ISLA
“Please,” I begged, clutching the rough fabric of my tunic to my chest. “I can bathe myself. I swear, I know how.”
The servants barely acknowledged my protests, their hands efficient and unyielding as they tugged at the ties and seams of my clothing. My heart pounded wildly, each piece they removed stripping away more than just fabric. It stripped away the fragile shield I’d clung to for so long.
“Stop—please, stop!” My voice cracked, panic surging as I struggled against their firm grips. “I don’t need help! I—”
“Woman.”
The king’s voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the air like a blade.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
She was there, of course. Reclining in a tall, carved chair near the hearth, her posture lazy but her golden eyes anything but. They gleamed with that same relentless intensity, tracking every move, every exposed inch of my skin.
“Let them do their work,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for defiance.
I turned toward her, clutching what little of my tunic remained, my eyes wide with desperation. “Please, Your Majesty,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I—”
Her gaze flicked to me, and I saw it: the faint curl of her lips, the amusement lurking behind her cruelty. She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but utterly suffocating.
“Obey,” she said softly, her voice deceptively gentle. “Or would you rather I strip you myself?”
The room fell silent. The servants paused, their hands still, awaiting my response.
My hands trembled as I released the torn fabric, my arms falling limply to my sides. The humiliation was overwhelming, my cheeks burning as I allowed them to finish their task. They peeled away the last layers of my clothing, exposing my body entirely.
The cool air of the bathing chamber swept over me, making me shiver. I felt their eyes—no, her eyes—on me, and the weight of that gaze was unbearable.
I didn’t have to look to know where her attention was. I felt it, like a physical touch, raking over every inch of my exposed skin. Over the scars on my arms, the bruises on my thighs, and the places I tried to hide even from myself.
Her gaze lingered, hot and unrelenting, as if she was memorizing me. Devouring me.
I wanted to cover myself, to disappear beneath the stone floor, but I didn’t dare move. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the tiled floor, my fists clenched at my sides.
“Good,” she said finally, the single word heavy with meaning.
The servants guided me toward the bath, a large, sunken basin filled with steaming water. The scent of herbs—lavender, rosemary, and something sharper—wafted up from the surface, the steam curling in lazy tendrils.
I stepped in hesitantly, the warmth of the water almost too much against my chilled skin. It soothed my aching muscles, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside me.
The servants began their work immediately, their hands gentle but impersonal as they scrubbed my skin with soft cloths and fragrant soaps. I tried to focus on the sensation of the water, the way it lapped at my body, but my attention kept straying to her.
She hadn’t moved. She still sat in that chair, her chin resting on her hand, her gaze as sharp as ever.
She wasn’t just watching. She was studying.
Every time the servants’ hands passed over my body—washing my arms, my legs, my stomach—I felt her attention shift. Her eyes followed their movements, lingering on places that made my skin crawl and my heart race.
When one of the servants gently cupped water in their hands and poured it over my shoulders, I shivered, the droplets trailing down my chest. Her gaze followed, lingering there, unashamed and unrelenting.
I bit my lip, my fists tightening beneath the water. My scars, my bruises, my body—these were things I’d learned to live with, to hide. But under her gaze, they felt like weaknesses, vulnerabilities laid bare.
The servants worked quickly, washing and rinsing my hair, scrubbing the dirt from my feet, their hands moving efficiently. I wanted to tell them to hurry, to finish and let me cover myself again, but I couldn’t speak.
The king shifted in her chair, the faint creak of leather drawing my attention.
“Look at me,” she commanded softly.
My heart stuttered, my eyes darting up to meet hers despite my fear.
Her golden eyes held mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The firelight flickered across her face, casting shadows that made her look even more dangerous. Her expression was calm, but there was something beneath the surface, something dark and insatiable.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, her voice low, almost a purr.
I froze, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
She leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving mine. “And fragile,” she continued, her lips curling into a faint smile. “Like a bird with broken wings. But even broken things can be useful.”
Her words sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts fear and something I couldn’t name.
The servants finished their work, stepping back and bowing slightly. I remained in the water, my arms wrapping around my knees, trying to shield myself from her gaze.
But it didn’t matter.
The king rose from her chair, her tall frame moving with a predatory grace as she approached the edge of the bath. She looked down at me, her golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
“You’ll do,” she said simply, her voice soft but firm.
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and I felt their weight settle over me. I didn’t know what she meant, what she intended, but I knew one thing: there was no escaping her.
Not now. Not ever.
*****
The evening was still and heavy, the kind of silence that pressed against the ears and made the faintest rustle seem loud. My feet were now wrapped in soft bandages, the deep cuts soothed by a strange salve the servants had used. For the first time in years, I wasn’t barefoot. I wore thin, delicate slippers that felt too fine for someone like me. My clothes were clean and soft, made of fabrics far beyond anything I’d ever worn, and my hair had been brushed until it fell in smooth waves around my shoulders.
