ISLA
The realization hit me like a slap to the face.
The king knew.
She had known all along that it was me who had snuck into her chambers, dagger in hand, trembling with fury and desperation. She must have been awake that night, watching me stumble through the shadows, foolishly thinking I could end her life.
I sat in the king’s room, the lavish space now suffocating. The soft bed, the polished floors, the intricate tapestries—all of it felt like a cage. The air was heavy with a tension I couldn’t shake, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing.
How could she not know? She had seen me, watched me. And yet, she hadn’t exposed me. Why?
I had tried to distract myself that morning by helping in the kitchens, hoping that manual labor would drown the storm inside me. But the servants refused my help, stepping in front of me with apologetic bows.
“You are not to clean,” one of them said softly, her eyes darting away from mine. “The king’s orders.”
Her words stung more than I expected. Cleaning was what I knew, what I was good at. But here, even that was forbidden.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, my voice small.
“Wait,” the servant replied, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Wait, and serve the king.”
And so I waited.
The hours dragged on, each one heavier than the last. The sun climbed high, then began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the room. My nerves frayed with every passing minute. The king was nowhere to be seen, and the weight of her absence was unbearable.
By the time the afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, I was pacing. My hands wrung together, my thoughts racing. Was this a game to her? A punishment?
The door creaked open, and I froze.
She entered the room with her usual commanding presence, her golden eyes sweeping over me briefly before she turned away.
I bowed low, my hands trembling as they pressed against my thighs. “Your Majesty,” I murmured.
She didn’t respond, only gestured for me to rise.
Her silence was more unnerving than her words ever could be.
I knew the drill. Without being told, I moved to her side, my hands reaching for the buckles and straps of her armor. It was heavy, worn from the day’s duties, and smelled faintly of leather and steel.
I worked quickly, my fingers steady despite the storm inside me. As I removed each piece, I felt her eyes on me, though she didn’t speak. Her gaze was like a weight, pressing against my skin, making it hard to breathe.
When the last piece of armor was gone, she moved to the bed without a word, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She sat on the edge, her back to me, her shoulders taut beneath the fabric of her shirt.
The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.
I stood there, unsure of what to do, my hands clutching the discarded armor. “Is there… anything else, Your Majesty?” I asked hesitantly.
She didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost a whisper. “You’re trembling.”
My breath hitched.
“I…” I started, but the words caught in my throat.
She turned slightly, her profile sharp in the dim light. “Are you afraid of me?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
She chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor.
She leaned back onto the bed, her head resting on her arm as she faced away from me. Her posture seemed relaxed, but I could feel the tension in the air, a current of something unspoken passing between us.
“You’ll stay here,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “In this room. Always.”
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The room fell silent again, but this time it felt different. Heavier.
As I gathered the armor and moved to place it by the door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her silence wasn’t just exhaustion. It was calculated, deliberate. She was giving me space to stew, to drown in my own thoughts.
And it was working.
My mind replayed that night over and over—the dagger in my hand, the fire in my chest, the way her eyes had gleamed in the darkness. She could have ended me then, exposed me for the traitor I was. But she hadn’t.
Why?
I set the armor down carefully and turned back to face her. She was still lying on the bed, her breathing steady but her presence anything but calm.
I stood there, unsure of what to do, the weight of her command settling over me like a shroud.
The truth was inescapable now. She knew.
And I had no choice but to serve her.
Always.
The silence stretched between us like a thick, suffocating rope. I stood there, fidgeting with my hands, my mind racing for anything, anything that would allow me to feel useful.
"Your Majesty," I said, my voice trembling slightly, betraying my nerves, "May I... clean? I know I can help."
She didn’t look at me, her posture relaxed as she reclined on the bed, her golden eyes focused on the wall ahead. But there was an undeniable tension in the air, something that prickled my skin, urging me to speak but making it harder to do so.
"No," she replied flatly, her voice steady but final.
The word echoed in the room, its finality sinking into my chest like a heavy stone.
I swallowed and tried again, desperate. "Can I help in any way?"
The king’s gaze flickered to me, just for a brief moment, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “No.”
