Chapter Four
Aliya stood before the mirror, her back turned, eyes fixed on the mark now etched into her skin. The initials AB burned like a brand—a permanent seal of her new fate. She was his. Prince Arthur Bloodwyn IV's. His possession.
The ceremony had ended hours ago. Tears filled the castle walls as maidens, including her, were torn from their families. This was the last time they'd see them for an entire year. It was unbearable.
"My lady, it's time for your bath," Nora's voice broke her reverie.
Aliya stepped away from the mirror, trying to ignore the weight of the mark on her back. She let them take off the delicate ball gown she had worn, her skin cold in the new reality she was forced into. Nora and Diane helped her into a bath scented with lavender and roses. It was luxurious, but she felt no comfort.
She had never been bathed by anyone, and though the experience was new, it felt hollow. This wasn't a luxury. This was the first step toward her suffering, and no amount of warm water could wash away the dread that clung to her.
She'd heard the stories. The tales of maidens who survived their year with Prince Arthur and still never truly escaped. Lady Lindera had been one of the lucky ones, living to speak of the horrors she had endured before dying under mysterious circumstances. Her death, rumored to have been a result of madness, still haunted the halls of the castle.
Aliya shivered. What if she, too, would never leave? What if the prince broke her spirit the way he had with so many others?
Nora and Diane dried her off, carefully tending to her skin with the softest linens. They applied soothing lotions and perfumes from exotic oils, but Aliya couldn't feel the softness. Her body may have been clean, but her soul was already marked, branded by the prince's cruelty.
Afterward, she was dressed in a pale blue nightgown that flowed effortlessly around her body. Her hair was combed, and she was ready for the inevitable.
"This is not how I wanted my first time to be," she whispered to herself, but her words felt empty. It wasn't about what she wanted anymore.
The servants applied ointment where the mark was placed, ensuring it healed properly. Aliya nodded, thanking them as if she had any right to do so. The pity in their eyes was unmistakable. They knew.
"We know it will be your first time, my lady. Here, take these herbs to ease the pain," they offered. Her heart sank. She didn't need their pity.
As they led her from her room, she caught a glimpse of the other maidens, each one dressed in their nightgowns, their faces reflecting the same fear she felt. Sophia, the other girl who had been chosen by Prince Philip, walked toward her, embracing her briefly. "We'll be fine," Sophia whispered, but the words felt empty, too. They were all trapped in this nightmare together.
When they arrived at Prince Arthur's chambers, Nora and Diane left, wishing her luck. They closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaving Aliya alone in front of the massive, ornate doors.
She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. The intricate carvings on the doors seemed to mock her, a reminder of the cold, heartless tradition that had brought her here.
Taking a shaky breath, she pushed the door open. The sound echoed through the stillness of the room, her footsteps hollow as she entered.
The chamber was dimly lit, shadows creeping along the stone walls. And there he was—Prince Arthur. He stood at the center of the room, exuding an icy indifference that chilled her to the bone.
"Welcome, Aliya," his voice was smooth but devoid of warmth. "Come closer."
Every step she took felt like a betrayal of her own soul, the distance between them closing, but it was no escape.
He was watching her intently, his piercing gaze making her skin crawl.
"Strip," he commanded.
A tremor ran through her, and she froze. She didn't want to obey. She couldn't—yet the tradition demanded it. She had no choice. Slowly, trembling, she began to remove her clothes.
Each layer of fabric fell away, leaving her vulnerable, exposed to his relentless scrutiny. The chill of the air and the weight of his gaze made her feel smaller, weaker. But the real terror lay in the fact that she was doing this because she had to.
"Now stand," he ordered, his voice cold and distant. "For as long as I wish."
Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity. Aliya stood there, naked and vulnerable, her body trembling. There was no escape from this moment, no retreat. She was trapped, and the prince was watching her like a piece of art, meant for his inspection.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. Aliya closed her eyes, her heart aching for the love she would never know, the affection she'd been denied. Would she ever get the chance to be more than a mere object in his eyes?
The minutes passed, but the prince made no move. He simply observed her, his presence overwhelming.
Aliya was nothing more than a pawn in a game she never wanted to play. And yet, she stood there, waiting for his command, unsure of how much more she could bear.
As Aliya stood, frozen in the center of the room, she felt her pulse race at the sound of the door creaking open. It was Prince Adrien, Arthur's half brother.
"Arthur," Adrian's voice sliced through the air, full of mock curiosity. "What's going on here?"
Aliya's breath hitched, but Arthur was quicker, stepping between her and Adrian before the younger prince could even glance her way.
"What are you doing here?" Arthur's voice was low, dangerous, his fury barely contained.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Just checking in. You're still busy? I thought we were all supposed to be—" He glanced over Arthur's shoulder, his gaze landing briefly on Aliya before Arthur pushed him away.
"Stay the hell away from her," Arthur growled, his tone biting with possessiveness.
Adrian didn't flinch, but his smirk faded slightly. "Protective, aren't we?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Fine, I'll leave. But it looks like you're keeping more than just your kingdom's secrets, brother."
Arthur's hands clenched, his anger barely restrained. "Don't ever come near her again, Adrian." His voice was a warning, fierce and final.
Adrian paused at the door, his eyes lingering on Aliya for a moment longer than necessary, before he turned and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.
Arthur remained standing, his posture tense, as the room fell back into silence. Aliya felt the weight of his gaze on her, his anger still thick in the air. She could hardly breathe, trapped between the two brothers, both of whom seemed to hold power over her.
"You're mine," Arthur finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes hard as he stared at her. "No one touches you—understand?"
Aliya nodded, but inside, the questions churned. What had Adrian seen? And why did Arthur defend me like he cared?