Chapter 20

Amelia spent hours in Viktor's chambers, the silence weighing down on her. The room felt like a tomb. She'd paced, sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the flickering candle, and even returned to the window to gaze at the gardens below. But no matter what she did, she couldn't shake the suffocating heaviness in her chest.

She was trapped, in every sense of the word.

Hours passed, and she had no way of knowing what time it was. The flickering candle on the desk had long since burned out, leaving the room dimly lit by the faint light filtering through the heavy curtains. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger was a familiar sensation, one she could endure. What she couldn't endure was the uncertainty of what came next.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence. Amelia tensed, her heart leaping into her throat as the door creaked open.

Two women entered, their heads held high and their expressions cold. They were dressed in the simple but elegant uniforms of palace maids, their dark skirts brushing against the stone floor as they moved. They didn't spare Amelia a kind glance; instead, their eyes swept over her with barely concealed disdain.

"Lord Viktor has instructed we prepare you," one of them said curtly, her tone clipped and professional.

Amelia hesitated, the weight of their hostility pressing down on her. When she didn't move fast enough, the other servant grabbed her arm-not roughly, but firmly enough to make it clear she didn't have a choice.

They led her toward a door she hadn't noticed before, partially hidden in the shadows of the chamber. One of the servants pushed it open, revealing a bathroom unlike anything Amelia had ever seen.

The walls were smooth marble, veined with dark streaks of green and black. The floor was polished to a mirror-like shine, reflecting the faint glow of sconces mounted on the walls. In the center of the room was a massive sunken tub, its edges carved with intricate patterns of vines and flowers. Steam rose from the water, filling the air with the faint scent of lavender. A pile of plush, dark towels sat neatly folded on a nearby bench, and a silver tray held an array of soaps and oils.

The servants didn't wait for her to take it in. They set to work immediately, pulling at the laces of her gown with brisk, practiced movements.

"I can do it myself," Amelia protested, trying to bat their hands away.

The servant didn't bother to hide her irritation. "It's not your place to do anything for yourself anymore," she said, her words laced with venom. "You may have been a servant once, but now you are a royal."

The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because of the way they were spoken-with a sneer that made it clear the servants resented her. Amelia could feel their judgment in every rough tug of her dress, in the way their hands lingered just a second too long on her skin as they stripped her bare.

She stood there, shivering, as they led her to the tub.

The water was scalding, but Amelia welcomed the heat. It was better than the chill of the air, or the icy stares of the women who now worked to scrub her skin raw. They poured fragrant oils into the water, their hands moving with a precision that suggested they'd done this a thousand times before.

Amelia flinched as one of them scrubbed at her back with a rough cloth.

Amelia bit her lip, her hands gripping the edge of the tub to keep herself from snapping back. She knew what they thought of her, that she was some upstart who had clawed her way into power through deceit or manipulation.

When they were finished bathing her, they helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in one of the plush towels. The softness was almost overwhelming after the rough treatment, but Amelia couldn't bring herself to relax.

The servants dried her hair and dressed her in a gown of deep emerald green, its fabric rich and heavy. The bodice was fitted, the neckline modest but elegant, and the sleeves billowed slightly before tapering at her wrists. It was the kind of dress she'd never imagined wearing, the kind reserved for women of high status.

They braided her hair with practiced hands, pulling it back into a style that was simple yet regal. When they were done, they stepped back, their expressions still cold as they looked her over.

Without another word, they bowed their heads-mockingly low, as if to emphasize their disdain-and left the room.

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her body stiff in the unfamiliar gown. Her hands rested in her lap, her fingers trembling as she tried to process what had just happened.

She didn't have long to think. Moments later, another group of servants entered, carrying trays of food. They placed the dishes on the small table near the window, their movements quick and efficient. They didn't speak to her, didn't even look at her.

When they were done, they left as silently as they'd come.

Amelia stared at the food, her appetite gone. The spread was extravagant-roasted meats, fresh bread, fruit, and an array of cheeses-but the sight of it only made her stomach turn.

She rose from the bed and approached the table, her hands brushing over the edge as she looked down at the feast. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished silver platter, The makeup had been washed away, revealing the dark circles under her eyes and the faint redness of her skin from the servants' rough scrubbing.

Amelia turned away, her hands clenching at her sides. She didn't want this life, didn't want the gowns, the food, or the hostility of the people around her. All she wanted was to be free from the chains that had been forced upon her.

Amelia sank back onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion. The weight of the gown pressed down on her, the fabric stiff and constricting. She leaned her head back against the headboard, her eyes closing.

The room was quiet again, save for the faint crackle of the fire the servants had lit before they left. Amelia opened her eyes, staring into the flames.