I wasn’t used to being rejected so completely. Every instinct in me screamed to find a way to be useful, to have purpose. "But I—"
"No," she repeated, cutting me off with a tone that left no room for discussion.
I bit my lip, thinking quickly. There was one more thing I could ask, a last plea that might allow me to do something, anything to ease the gnawing feeling of uselessness.
"Can I cook?"
"No."
I stood there, uncertain of what to say next. The weight of the king's rejection hung in the air like a thick cloud. My attempts to offer myself in any way, to be of use, had been shot down one by one. Each "no" felt like a stone falling onto my chest, making it harder to breathe.
"Is there... anything I can do?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. My hands twisted together nervously.
The king didn't even glance at me. She lay there, lounging on the bed as if I were nothing more than a passing inconvenience. "No," she said again, the word sharp as a blade.
I took a step forward, trying to gather my thoughts. There had to be something, some way to serve her. Anything.
"What about cooking?" I ventured, my voice softer now. "I can cook. Let me prepare meals for you."
The king's gaze flicked to me, her eyes cold and calculating. For a moment, I wondered if she would refuse me yet again, but this time she didn’t respond right away.
She sat up slowly, the motion elegant and deliberate, and her sharp eyes never left me. A strange sensation rose in my chest as she looked at me—not the usual coldness, but something deeper. More intense.
I held my breath.
Finally, she extended her arm, her hand adorned with a heavy ring—its deep red stone gleaming in the dim light. Her fingers were long, the gold of her ring contrasting starkly against her dark skin. She held the ring out, just in front of me, her fingers poised as if she were offering me something sacred.
"Bow down," she commanded softly, her voice low and commanding. "Kiss my ring."
My heart raced. I had heard of this—a symbol of loyalty, of devotion, of submission. In the king's presence, this was a gesture of allegiance, and though I understood the significance, the thought of bowing before her felt… overwhelming. But I had no choice.
Slowly, I sank to my knees, my body trembling with a mix of fear and anticipation. Her eyes never left me, watching me as if she could see everything in my soul. I placed my hand on the floor, my head bowed, and then—hesitantly—I leaned forward, pressing my lips to the cool, smooth surface of her ring.
The moment my lips touched the gold, something shifted in the air. The tension thickened, and I could feel her presence in every inch of the room.
"Good," the king murmured, her voice a quiet approval that sent a shiver through my spine.
I remained on the floor, my face still lowered, unable to meet her gaze. I couldn’t quite explain what had happened in that brief moment, but I felt… small, yet oddly connected to her in a way I hadn’t before.
Without warning, the king reached down and gently lifted my chin with a single finger, forcing me to look at her.
My breath caught in my throat as I met her eyes, her golden irises gleaming with a sharp, almost predatory gaze. She studied me for a long moment, as if weighing something in her mind, before she spoke again.
"You may cook," she said, her tone quieter now, almost intimate. "But only for me."
My heart skipped a beat. I was allowed to cook for her. It was the first task she had given me that felt like I had a purpose, a reason to exist within her space.
But there was something in her tone that held me still, something soft but heavy with a command I couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t just the words; it was the way she said them, as if she were allowing me a privilege rather than granting a mere task.
I nodded, too afraid to say anything.
"Good," the king said again, her thumb brushing across my lips in a soft, deliberate motion. Her gaze never left me, watching me closely, as though examining my every reaction.
Her touch was gentle, but there was power behind it—an undeniable dominance that I couldn't escape. My lips tingled where her thumb had caressed them, the sensation lingering long after she pulled her hand away.
"I will have you prepare something tonight," she added softly, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Something special, just for me."
I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. This was the closest I had come to gaining her favor. But something about her presence in that moment—the way she looked at me, the way her fingers had grazed my lips—left me feeling exposed, like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t understand yet.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I whispered, still kneeling before her, my body aching from the position.
She studied me for a few more moments, then leaned back against the pillows, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "You may rise now."
I stood, my legs unsteady as I forced myself to stand tall in her presence. She watched me as I moved, her eyes tracking my every motion. There was something in them—something that felt almost… approving, yet unsettling.
As I stood there, waiting for her next command, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.
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