“Tell me about it.”
King Lucien was lost in thoughts—thoughts of the past—when that soft satin word pulled him back to reality. Her voice took him aback.
His hands paused on his scroll, the word he was writing unfinished. King Lucien raised his head and looked at the woman sitting on the bed. He must have been so deep in his thoughts that he completely lost track of reality. He had no idea when she woke or even when she pulled herself up in a sitting position.
“Go back to sleep, Danika.” His hand resumed scribbling. He had to finish writing this message tonight. The messenger will be delivering it to the twelve kingdoms tomorrow.
But instead of doing that, he heard the ruffles of the bedsheet that indicated that she must be getting out of bed. He also knew that she was naked under that bed sheet. He knew because he was the one that put her there. She’d fallen asleep in his arms in the middle of his administration.
He had been massaging the left side of her back with hot water when her body went lax, and her head fell against his chest.
He was almost done with the towel anyway, so he dropped it. And kept holding her. He lost track of time. He had no idea how long had passed while he stared at her sleeping body while the same kind of thoughts kept running through his head.
Now, she came up beside him, wrapping the bed sheet tightly around herself. He stopped writing and folded the scroll methodically.
What was he writing? Danika wondered, but only for a fleeting moment. Something else was more important.
“Tell me about it, my king,” she asked softly.
“There is nothing to tell.” But there was so much to tell. He did not bother asking who she was talking about because he knew.
“No.” She shook her head. “There is so much to tell.” If there weren’t, it would not be weighing him down so much, Danika thought sadly.
Silence.
“You will never understand, Danika,” he said at last. A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“I might not, Your Highness, but I will surely listen. It will ease you. It will clear your mind,” she whispered.
He shook his head. He said nothing.
“I watched you for long minutes. You weren’t writing. You were lost in thoughts. Please, tell me what it is.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. It did not get past her that it was the first time in a long time he flinched away from her touch. She didn’t take her hand back. “Don’t let it eat at you any longer. It will if you keep it all bottled for too much,” she added.
Her voice only met silence.
Time passed.
Her feet began hurting.
Finally, she sighed in defeat. Slowly, she let go of his shoulder and turned towards the bed.
“I have failed someone.” His deep voice stopped her.
“D-Declan, your cousin?” she asked because that was the person he believed he had failed.
But he shook his head. “No.”
She turned and walked back to him. “Who did you fail?”
A deep breath he took. Then deep blue eyes looked up at her. “Aneriaveta.”
The name did not ring a bell.
Danika’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Who is she?”
“That’s her full name. The name she would rather die than bear,” he deadpanned.
“Who?” She was getting more confused.
“Vetta,” he let out softly. “Vetta is short for Aneriaveta.”
That wasn’t a name she expected to hear, but she took it leisurely. All that mattered was for him to take it all off his chest—whatever it was that had burdened him this badly.
“How did you fail the mistress?” Danika asked curiously.
He let out a deep breath and got up from his seat. “I will tell you a story, Danika...”
.
.
Eleven Years Ago.
He was half-dead. Again.
He could almost see himself drifting away, moving right out of this body that had become the embodiment of pain. He could practically see himself floating. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. Whoever said that he wanted to keep living? He'd been beaten. Starved. Mocked. King Cone stood by the corner while they used him as a playing ground. His laughter and snickers of enjoyment alone caused prince Lucien's heart to rage.
His manly parts started a brand new hellfire right there. The burns and the pain coming from that part of him would be the death of him.
But who will save his people while he's gone? Who will protect Declan? Vetta? Baski? Chad? Remeta?
He is so tired. He is just so tired.
"Look who's staggering her way in again," Coza's voice rose in the air. "It's the whore slave, my lord."
"One of his shadows," Cardel, another head trainer said amusingly. "I wonder what she is doing here."
"I don't need to wonder. I know. The same thing she does, always," Kanaris, one of the slave training guards stated, and the monstrous Coza snickered.
"This will be fun. She has nothing to trade this time around. Not after what Coza did to her two nights ago after she interrupted his training session with the prince." Another familiar voice, but in his hurting head, he couldn't make out who had that one.
"The bitch is sweet. I wouldn't lie about that. I've lost count how many times I've fucked her, and yet, I don't get tired of her." Coza. "Sometimes I start an unordered session with the prince because—"
"You know she will come," Cardel chuckled. "Me too."
"My king, what do you want us to do?" Kanaris's voice.
"Let her come. This will be entertaining," King Cone finally said. He sounds amused too.
Unsteady footsteps. Followed by Vetta's voice. "Please, let him go."
The sound of laughter filled the air. "The same words always. Every. Single. Time." That was Coza.
"You have nothing else to give this time around, whore-slave," Cardel sneered. "You're already one huge giant bruise. You can't even walk properly."
"P-please, I'll do a-anything you want; just let him go." She was crying and wincing with each hop on her feet.
Coza, that monster slave trainer guard, had whipped those legs of hers mercilessly two nights ago before he took advantage of her body.
"Go away, whore. At this rate, you'll die in a very horrible way." Kanaris. "Even I draw the lines at a bitch dying beneath me. I ain't fucking no dead body."
King Cone spoke at last. "Why do you care so much about a man that will not give a damn about you if he has his freedom? His freewill? I know a lot of you are protecting each other, but I do not understand how you will go to extremes to keep this man alive. You are nothing to him but a lowborn, a born slave. He is a prince. You will be forgotten. In fact, he will get rid of you immediately after he is able to. You keep saving him and ruining yourself. Every guard in this high dungeon has fucked you up in the most brutal way for a man who does not give a crack that you exist."
"Do not pretend you know him. You know nothing about him!" Vetta stated vehemently, sniffling angrily.
"I know us." Cone corrected smoothly. "I know aristocrats. We do not give a damn about lowborns, and we most definitely will never marry one. So dear child, stop killing yourself over royalty, because he will always see you like trash. In your case, it is worst. You are the worst kind of whore and trash, all because of him. But he will still throw you away anyway."
"My prince w-will always be a better man than you can ever be, King Cone!" she'd stated loathingly.
"For a woman that wants me to grant her a request and a favor. You sure are insulting," Cone snarled. "Maybe I will take everything you're offering—and still kill your prince anyway."
"No!" Vetta's knees hit the ground, and she began crying and pleading. She begged and she begged and she cried.