Chapter Two — A Room Unlike Any Other
930 Words
The silence lingered long after the doors had closed behind Vaelthar.
Isella stood motionless for a time, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No guards.
No lock sliding into place.
She let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding.
"...Strange."
She had expected a prison.
Instead, she had been given a suite fit for royalty.
Slowly, curiosity replaced caution.
She wandered through the chambers, fingertips trailing over polished ebony furniture carved with intricate scenes of dragons and ancient cities. Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, holding books whose leather bindings had weathered centuries. A writing desk sat beside the great window, stocked with crisp parchment, fresh ink, and quills that looked untouched.
Someone had prepared all of this.
For her.
The adjoining dressing room was equally extravagant. Dresses of midnight blue, emerald green, and deep crimson hung neatly beside practical travelling clothes and soft linen nightwear. None of it was ostentatious; every piece looked chosen with care rather than excess.
"They're my size..."
The thought sent an odd chill through her.
Who had measured her?
Or had Vaelthar simply... known?
She shook the question away before it could linger.
The aroma drifting from the dining table stole her attention.
Fresh bread, roasted vegetables glazed with fragrant herbs, delicate slices of meat she couldn't name, ripe fruit, and a steaming cup of tea waited beneath silver covers.
She eyed the meal suspiciously.
It looked too perfect.
After a moment's hesitation, she broke off a piece of bread and tasted it.
Warm.
Soft.
Real.
The rest disappeared far faster than she intended.
Only after she'd finished did she realise how ravenous she'd been. For years, meals had been something to seize before someone stronger took them away. Tonight, she had eaten until she was full.
It felt... unfamiliar.
Comforting.
A faint sound of running water drew her toward another door she had overlooked.
Beyond it lay a bathing chamber larger than some taverns she'd visited.
Dark stone walls reflected the glow of enchanted crystals set into the ceiling, bathing the room in a gentle sapphire light. Steam curled lazily from a sunken bath already filled with crystal-clear water scented faintly with cedar and jasmine.
Someone had anticipated her every need.
Isella smiled despite herself.
"Well... it would be rude not to."
She slipped out of the clothes she'd worn since the auction, letting them fall into a neat pile beside the bath. For a heartbeat she caught her reflection in a tall mirror—lean from years of hardship, marked here and there by faded scars that told stories she had long stopped telling.
She looked every bit the survivor.
Stepping into the warm water, she closed her eyes as the heat eased muscles she hadn't realised were aching. Days of dust, sweat, and fear melted away beneath the fragrant water.
She lingered there far longer than she intended.
There was no urgency.
No shouting.
No one pounding on the door demanding she hurry.
It was the first bath she could remember taking simply because she wanted to.
By the time she emerged, wrapping herself in one of the impossibly soft towels waiting nearby, her eyelids had grown heavy.
She changed into a simple cream-coloured nightdress laid neatly upon the bed.
Within moments of lying down, sleep claimed her.
The knock came gently.
Three measured taps.
"Lady Isella?"
She stirred beneath the thick blankets, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains.
"...Lady?"
The title sounded so foreign that for a moment she assumed the servant was addressing someone else.
Another polite knock followed.
"My lady, His Majesty requests that breakfast be served at your convenience. He also wishes you to have ample time to prepare before luncheon."
Isella pushed herself upright.
"You... can come in."
The door opened just enough for a young demon servant to enter, keeping her eyes respectfully lowered.
Unlike the nobles at the auction, the servant's appearance was understated. Small charcoal horns curved through silver hair, and a slender tail flicked nervously behind her immaculate uniform.
She bowed deeply.
"Good morning, Lady Isella."
"I'm not a lady."
The servant offered the faintest smile.
"His Majesty disagrees."
Before Isella could respond, two more attendants entered carrying covered trays and several garment boxes.
Breakfast was arranged upon the table with practiced efficiency.
Fresh fruit.
Warm pastries.
Honey.
Cheeses.
Tea.
More food than Isella could have eaten in three days on the streets.
The attendants then opened the garment boxes.
Inside rested an elegant ensemble of deep forest green—a fitted blouse with delicate embroidery along the collar, tailored black trousers, polished leather boots, and a long coat trimmed with silver thread.
Practical.
Beautiful.
Entirely unlike the ornate gowns she'd expected.
"The King selected these personally," the servant explained. "He believed you would prefer attire that allowed freedom of movement."
That surprised Isella more than anything else.
"He... chose them himself?"
"Yes, my lady."
The servant folded her hands.
"His Majesty asks only that you be prepared by noon."
"For lunch?"
The servant nodded.
"He will receive you in the eastern dining hall."
No elaborate ceremony.
No court.
Just lunch.
After another respectful bow, the attendants quietly withdrew, leaving Isella once again alone with more questions than answers.
She looked toward the clothes waiting patiently upon the bed.
The cold ruler who had purchased her like a rare treasure had prepared meals she would enjoy, clothes she would actually wear, and a room within his own private wing.
None of it made sense.
And yet, for reasons she could not explain...
She found herself looking forward to noon.
- Writer
