opinions. All she could think was that this man—this monster—had lost his mind.