The Royal Affair

Chapter 17

Alexa pulled back, her hand dropping from the handle as if burned. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her: longing, fear, and a fierce determination to maintain control. She couldn't afford to give in to her impulses, not now. Not when she was on the verge of achieving the power Peter had promised.

She turned away from Derek's door, her footsteps echoing softly in the silent corridor, and made her way back to her own chambers. The opulent room, which had seemed so inviting earlier, now felt like a gilded cage, its beauty a stark reminder of her captivity.

She dismissed her handmaidens, needing solitude to gather her thoughts. The silence of the room pressed in on her, amplifying the turmoil within her. She paced restlessly, her mind replaying the events of the evening. The King's possessive gaze, the court's scrutiny, and the undeniable connection she felt with Derek. It was a dangerous mix, a volatile cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

She knew she had to focus, to steel herself for the challenges ahead. Tomorrow was her wedding day, a day that would seal her fate and determine the course of her life. She had to be strong, to project an image of regal composure, to hide the fear and uncertainty that gnawed at her insides.

She began to prepare for bed, her movements deliberate and controlled. She removed her elaborate gown, the shimmering silk pooling at her feet, and donned a simple nightgown of white linen. She extinguished the candles, plunging the room into darkness, the only light filtering in from the moonlit sky.

As she lay in the massive bed, its silk linens soft against her skin, she couldn't shake the image of Derek from her mind. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, his touch, gentle yet firm, haunted her thoughts. She wondered what he was thinking, what he felt. Did he feel the same connection, the same pull that drew her to him? Or was it all in her imagination, a fleeting moment of madness in a world of political intrigue?

She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but her mind refused to quiet. The weight of her impending marriage, the uncertainty of her future, and the undeniable pull she felt towards Derek kept her awake, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and a desperate longing for something she couldn't name. Tomorrow, she would become Queen. But at what cost? And what would become of the feelings that stirred within her, the feelings that threatened to shatter her carefully constructed facade?

Meanwhile, Derek stood in his chambers, the silence of the room a stark contrast to the lingering echoes of music and laughter from the great hall. He paced restlessly, his thoughts a turbulent mix of confusion and longing. The dance with Alexa replayed in his mind, the feel of her hand in his, the warmth of her body close to his, the intoxicating scent that clung to her like an aura.

He tried to dismiss it as a fleeting moment of courtly politeness, a simple dance between a soldier and a princess. But he knew it was more than that. There was a connection, an undeniable spark that had ignited between them, a silent understanding that transcended words.

He found himself drawn to the window, gazing out at the moonlit courtyard. The castle, a silhouette against the night sky, seemed to hold its breath, its ancient stones whispering secrets of love and loss. He wondered if Alexa was also awake, if she, too, was grappling with the emotions that the evening had stirred.

He thought of the King, his possessive gaze, his clumsy advances, the way he had claimed Alexa as his own. A surge of protectiveness rose within him, a fierce desire to shield her from harm. He knew that he was treading on dangerous ground, that his feelings for the future Queen were inappropriate, forbidden. But he couldn't deny the pull, the magnetic force that drew him to her.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration growing with each passing moment. He was a soldier, a man of duty and honor. He had always prided himself on his discipline, his ability to control his emotions. But Alexa challenged him, stirred a passion within him that he had never known.

He knew he had to distance himself, to focus on his duties, to forget the fleeting moment of magic on the dance floor. But the memory of her smile, the warmth of her touch, the scent of bamboo and hibiscus, lingered in his mind, a persistent reminder of what he could never have.

He turned away from the window, his resolve hardening. He would not betray his King. He would not jeopardize his position. He would bury his feelings deep within him and serve his kingdom with unwavering loyalty.

But as he prepared for bed, the image of Alexa's face, her eyes filled with a mixture of strength and vulnerability, refused to fade. He knew that the coming days would be a test of his resolve, a trial by fire that would either forge him stronger or break him completely.

In another part of the castle, King Francis's chambers were filled with a starkly different atmosphere. Gone was the lingering scent of flowers and the hushed whispers of courtly intrigue. In its place was the sounds of moans and groans, the heavy breathing of two bodies intertwined.

The room, lavishly decorated with tapestries and gilded furniture, was now a scene of drunken passion. King Francis, his movements clumsy and aggressive, his eyes glazed with lust and wine, was having s*x with a chambermaid. She was young and terrified, her body tense beneath his demanding touch. He paid little attention to her discomfort, his only focus on his own gratification.

His touch was rough, his kisses sloppy and insistent. He pulled at her hair, his words slurred and possessive. He saw her not as a person, but as an object, a vessel for his desire. The room reeked of wine and sweat, the air thick with a sense of violation.

He was drunk, his judgment clouded by alcohol and lust. The image of Alexa, her ethereal beauty and regal composure, flickered in his mind, fueling his desire. But he couldn't have her yet. Not until tomorrow. And so, he took what he wanted from the chambermaid, his actions a grotesque parody of love and intimacy.

He finished quickly, his breath heavy and ragged. He rolled off the chambermaid, his body heavy and unresponsive. He didn't even bother to look at her, to acknowledge her existence. He simply lay there, his chest heaving, his mind already drifting towards the wedding night, the moment when Alexa would finally be his.

The chambermaid, her body trembling, pulled the covers around herself, her eyes filled with fear and disgust. She wanted to run, to escape this room, this castle, this king. But she knew she couldn't. She was trapped, a servant in a world where power reigned supreme and the desires of kings were law.

The night wore on, the sounds of Francis's drunken slumber filling the room. Outside, the moon cast long shadows across the castle walls, its silent gaze a witness to the darkness that lurked within.