I didn’t feel like myself.
And as I stood in the corner of the king’s chambers, bowing low as she entered, the feeling of being out of place only deepened.
The door creaked softly as it closed behind her. She looked different now, her usual armor of control fraying slightly at the edges. There were faint shadows under her golden eyes, her expression tight with exhaustion. She wasn’t just tall—she was imposing, her presence filling the room as if it belonged to her entirely.
Which, of course, it did.
I kept my head low, my heart pounding as I waited for her to speak.
“Bathe me.”
The words were simple, spoken without ceremony, but they struck me like a physical blow.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty,” I stammered, the words barely audible.
She didn’t respond, only gestured for me to follow as she made her way to the adjoining bath chamber.
The room was warm and dimly lit, steam curling from the large sunken bath in the center. The scent of herbs and oils lingered in the air, a mix of lavender and something darker, more intoxicating.
“Strip me,” she commanded, her tone as casual as if she were asking for a cup of water.
I froze, my hands clenching at my sides.
When I hesitated, her sharp gaze cut through me like a blade. “Now.”
My fingers trembled as I stepped closer, her towering presence making me feel impossibly small. Her armor gleamed faintly in the low light, and as I began unfastening the intricate straps and buckles, I realized how much detail went into her protection. Piece by piece, I removed it, setting each piece carefully aside.
The closer I got to her, the more I noticed. The faint scent of leather and steel clung to her, but beneath it was something warmer, something uniquely hers. Her patience, though strained, remained intact as I worked, though I felt her eyes on me the entire time.
When the last piece of armor was gone, revealing a loose linen shirt and dark trousers, I hesitated again.
Her lips curved slightly, not quite a smile but something close. “Keep going,” she said, her voice softer now but no less commanding.
I nodded, too afraid to refuse. My fingers moved to the ties of her shirt, unfastening them slowly. When the fabric slipped from her shoulders, I caught my breath.
Her skin was smooth, golden in the low light, with scars crisscrossing her arms and torso. Each one told a story—of battles fought, of victories won. She was both terrifying and beautiful, a contradiction that left me speechless.
When she was finally bare, I tried to avert my gaze, focusing instead on the bath as I gestured awkwardly for her to step in.
She did so with the grace of someone who commanded everything around her, the water rippling softly as she sank into it.
“Join me,” she said suddenly.
I looked at her, startled. “What?”
Her gaze fixed on me, unreadable. “Bathe me.”
I swallowed hard, nodding as I grabbed the cloth and soap from the nearby table. My hands trembled as I knelt by the bath, dipping the cloth into the warm water before wringing it out.
I started with her arms, avoiding her eyes as I worked. Her skin was softer than I’d expected, though the roughness of her scars told of a life far removed from mine.
“Harder,” she said, her voice low.
I adjusted my grip, pressing the cloth firmly against her skin as I moved over her shoulders and down her back. She didn’t move, her posture relaxed but her eyes following my every move.
When I reached her chest, I hesitated, my face burning.
“Don’t stop,” she said, her tone as calm as if we were discussing the weather.
I bit my lip, forcing myself to continue. My hands trembled as I cleaned her, trying to keep my touch impersonal, professional. But it was impossible not to notice the curve of her body, the strength beneath her skin.
Her eyes bored into me, unblinking, as if she was daring me to falter.
When I finished, I moved to her legs, scrubbing gently as I avoided looking up. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft splash of water.
“You’re good at this,” she said suddenly, her voice laced with something I couldn’t place.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing, focusing instead on my task.
When I reached her feet, she shifted slightly, the movement sending ripples through the water. “Look at me,” she commanded softly.
I froze, my hands hovering just above her ankles.
“Look at me,” she repeated, her tone more insistent.
I raised my eyes slowly, meeting her golden gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but her intensity made my heart race.
“You’re afraid of me,” she said, almost to herself.
I nodded, unable to deny it.
Her lips curved again, that almost-smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “Good,” she said softly. “You should be.”
The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.
“Finish,” she said finally, leaning back against the edge of the bath.
I obeyed, my hands moving quickly now, desperate to be done. But as I worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being tested, that every move I made was being measured and weighed.
When I finally stepped back, the cloth clutched tightly in my hands, she rose from the bath, water streaming from her body. She reached for a towel, her movements slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving mine.
“You’ll do,” she said again, the same words she’d spoken earlier. But this time, they felt heavier, their meaning sinking deep into my chest.
And as I watched her leave the room, the towel draped loosely over her shoulders, I realized something that made my knees weak.
I wasn’t afraid of her because she was cruel.
I was afraid of her because she saw me.
****