Chapter 21

The grand hall of the court was a cacophony of voices as advisors, lords, and generals argued over war strategies and troop movements. Seated at the head of the long oak table, Malcolm sat, He rested his chin on his hand, bored but attentive, as the discussions unfolded

"Lord Malcolm, our forces in the south need reinforcements. The rebellion is growing," one advisor pressed, his voice tinged with urgency.

Malcolm’s lips curved into a slow, humorless smile. "If they cannot hold the south with the men they have, perhaps they are unfit to command.", he said smoothly, waving his hand dismissively.

Another lord leaned forward, a sheen of sweat on his brow. "But, my lord, the rebels have gained allies—"

The heavy doors of the courtroom groaned open, drawing the attention of the court members. Viktor entered, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. His tunic was stained with blood, the dark patches still wet and glistening under the dim torchlight. Strands of his hair clung to his face, damp with sweat and streaked with dirt.

The nobles seated around the grand oak table exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. It wasn’t the first time Viktor had appeared in such a state, and they had learned long ago to hold their tongues.

Malcolm, however, didn't spare him a glance, his fingers tapping against the table as he addressed the room. "Continue," he ordered, his voice laced with disinterest.

Viktor moved to his seat. His boots left faint smears of blood on the polished floor. When he reached his chair, he removed his gloves and tossed them onto the table with a careless flick of his wrist.

The court members shifted uncomfortably in their seats but said nothing as Viktor sat down beside Malcolm. His presence was a storm waiting to break.

The meeting commenced, with the nobles discussing matters of trade, border disputes, and the kingdom's fragile alliances.

"As I was saying," Malcolm drawled. "Replace the southern commanders. If they fail again, their heads will adorn the gates."

As the discussions wore on, Viktor remained stoic, his face a mask of indifference. The court members, sensing his mood, hurried through their points, eager to be done with the meeting.

One general cleared his throat. "And what of the northern border, my lord? We've received reports of—"

A courtier, younger than most and too eager to prove himself, interrupted. "My lord, before we proceed, may we address a... lingering concern?"

Malcolm’s brow arched, his sharp eyes locking onto the man. "Speak, then, if you must."

The young man shifted nervously, his gaze flickering to Viktor. "It concerns Lord Viktor's... new wife. The lady has not been seen since their wedding. She has duties as the second wife of the Hand, yet she remains confined to her chambers. Shouldn't she—"

The man’s voice faltered under Viktor's icy stare. The room fell into an uneasy silence, the courtier visibly trembling. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his blood-streaked face impassive, yet his presence was suffocating.

"Continue," Viktor said quietly, his voice low and lethal.

The courtier swallowed hard, glancing at Malcolm for support. Malcolm, however, remained motionless, his expression unreadable.

"I—uh—I only meant that, as a wife of the Hand, she should—"

"Enough." Viktor's voice was sharp, cutting through the man's stammering. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

The courtier sank back into his seat, his face pale.

Malcolm's lips twitched into a faint smirk as he finally addressed the topic. His voice cold. "You are the Hand of this realm, and you have duties; leaving your bride to rot in your chambers is not among them."

Viktor gaze locked onto Malcolm’s with a cold intensity. “What I do with my wife,” he said, his voice low and even, “is no one’s concern but my own.”

Malcolm jaw tightened.

"Do not forget, Viktor," he said, his voice low but deadly. "As swiftly as I gave her to you, I can take her away. She is not yours to waste. If she remains locked away, I will ensure you pay the price. Perhaps with half your men."

The threat hung in the air, and Viktor’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smirk. “Do what you must,” he said quietly.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might strike his brother then and there. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his expression one of cruel amusement.

“Very well,” Malcolm said, his voice deceptively calm.

The court members exchanged uneasy glances, their confusion evident. They didn’t understand the full scope of the conversation, but Malcolm’s words were enough to unsettle them.

Viktor rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, his bloodstained boots leaving a trail behind him. The court watched in silence, their unease palpable.

When the doors slammed shut behind him, Malcolm leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Gentlemen,” he said, addressing the room with mock cheerfulness. “Shall we continue?”

The court murmured their agreements, eager to move on from the tense exchange.

––––

Amelia had lost track of time. The days blurred together, and the four walls of Viktor’s chambers felt like they were closing in. The heavy curtains kept out the sunlight. Since the incident with Viktor, he had not returned. She told herself she didn’t mind. Better this silence than the crushing tension of his presence.

And yet, even in his absence, Amelia couldn’t escape him.

The memory of that night played on an endless loop in her mind, haunting her in the quiet hours. She could still feel the hard press of the table beneath her, the cold wood biting into her skin. And most of all, she remembered the way his body had felt against hers—the heat of him, the tension in his grip, the unspoken hunger in his eyes as they lingered too long on her exposed skin.

Her face burned at the thought.

This was Viktor—her Viktor. The boy who had been her closest friend.  He had been her everything once, and she had been his.

She tried to push the memories away, shaking her head as though the motion could rid her of the heat pooling low in her stomach. The shame of it twisted in her gut.

The servants came and went with their usual routines. They bathed her, dressed her, and left trays of extravagant meals that went untouched. They never spoke unless absolutely necessary, their expressions devoid of warmth.

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers twisting in her lap. She couldn’t stand it anymore. She needed to breathe, to feel something other than the suffocating weight of this room. Viktor hadn’t returned since that night, and she doubted he would notice if she left.

Steeling herself, she rose to her feet. Her hands trembled as she smoothed down the emerald green gown the servants had forced her into earlier. It was beautiful, but she hated it.