------

Nightfall crept in slowly,

casting long shadows across the room where Amelia sat on the edge of the bed. Her posture was stiff, her eyes dull and unfocused as she absently twisted the blanket in her hands.

As midnight approached, the untouched plate of food on the table remained cold. Her stomach growled faintly, but she ignored it .

The door creaked open. Viktor stepped in, his presence dominating the room like an oppressive shadow. He didn't speak at first, moving with quiet deliberation as he removed his coat and gloves. Amelia barely glanced in his direction, her hands continuing their nervous play with the blanket.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, landing on the uneaten meal. A dark flicker crossed his face, his expression hardening into a mask of cold displeasure.

"Amelia," he called, his voice low.

She didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the floor.

"Amelia," he repeated, his tone sharper now.

Still, she remained silent, her fingers tightening around the fabric in her hands.

In an instant, Viktor was beside her. His hand shot out, gripping her arm and pulling her roughly to her feet. The blanket fell to the floor, forgotten. She gasped softly, startled by the sudden force, but her eyes remained averted.

His closeness was overwhelming; the heat radiating from his body sent a shiver down her spine.

"When I speak, you answer," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Amelia's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing shallow under the weight of his piercing gaze.

His grip tightened slightly, enough to make her wince. "Do you understand me?" he demanded.

She nodded faintly.

"Good," he said coldly, releasing her arm abruptly. "Now eat." He gestured to the untouched plate, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Amelia hesitated, her hands trembling as she rubbed the spot where his fingers had pressed too hard. She didn't move toward the table, her body frozen in place.

"I said eat," Viktor repeated, his voice dropping lower, dangerously close to a growl.

Something inside her snapped. Her lips tightened, and she shook her head, the motion so small it was almost imperceptible.

Viktor's eyes narrowed, his expression turning cruel. In a swift motion, he grabbed her wrist again and pulled her toward the table. Amelia stumbled, her soft gasp the only sound as he forced her to stand before the plate.

"Sit," he ordered.

"No," she whispered, her voice trembling but firm.

The word seemed to hang in the air between them, daring, challenging. Viktor's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something far more dangerous than anger. Without warning, his hand came down on her shoulder, pushing her into the chair.

"I said no," she repeated, her voice barely audible but laced with a defiance that surprised even her.

Viktor's lips curved into a cold smile, devoid of warmth. "You think you have a choice?"

Amelia's heart raced, her fury drowning out her fear. She turned to him, her hands trembling as she picked up the plate. For a moment, it seemed as though she might obey. But then, with a sharp cry, she hurled it across the room. The plate shattered against the wall, the food scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess.

For a moment, Viktor didn't move. The room was silent save for the sound of Amelia's ragged breathing. Then his eyes darkened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Pick it up," he said coldly, his voice as sharp as a blade.

Her silence was her answer.

His hand shot out, grabbing her by the wrist and spinning her around. Before she could react, he pinned her against the table, her chest pressing against the cold surface.

"Let me go", she said, her voice breaking.

Viktor said nothing, his grip tightening as he yanked her arms behind her back. The sudden motion made her cry out, the fabric of her dress straining until it ripped at the front, exposing her bare skin to the cool air.

The sudden movement stilled them both, the room falling into a heavy silence. Amelia's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving from the exertion. Viktor's gaze lowered, his stern expression faltering as his eyes were drawn to her torn dress.

Her bare chest rose and fell. Her soft, large breasts seemed to gleam in the dim light. The tension in the air thickened as Viktor's eyes lingered for a moment too long, betraying a flicker of something darker beneath his cold demeanor.

Amelia's breath hitched, her cheeks burning as she caught the shift in his gaze. Her own eyes darted to his face, searching for an answer, a crack in his composure. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes betrayed him-flickering with a hunger he didn't voice.

She squirmed against him, her movements brushing her against his body. That's when she felt it-a hardness pressing against the small of her back.

She breathed, her voice trembling as she struggled against him once more. "Don't."

His face was a storm of conflicting emotions, his hands still holding her in place as though he was at war with himself. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of speaking, his gaze dropping again to her lips, her trembling form beneath him.

But then, as quickly as the moment came, it shattered. Viktor released her abruptly, stepping back as though burned. His expression was unreadable, his eyes cold once more as he turned away.

Without another word, he stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him and leaving Amelia alone in the suffocating silence. Her knees buckled slightly, and she clutched the edge of the table for support, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.

Her fingers traced the torn edges of her dress, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and emotions she couldn't name. For the first time that night, she wasn't sure what she felt more acutely: anger, fear, or the lingering heat of Viktor's touch.