Chapter 12
1136 Words
“What are you waiting for?”
The hushed whisper at her ear jolted her out of her thoughts. She flinched instinctively, startled by how close Benedetto had come. He inclined his head subtly toward the table.
Swallowing the lump of anxiety in her throat, Azzurra stepped forward, her movements tentative. She lowered herself into a chair two seats away from the King. It felt wrong somehow, like she was trespassing into sacred territory just by sitting at the same table as him. Her fingers twitched in her lap, aching with memory.
Her gaze dropped to the meal in front of her warm, fragrant, and abundant. Enough food for three people. Yet despite the tempting aroma, her appetite struggled to wake.
She stole a glance toward the King. He ate quietly, with composed precision, though his appetite appeared as strong as his son Mattia’s. The thought of Mattia made her jaw tighten. That bastard. She didn’t even want to think about him her fingers throbbed in memory. The pain still lingered, fresh and hot.
Her stomach churned with uncertainty. She hadn’t touched her food yet, and her thoughts were spiraling.
What if this was some kind of trap? What if the King intended to punish her for standing up to Mattia yesterday?
“Not hungry? Or is the food not to your liking?” the King asked, his voice cutting through her haze. She forced her eyes downward, away from his.
Willing her hands to steady, she picked up the fork and knife with her injured hand. Her grip was awkward she had to clutch the knife using only her ring and pinky fingers but she managed to slice a small piece. The effort sent a jolt of pain through her hand, but she powered through and took the first bite. Warm. Perfectly seasoned. Delicious.
Then came the next thought what if it was poisoned? But that seemed unlikely. Why go through the trouble and cost of feeding her only to kill her right after?
“I’ve heard from Benedetto about what transpired yesterday,” the King said, his tone calm but carrying the subtle weight of authority. It wasn’t cold, but there was something in it like a lesson cloaked in warning.
“Would you care to explain?”
She set down her utensils and met his gaze, struggling to maintain composure.
“Maristella was late because of me,” she said, her voice level. “I didn’t want her punished for something I caused.”
“So, your solution was to attack your master?” the King asked, one brow lifting.
She bit her bottom lip, holding back the retort that burned on her tongue. Of course she wanted to hurt all of them but she wasn’t foolish enough to admit that here.
“He broke two of your fingers,” the King remarked, as if he were noting the consequence of defiance.
I’m aware, she thought bitterly but said nothing.
Silence settled over them. She returned to her meal in silence. Who knew when she’d get the chance to eat like this again?
Even after she was full, the plate remained half-loaded. It reminded her just how small her appetite had become.
“Did you encounter Marcello?” the King asked, abruptly snapping her out of thought.
“No,” she whispered.
“He’ll likely avoid you,” the King said offhandedly, “until Mattia finishes what he started.”
The casual cruelty of it made her spine stiffen. Under the table, her hands curled into fists against her thighs.
“Benedetto,” the King said, without missing a beat, “from now on, if Marcello avoids her, she is to stay in his chambers at least twice a week. If he objects, you may use my name to settle the matter.”
Benedetto gave a slight bow in response.
Azzurra’s eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the King. Was he serious? Why was he doing this? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply let them kill her if they wanted to?
Marcello, thankfully, had ignored her so far. But now the King intended to toss her directly into the lion’s den.
“I don’t want to go,” she blurted, her voice low but urgent.
A gasp echoed from the corner where the slaves stood. Her words were a dangerous kind of defiance.
The King slowly turned to her, amusement flickering behind his wise eyes. “You don’t have a choice,” he said evenly, folding his fingers together and resting his grey-bearded chin upon them.
“I see you’re already afraid of Marcello and he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.”
She dropped her gaze. He wasn’t wrong.
There was something about Marcello that unsettled her far more than Mattia ever had. Even in silence, his aura demanded submission. Power radiated off of him in an oppressive wave that made her skin prickle.
“Don’t worry,” the King said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “He’s not as volatile as Mattia. But I’d advise you not to test his patience.”
So helpful, she thought dryly, biting her tongue.
“Benedetto, escort the girl to Marcello’s chambers after she finishes her meal,” the King instructed before rising and walking out.
And just like that, she was left shivering in her seat.
This was bad. Very bad.
Mattia had broken her fingers. What would Marcello do? Snap her neck and be done with her?
As Benedetto trailed after the King, Azzurra heard the soft clink of dishes and the whispering of the maids gathering plates.
“Prince Marcello won’t tolerate her presence,” one whispered. “He hates humans so much he won’t even let us clean his chambers.”
“I don’t think she’ll come out of that room alive,” the other murmured.
Azzurra stood abruptly, her heart hammering. Did they not realize she could hear them?
The fear that had been coiled in her chest now surged higher, but then something flickered in her mind.
“Hey,” she called out. The girls froze and turned to her, faces pale.
“Do you know what happened to Maristella? Is she alright?” she asked, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.
They exchanged a fearful look.
“We... we haven’t seen her since yesterday’s incident” one began, then cut herself off, bowing her head quickly and pretending to focus on the plates.
Azzurra barely had time to process that when she heard footsteps.
She turned and there was Benedetto, approaching with something in his hand.
A collar.
Her throat went dry at the sight of it, dread crawling across her skin like ice.
That single object served as a cruel reminder.
Of what she was in this world.
A possession. A pet.
- Writer