Her movements were slow as she turned away from the bed, her legs unsteady beneath her. She reached the door and hesitated for only a moment before pulling it open. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the sconces on the walls casting long shadows that flickered with the movement of the flames. The air was cooler here, carrying a faint hint of damp stone and the distant scent of flowers from the gardens below.

The guards stationed outside straightened, their hands moving to their swords as if out of habit. They didn’t stop her, but their eyes followed her every step. The air in the corridor was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Viktor’s chambers. It prickled against her skin, waking her senses.

The halls of the palace stretched before her. Servants bustled around her, their heads bowed, their movements swift and efficient. No one whispered or lingered. It was as though the title bestowed upon her had silenced their disdain.

Amelia tried to brush it aside as she wandered deeper into the palace, her steps tentative.

Her movements were slow as she turned away from the window, her legs unsteady beneath her. She reached the door and hesitated for only a moment before pulling it open. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the sconces on the walls casting long shadows that flickered with the movement of the flames. The air was cooler here, carrying a faint hint of damp stone and the distant scent of flowers from the gardens below.

Her bare feet making little sound against the cold marble floor.

Turning a corner, she caught sight of a large window, its stained glass casting colorful patterns onto the floor. She paused, her fingers brushing against the cool stone of the windowsill as she gazed out at the gardens below. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold grays of the palace.

A hand settled gently but firmly on her shoulder. Amelia turned, startled, and found herself face-to-face with a woman who seemed almost otherworldly.

The woman’s beauty was mesmerizing. Her hair was dark and glossy, cascading down her back in perfect waves that framed her sharp, delicate features. Her eyes were a piercing shade of green, their depths seeming to shimmer like the surface of a moonlit sea. Her lips were full and painted a deep crimson, curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Everything about her was immaculate, from the flow of her silken gown to the faint scent of roses that lingered around her.

“Lady Amelia,” the woman said, her voice smooth and lilting, like a siren’s song. Her hand didn’t move from Amelia’s shoulder as she tilted her head, studying her with an intensity that made Amelia’s skin prickle.

“I was wondering when you’d venture out,” Sofia said, a small smile playing on her lips. It wasn’t a kind smile.

Amelia said nothing, her posture stiff as she met Sofia’s gaze.

Sofia tilted her head, studying her like one might study an insect before deciding whether to squash it. “And where, pray tell, are you going?”

Behind her stood two servants, their heads bowed, their hands clasped tightly in front of them. Their nervous glances at Amelia only heightened the tension in the air.

Amelia hesitated, unsure how to respond. She knew nothing of this woman, but something about her presence felt suffocating.

Her hand sliding from Amelia’s shoulder to her wrist. Her touch was light but firm as she began to guide Amelia down the hall. “Come, you shouldn’t wander these halls alone".

Amelia didn’t resist, though unease prickled at the back of her neck. She wasn’t sure if it was Sofia’s presence or the way her servants followed them at a respectful distance, their expressions neutral but their eyes flicking between the two women with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

Sofia’s chambers were as breathtaking as she was. The room was bathed in soft, golden light from an elaborate chandelier that hung from the high ceiling. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books and trinkets, and the floors were covered in plush rugs that muffled their footsteps. A grand canopy bed dominated the space, its silken curtains tied back to reveal pristine white sheets. The air was perfumed with the scent of roses and something darker, more intoxicating.

“Sit,” Sofia said, gesturing to the bed as she released Amelia’s wrist.

Amelia hesitated but complied, perching awkwardly on the edge of the mattress. Sofia sat beside her, the movement graceful and deliberate.

Her smile softened as she reached out to take Amelia’s hands in her own. “You’re so young,” Sofia said, her tone almost tender. “I imagine all of this must be overwhelming for you.”

Amelia nodded, unsure of what to say. There was something disarming about Sofia’s demeanor, something that made her want to believe the woman’s concern was genuine.

“I want you to know,” Sofia continued, her thumb brushing lightly over Amelia’s knuckles, “that I’m here for you. This life… it can be difficult, especially with Viktor.”

Amelia’s discomfort grew as Sofia’s grip on her hands tightened slightly.

“But we have our duties, don’t we?” Sofia said, her smile turning almost wistful. “As wives, it’s our role to endure. No matter how cruel he may be.”

The servants standing in the corner exchanged glances, their expressions fleeting but telling. Confusion flickered in their eyes, as if they couldn’t reconcile Sofia’s gentle words with the woman they knew.

Sofia leaned closer, her voice dropping further. “Has he bedded you yet?”

The question hit Amelia like a slap. She recoiled slightly, her cheeks burning as she shook her head.

“No?” Sofia’s smile faltered for a moment, though it quickly returned. “I see.”

Amelia wanted to leave, but Sofia’s grip on her hands held her in place.

“I need to go,” Amelia said abruptly, pulling her hands free and standing before Sofia could stop her. “I… I should return to my chambers.”

Sofia’s smile didn’t waver, though her eyes followed Amelia’s movements like a predator watching its prey. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “If you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Amelia nodded hastily, avoiding Sofia’s gaze as she hurried to the door. She could feel the weight of the servants’ stares as she left, their whispers beginning the moment the door closed behind her.

As she made her way back to her chambers, Amelia’s heart raced. She couldn’t shake the feeling of Sofia’s hands on hers, the weight of her words lingering like a shadow.

'What was that' she wondered, her steps quickening as she approached the safety of her room.

Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The cold silence of the room was almost a relief, but it did little to soothe the storm raging in her mind.