Chapter 8

SABINA

Bancroft’s smile was a sight to behold, making me wonder who would be lucky enough to be his queen. He was as handsome as Aboloft, if not more so.

“Sorry for my tardiness, Aboloft. I had some matters to handle,” Bancroft said.

Their easy banter suggested a familiarity that made me curious. Were they friends? Or was there more to their relationship?

I hadn’t met Bancroft before, which meant he and Aboloft must have become friends after I asked Aboloft to leave me.

“Now that you’re here, you must join us for dinner,” Aboloft said.

“I’d be delighted.” Bancroft’s eyes found mine and he gave me a soft smile. “Is this the one?”

I looked away, blushing, and bit my lip. I was just a slave, and I had no business making eye contact with a king. How could I forget my place so quickly?

Just because Aboloft spoke to me didn’t mean I should forget my status.

“Yes,” Aboloft confirmed, making me tense up.

I didn’t know if he was looking at me as he said this because I was too busy staring at my bandaged hands. But that single word filled me with dread about what Bancroft might say next.

“You mentioned she had red hair,” Bancroft noted.

“She dyed it,” Aboloft responded, his tone bitter. I regretted changing my hair color, but I had no choice. My natural color made me stand out, and that made me a target.

“Not a decision you’re happy with, I gather?” Bancroft asked, a smile playing on his lips.

If I hadn’t been Aboloft’s slave, I would’ve spoken up. They were discussing me as if I wasn’t in the room, or as if I couldn’t hear them. It was infuriating.

~No way~ I thought to myself.

“There are a few decisions she’s made that I’m not happy with,” Aboloft admitted, stoking the fire of my anger.

What was his problem? He had no place in my life anymore, so he had no right to judge my decisions. This was my life, not his.

Bancroft moved closer until he was standing next to my bed. My heart pounded as I realized how close he was.

My hand was almost touching him, and I quickly pulled it back. I was a slave, I had no right to touch a king. It was a miracle he was even in the same room as me.

But when he gently brushed a finger against my cheek, I found it hard to breathe. Why was he touching me? Why was the King of Sodora touching a slave?

Did he not know I was Aboloft’s slave? Did he not realize I wasn’t worth his touch?

“Sabina. Look at me,” Bancroft said softly.

Without thinking, I met his gaze, and the kindness in his green eyes brought tears to mine. He gave me a soft smile, and I couldn’t hold back a sob.

I was taken aback by the kindness in his eyes. It had been so long since anyone other than Beth had looked at me that way. I was a slave, and yet King Bancroft was looking at me with kindness.

Bancroft sat on the edge of my bed, surprising me again. First, he touched me, and now he was sitting on my bed. He must not have known I was Aboloft’s slave.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching. It sounded like a group of people hurrying somewhere.

The footsteps stopped outside the infirmary door. Even though I was still looking at Bancroft in confusion, I could hear what was happening around me.

“My lord. We’ve brought fruits and drinks,” a maid announced.

What was wrong with these kings? Didn’t they care about their status?

Didn’t they worry about what people would say if they saw them sitting with a slave? Didn’t they care about their position and the expectations that came with it?

“Place them on the table,” Aboloft instructed.

Table? I hadn’t seen a table here. There were only small tables next to the nightstands, but they weren’t big enough for fruits and drinks. Where were the maids supposed to put the refreshments?

I heard the clinking of bowls and glasses. I tried to see where the maids were placing the fruits and drinks, but Bancroft’s body blocked my view.

He was sitting in such a way that I couldn’t see past him.

“Is there anything else you need, my lord?” the same maid asked.

“Leave us. Don’t return until you’re called,” Aboloft said, his voice sharp.

I heard the maids’ footsteps receding. But even as they left, I wondered if they disapproved of their king being in the infirmary with a slave.

Would they gossip about their king and his slave over tea in the evening?

And worse, would they spread rumors throughout Quopia about their king neglecting his duties to spend time with his slave?

“Aboloft, haven’t you been feeding her? She looks thin,” Bancroft observed, his smile still warm and kind. It would’ve made me uncomfortable if it hadn’t been so genuine.

“I wanted her weak, so no,” Aboloft admitted.

His confession made me bite my lip. I couldn’t believe Aboloft had just admitted to deliberately starving me to make me weak. What else was he going to confess to his friend?

“Sit up, Sabina,” Bancroft said, not waiting for my response. He adjusted the pillow against the metal headboard and gently helped me sit up.

“Why did you want her to be weak?” Bancroft asked, turning to Aboloft.

I risked a glance at Aboloft and found him looking at me. “Because she made me weak when she asked me to leave her.”

His words felt like a punch to the gut, making me want to curl up and disappear. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he just let me be? Didn’t he understand that we could never be anything, not even friends?

Why couldn’t he let go of the past? When would he stop tormenting me like this? When would this guilt finally leave me?

Would I ever be free? Would I ever smile without a care? Would anyone ever accept me, love me?

“Aboloft, don’t do this. She’s delicate. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Bancroft cautioned.

~I wish I wasn’t a slave. I wish I wasn’t a slave.~

“The only thing I regret is listening to her when she told me to leave,” Aboloft retorted, his voice sharp, filled with pain.

“You can punish her. But don’t shatter her,” Bancroft said, finally leaving my bedside to head over to the table laden with fruits and drinks.

I tried to ignore Aboloft’s words, instead focusing on the food and drinks the maids had prepared for the kings.

The large table, now groaning under the weight of glasses and bowls, hadn’t been there when I arrived; it must have been brought in by the maids.

Atop the table were dozens of bowls filled with all kinds of fruits, along with glasses and jugs that seemed to be made of gold.

