ISLA
The repairman’s hands moved swiftly as he inspected the cracked beams and rotting wood of our house. I tried to focus on what he was saying—something about the roof needing reinforcement, the foundation barely holding—but my attention kept slipping. My stomach churned with unease, my skin prickling like I was being watched.
And I was.
In the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, she stood.
The king.
Her tall frame dominated the space, her presence impossible to ignore even when she wasn’t speaking. Dressed in a tailored coat and riding boots that seemed made for command, she looked completely out of place in our crumbling, weathered home. Yet, she wore her power as easily as her clothing, her golden eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath hitch.
I tried not to meet her gaze, keeping my attention on the repairman instead. “So, um,” I stammered, twisting my hands together. “How long… how long do you think the repairs will take?”
The man scratched his head, his voice gruff. “Few weeks, maybe more. Roof’s barely hanging on, miss. And the wood rot’s worse than it looks. Gonna cost—”
“Spare no expense,” the king’s voice interrupted, smooth and commanding.
I flinched, startled by the suddenness of her words. Her tone wasn’t raised, yet it filled the room, cutting through everything else.
The repairman bowed his head slightly, murmuring an acknowledgment before continuing his assessment.
I chanced a glance at her then, hoping to gauge her mood, but immediately regretted it. She was watching me, her gaze unapologetically lingering, as though she was appraising something far more interesting than the sagging roof or the splintered floorboards.
Her eyes roamed over my face, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, they dipped lower, trailing down my neck to my shoulders and further. My breath caught in my throat as her gaze lingered—too long, too boldly—on my chest.
I hated how it made me feel. Heat crept up my neck, my hands tugging nervously at the edge of my cloak to hide what I could. I knew my body wasn’t like the pampered, polished women in the capital—my skin was rough and sun-darkened, marked with scars and bruises from a lifetime of toil. Yet, I wasn’t blind. I knew my shape, the curves that sometimes drew attention I didn’t want.
Her attention was unmistakable. It wasn’t fleeting or accidental; it was deliberate, possessive.
I cleared my throat, my voice trembling as I tried to ignore the way my chest tightened under her scrutiny. “I—I think we can manage the repairs,” I said to the repairman, though my words barely registered in my own ears.
The repairman gave a grunt of acknowledgment, but I could feel her eyes still on me. My skin prickled, the weight of her stare making me feel small, exposed, and impossibly fragile.
When I dared another glance, I caught a faint curve at the corner of her lips, a smirk that sent a shiver through me. She wasn’t just looking; she was devouring, like a predator circling prey.
“Enough,” she said suddenly, her voice cutting through my thoughts.
The repairman stopped his work immediately, stepping back and bowing. She moved then, stepping further into the house with a grace that seemed too elegant for this dilapidated space. She loomed closer, her presence consuming the room.
“You’ll leave everything he needs,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “The repairs will be done to my satisfaction.”
I blinked, confused. “Y-your satisfaction?”
Her golden eyes pinned me in place. “I’m taking you with me,” she said simply, as if it were a fact that required no explanation.
The words didn’t register at first. “What?” I managed, my voice weak.
Her gaze hardened slightly, and she stepped closer, her shadow falling over me. “You’ll serve me,” she said. “At the palace.”
My heart dropped to my stomach. “I… I can’t,” I stammered, my hands trembling. “My father—”
“Will have everything he needs,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. She glanced toward the corner of the room where my father sat, silent and sullen. He hadn’t said a word since she arrived, too cowed by her presence to even raise his voice.
“Your debts will be paid,” she continued, turning her sharp gaze back to me. “Your home repaired. He will want for nothing. But you,” she said, her voice dipping lower, “will come with me.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes silenced me. They gleamed with something dark and dangerous, a mixture of cruelty and… hunger.
“I—” My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard, trying again. “I’m not—”
“Speak clearly,” she ordered, taking another step closer. “Or shall I make the choice for you?”
