Chapter 21 • Enslaved -4
1123 Words
Queen Petra stood at the front of her bedroom door, feeling anxious. She looked down at the trolley with the tray of the king's breakfast the servants had prepared before gazing back at the door. She took in a deep breath.
Petra then stepped forward to slowly push the door open and walk in. She immediately spotted her husband still in bed as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.
Amos yawned.
She gently cleared her throat, gaining his attention as she padded forward. "Good morning, my king," she smiled, halting at the foot of the bed.
King Amos gave her an obviously surprised look, possibly because of her demeanor and words. "P– Petra?"
Petra smiled, gently picking up the tray of food and walked to his side.
"Yes?" She sat next to him, placing the food between them. He scrunched his brows, "Hm, I never thought I'd ever have breakfast in bed again."
Petra chuckled, "Of course you would, my king," her expression then fell. "I understand that my behavior had changed greatly in these past few days, but... I understand what you mean now and I realize how mannerless it was of me to disrespect and argue with your decision," she brushed a strand of hair from her face, behind her ear.
King Amos cooed, relaxing his shoulders. He stretched his hand to her face, rubbing his thumb softly on her chin.
"It is okay, Petra. I understand. Amber's death did hit all of us like a shock. You had every right to feel like that. You were just being a concerned mother... But, I am glad you understand why I did what I did."
Petra's eyes then watered, letting out a sob, "A- Although, I still wish she was with us..."
Amos sighed, pulling himself closer to hug her, "I understand. But I need you to always remember she is in a better place now. Even if we miss her dearly," he pulled away to hold the side of her face.
She bit her lips in sadness, nodding to his words. Using his thumb, he wiped the few drops of tears that escaped her eyes, then kissed her forehead.
Petra smiled, taking in a deep breath. She then placed her hand on the tray, "Okay, my king," she sniffed softly with a smile.
"You have to eat now before your food gets cold," she uncovered one of the plates, having his favorite vegetable soup.
He smiled.
Queen Petra then picked up the bowl, dipping a spoon into it. "If I may, my king, I'd like to feed you... It has been a while," she said coyly.
The king smiled at her reaction, "Of course, my love."
The queen quirked her brows—she couldn't remember the last time he called her that. Her heart began to beat fast in contemplation.
The king shifted forward, closing the space between them. He pushed his head forward, giving her access to feed him.
With a shy smile, the queen raised a spoon, offering it to his lips. With a warm, genuine smile, the king took every spoon happily.
~
While in Thembelo...
Athalia painfully followed after the inconsiderate prince, wincing in pain with every step. She leaped through the long corridor after the stairs, halting at the door the prince had just walked through.
Her brows quirked.
The room behind the door was spacious, reminiscent of a grand ballroom. It featured a massive bed at its center, adorned with a set of cushions near the fireplace on the left, and a floor-to-ceiling window on the right. The walls wore a golden lined wallpaper, with the center floor shrouded with black soft fur-like carpet that matched the color of the dark bedsheets.
Prince Lucien stood by the left, where a large dressing mirror hung on the wall. He slowly pulled off his coat, hanging it on the coat hanger.
He then pulled out his sword, placing it on two golden hooks attached to the wall.
He thrusted his fingers through his hair, roughly gathering his strands to tie into a ponytail.
Standing just in a black shirt and pants, he pulled off his boots and placed them at the side.
He then turned to face her. "Are you going to sleep outside by the door or will you step in?"
Athalia froze, feeling highly reluctant to step into a man's bedroom. She gulped.
"Do not make me repeat myself, Piulela," he narrowed his eyes.
Athalia cast her eyes to the floor, clutching her fist as she timidly walked inside. She cringed with each step. Lucien turned away to unbuttoned the first three of his shirt to expose the muscles of his lower neck and upper chest.
Athalia stilled at the center, not too far from him. He then pointed to the bed, "Sit."
Athalia felt her heart skip a beat.
Sit? In his room!? On his bed?
She gulped. Why would he want her to sit on his bed? What did he want to do to her? Was this what she pledged to? Being his s*x slave? Oh no!
Her mind was far from wondering.
Flickering her eyes between the bed and the man, she immediately caught sight of the scowl on Lucien's face.
Athalia took in a deep breath then heavily moved herself to the large oxblood bed. She gently lowered herself to sit on the sheets.
Scrunching her face to the ache of her injured ankle, alongside the discomfort of sitting on such an expensive sheet with her dirty dress, Athalia bit her lips.
After balancing herself, she left her eyes on the floor, beneath Lucien's feet as she held her hands together. Lucien stood still for a few moments, watching at her.
She then saw his feet move—he padded closer. "Move backward." He ordered.
Athalia hesitated for a moment, before placing her hands by the sides and pushing herself backward on the bed.
"Again."
She obeyed.
"Again."
She bit her lips harder. She continued until her feet lift the floor to now hang off the edge of the bed. She blushed profusely in embarrassment at the thought of her dirty cracked soles now displayed to a prince's eyes.
Lucien—with a plain look—squatted in front of her to stare at her feet. Athalia shut her eyes with lowered head.
The Prince continued to examine the soles of her feet. Without hesitation, he gripped her foot below her ankle—then with the other hand above her ankle.
Snap!
He snapped her foot.
"AHHHH!" Athalia screamed, instinctively slapping her hand across Lucien's face.
She froze in shock at the realization of what she had just done. Her eyes widened as she met his cold, gray gaze. He snarled.
- Writer