“Trust me, I ~am~ punishing her. I know her, and I’ll know when she’s reached her limit,” Aboloft said.

~You knew me. Not anymore.~

“If you’re not breaking her, then why are her hands and legs bandaged?” Bancroft asked, filling a bowl with fruits.

“She has to endure everything she put me through. You were there. You saw how I was. That’s all I’m making her experience,” Aboloft replied.

This wasn’t right. These men shouldn’t be discussing me as if I wasn’t there. Aboloft shouldn’t be sharing with his friend what he went through after I left him. They shouldn’t be talking as if I wasn’t present.

This was personal, and I didn’t want to hear any of it. I didn’t want to know how Aboloft was after I left him. The guilt would be too much.

“Like I said, she’s delicate. Don’t be too harsh on her.” Bancroft turned and walked back to me, now holding a bowl filled with various fruits.

He sat on my bed and held up a slice of apple. I eyed the small piece with a mix of hunger and apprehension. Why wasn’t he eating it? Was he trying to tease me with it?

“Open your mouth,” he said softly.

My eyes shot to his, forgetting my place. Did he just tell me to open my mouth? Was he going to feed me the apple?

“Bancroft, don’t do that!” Aboloft nearly yelled, striding over to us and snatching the bowl of fruits and the small slice of apple Bancroft was holding.

I was relieved he stopped him just in time, because if he hadn’t, I would’ve opened my mouth.

King Bancroft smirked, amused, before looking at Aboloft. “And why not, Aboloft?”

“Because you have no right to do this,” Aboloft snapped, clearly annoyed.

“Excuse me?” Bancroft chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Leave the bed,” Aboloft ordered.

“You’re joking,” Bancroft replied.

“No. Leave,” he said more forcefully.

Shaking his head, Bancroft got up and went back to the table, grabbing a fresh bowl. My eyes widened as Aboloft took the spot King Bancroft had just vacated, wondering what he was going to do to me now.

“Open your mouth, Bluebell,” Aboloft commanded, holding a small strawberry in his hand.

Without any protest, I did as he said and opened my mouth. Aboloft quickly slipped the strawberry in my mouth, leaving me momentarily stunned.

Did he just feed me? Did the King of Quopia just feed me fruit? Didn’t he know that I wasn’t worth the fruit he had just given me?

Since my mouth was full, and I couldn’t argue, I slowly chewed the strawberry, holding back a moan as the fruit burst in my mouth, the juice refreshing.

I chewed and swallowed quickly, grateful to have something in my stomach, even if it was just a piece of fruit.

“My lord,” I began, but Aboloft cut me off with another command.

“No talking. Now open,” he ordered, slipping a slice of apple in my mouth.

“It’s fascinating how possessive you are of her. Especially considering you didn’t bother to find her for eight years,” Bancroft remarked, walking over to the central bed and sitting down.

“That was a mistake, Bancroft,” Aboloft said as I chewed my apple.

“A mistake you won’t repeat?” I could tell it was a rhetorical question.

Aboloft didn’t answer. Instead, he took a couple of cubes of mango and slipped them into my mouth. The fact that he was feeding me was surreal.

This king had just forced me to walk on broken glass, and now, not only had he bandaged my wounds, but he was feeding me fruit.

Instead of giving me stale bread, he was feeding me fresh fruits. If he continued to be this unpredictable, I was afraid he would end up owning me like he did eight years ago.

Yes, I loved him. I loved my best friend. I loved Aboloft. But I could never tell him that. We were worlds apart, and I would die before I let anyone criticize my best friend.

Life made us friends, which was a mistake. Aboloft was royalty, and I was just a farmer’s daughter. There was no match. He belonged with a queen, and I belonged with a farmer.

When I told Aboloft that we couldn’t be friends anymore, I locked my heart away for good. I built walls of solid rock around my heart, protecting it.

Aboloft never knew how I felt about him eight years ago, and if I could help it, it would stay that way. I loved him from afar eight years ago. I could do it now as well.

“Let’s continue this conversation in my quarters,” Aboloft suggested.

“Sure thing, Aboloft. Just curious, do you have any more punishments lined up for your little captive?” Bancroft asked.

So, he was aware of my status as a slave, yet he treated me with such gentleness. King Bancroft was an enigma, and I found myself wanting to understand him better.

Who was he, really? Was he meant to replace me as Aboloft’s new confidant? How long had the two kings been acquainted? How deep did their friendship run? Did they share everything with each other?

“A couple more,” Aboloft answered, making my heart skip a beat. Oh God, he was going to punish me again? What would he do this time? Would he make it hard for me to breathe or something even more cruel?

“Will she bleed?” Bancroft inquired. His concern for a lowly slave like me was touching. I admired him. He must be a wonderful king.

Aboloft paused before responding. “No, she won’t.”

“That’s good to hear.” Bancroft rose, striding over to the table to set down his bowl. “I’d hate to see her lose any more blood,” he said, his gaze filled with compassion.

“I concur.” This time, Aboloft’s gaze met mine.

“Those bandages don’t suit her,” Bancroft observed.

“No, they certainly don’t.” Aboloft’s eyes remained on me, indicating that he was addressing both me and his friend.

“But I must admit, her current inability to use her hands and legs gives me an upper hand.”

A chill ran through my veins at his words. He was pleased that I was practically incapacitated. He was reveling in the fact that I couldn’t use my hands and legs.

My former best friend had become a monster in his quest for revenge.

“What kind of upper hand?” Bancroft queried.

“She’s so vulnerable now that she has no choice but to rely on me. To depend on me.” Aboloft leaned in until his lips were near my ear.

“Forever.”