I felt my knees weaken, my body curling in on itself instinctively. She was so tall, so composed, her every movement precise and deliberate. I felt clumsy and insignificant in her shadow, my voice trembling as I forced myself to respond.
“Y-yes, Your Majesty,” I whispered, my head bowed low.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze raking over me one final time. Her smirk returned, faint but unmistakable. “Good,” she said.
Without another word, she turned and strode toward the door, her boots clicking against the worn floorboards. “Gather your things,” she called over her shoulder. “You leave tonight.”
I stood frozen, my breath shallow and my thoughts spinning. My father said nothing, his silence a heavy weight in the room.
For a moment, I considered running, escaping into the forest or hiding in the ruins outside the village. But as her tall figure disappeared through the doorway, I knew it was hopeless.
The king had chosen me, and there was no escaping her grasp.
****
The entire village had gathered, their faces a mix of awe and curiosity as they watched from behind doorways and market stalls. The king’s guards stood at attention, their polished armor gleaming under the dim afternoon light. Her horse, a massive black steed that seemed more shadow than flesh, pawed the ground impatiently.
I tried to ignore the stares, focusing on the cobblestones beneath my aching feet. The pain from earlier, from running after the thieves, was back with a vengeance. Every step sent a sharp sting through my soles, but I didn’t dare falter. I wouldn’t give them more reason to pity me.
“Walk faster,” one of the guards barked, his tone sharp.
I clenched my fists, biting back the sting of humiliation. I was doing my best, but my legs felt like lead, my body weighed down by exhaustion and the oppressive presence of the king behind me.
“Enough,” her voice cut through the air, low and commanding.
The guard immediately fell silent.
The king clicked her tongue, and her horse stepped forward until it was beside me. I felt her eyes on me again, that piercing gaze that seemed to strip me bare.
“Ride,” she said simply.
I blinked, confused, turning my head slightly. “What?”
Her golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her patience visibly thinning. Without waiting for a response, she leaned down, her gloved hand closing around my arm.
“Ride,” she repeated, her voice softer now but no less authoritative.
Before I could protest, she pulled me up with a strength that didn’t seem possible for someone so composed. My feet left the ground, and the next thing I knew, I was seated sideways in front of her on the horse.
She shifted me effortlessly, her hands firm but deliberate as she placed me properly astride the horse. My heart raced as I realized how close we were, my back pressed lightly against her chest, her arm brushing against mine as she took the reins.
The scent of leather and something darker, something uniquely hers, filled my senses. I dared not look back, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead, but I could feel her presence, larger than life and utterly inescapable.
“Sit still,” she murmured, her tone low and edged with something that made my skin prickle.
I stiffened, my hands gripping the front of the saddle tightly. The horse began to move, its powerful stride steady beneath us.
Her arm brushed mine again, deliberate this time, and I felt her lean closer. Her breath, warm and unsettling, ghosted against the nape of my neck.
“You’re trembling,” she whispered, her voice soft but sharp as a blade. “Good. Fear keeps you obedient.”
I swallowed hard, my grip on the saddle tightening as I tried to focus on anything but her.
She chuckled softly, the sound dark and low. “But don’t confuse fear with weakness,” she continued, her lips dangerously close to my skin. “Weakness disgusts me. You… do not.”
My breath caught, my heart pounding so loud I was sure she could hear it.
“Do you understand?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, each word deliberate and laced with warning.
“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice trembling as much as my hands.
Her chuckle came again, this time quieter, almost to herself. “Good girl.”
My cheeks burned at her words, a mixture of humiliation, confusion, and something I didn’t dare name twisting in my chest. I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak again.
We rode in silence, the village fading behind us. The people had stared, but no one dared to follow, their whispers swallowed by the heavy beat of the horse’s hooves.
And as we disappeared into the distance, I realized I wasn’t just leaving the village.
I was being claimed.
****