Chapter 23

Amelia sat frozen on the seat, Malcolm’s presence suffocating in its intensity. He loomed over her, his dark gaze unwavering, his touch lingering on her hand as though testing her composure. The room was eerily silent, save for the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth and the echo of her shallow breaths.

“Play it again,” Malcolm instructed, his voice a velvet command that brooked no refusal.

Her hands trembled over the keys. “I—I don’t remember how.”

He leaned closer, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nonsense. You knew this piece by heart once. Start again.”

Amelia pressed the first note, then another, her fingers faltering as she struggled to recall the melody he had drilled into her so many years ago. The memories were hazy, dulled by the passage of time and buried beneath layers of fear and resentment.

Malcolm exhaled sharply, the sound tinged with impatience. Without warning, he reached out, his large hand engulfing hers as he guided her fingers across the keys. The cold metal of his ring pressed against her skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his palm.

“Like this,” he murmured, his voice low and close to her ear. “Feel the rhythm. Let it come back to you.”

His touch was firm but not harsh, the movement of his hands controlling hers with practiced precision. The notes began to flow more smoothly, the haunting melody filling the room once more.

Amelia’s pulse quickened, her senses acutely aware of him—the warmth of his breath against her temple, the faint scent of leather and iron clinging to him, the weight of his gaze when he glanced down at her. It was too much, all of it. She felt trapped, ensnared by a web of expectations and a man who had always found ways to unnerve her.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.

Malcolm stilled, his hand lingering on hers. “And why is that?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the piano keys. “Can i leave?.”

“No.” The single word was delivered in a tone so flat, so devoid of emotion, that it made her skin crawl.

Amelia turned her head to look at him, finding his gaze already fixed on her. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

He lifted his hand to her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek. The touch was featherlight, almost tender, but his gaze betrayed a storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.

Jerking her head away from his hand.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached for her again, this time capturing her chin between his fingers and tilting her face toward him. She froze under his touch, her breath catching in her throat.

She recoiled, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’m your brother’s wife,” she hissed, the words tumbling out in a desperate bid to draw a line he wouldn’t dare cross.

Malcolm’s jaw tightened, his grip on her chin firming before he abruptly let her go. For a moment, he said nothing, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—a cold, mirthless sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“And?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery.

He stood and moved behind her, his presence looming even larger as he began to unravel her braid. The sensation of his fingers working through her hair sent a wave of panic coursing through her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her thick, dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, cascading down her back like a silken curtain. Malcolm’s hands lingered in her hair, his fingers combing through it slowly, almost reverently. Amelia sat rigid, every fiber of her being screaming at her to move, to flee, but she couldn’t.

“Stand,” he commanded softly.

She hesitated, her body refusing to obey.

“Amelia.” His voice was sharper now, cutting through her hesitation like a blade.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, her head bowed and her fists clenched at her sides. Malcolm stepped closer, his hand sliding into her hair once more as he gazed down at her.

“You’re trembling,” he remarked, his tone almost amused.

leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. The gesture, though gentle, left her feeling smaller than ever.

Malcolm straightened, his gaze boring into hers with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

He stepped back and called for a guard. The door opened moments later, the guard’s expression carefully neutral as he entered the room.

“Take her,” Malcolm instructed.

The guard nodded, his eyes flicking to Amelia briefly before gesturing for her to follow.

Amelia didn’t move immediately, her legs feeling like lead. She cast one last glance at Malcolm, her emotions a tumultuous mix of fear, anger, and confusion. He returned her gaze with an inscrutable expression, his dark eyes betraying nothing.

“Leave,” he said, the single word heavy with authority.

With great effort, she turned and followed the guard out of the room, her steps unsteady. As the door closed behind her, she felt a wave of relief, though it did little to quell the storm raging within her.

---

Amelia screamed as her eyes fell on the gruesome scene before her chambers. Two guards lay sprawled at the doorway, their heads severed.

The guard escorting her froze in his tracks, his grip on Amelia’s arm faltering. “My lady…” he whispered, his voice trembling as his eyes darted between her and the scene.

Amelia clutched the folds of her gown as the guard lifted her into his arms to avoid the blood that stained the stone floor. The coppery stench of blood assaulted her senses, and she turned her face into his shoulder to avoid the ghastly sight.

The hallway, once a place of cold indifference, now seemed to pulsate with menace. The sight of the two lifeless bodies outside her door—their heads cruelly severed and blood pooling like a dark lake—remained burned into her mind, even though she dared not look again.

The servants who passed them whispered in hushed tones, their pale faces betraying their terror. None dared speak aloud or question what had occurred; the scene itself answered more than they wished to know.

“My lady, I pray you keep your eyes averted,” the guard said, his voice trembling as he carried her. “The sight is not meant for one of your station.”

Amelia remained silent, her fingers curling into his tunic for some semblance of stability.

When they reached her chamber door, the guard hesitated. He shifted nervously, glancing down at the blood that darkened the threshold. “The king ordered me to bring you here,” he murmured, his voice unsure. “But I... I wonder if even he knows what waits behind this door.”

Still, he stepped forward, pushing the door open. The chamber greeted them with a heavy darkness, the only light coming from the faint embers that glowed in the hearth. Shadows danced across the stone walls, casting eerie shapes that seemed alive.

Amelia felt her heartbeat quicken as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Her breath hitched when she saw him—Viktor,  seated by the fire. His frame was as imposing as ever, his broad shoulders cloaked in shadow, and his face obscured but unmistakably his. His sword leaning against the armrest of his chair.

The guard bowed hastily, stepping back toward the door. “I’ll—”

“Stop.” Viktor’s voice was low, yet it froze the man in place.

“My lord, I was ordered to—”

“Speak plainly.” Viktor’s voice, low and unhurried, carried the weight of command. “Where did you take my wife?”

“The king,” the guard stuttered, his words faltering under Viktor’s icy gaze, “he... he ordered me to bring her to his chambers, my lord.”

Amelia’s breath faltered, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. She instinctively shrank back, gripping the edge of a nearby table for support. The realization struck her with the force of a blow—those guards outside her door had not fallen to an unknown hand. Viktor had done this.

Viktor's cold laughter broke the tense silence, his gaze shifting to the window as if in mockery of the man’s words. “The king,” he repeated, the words dripping with disdain.

“Come here,” he commanded.

The guard froze, his face pale. “M-My lord…”

“Come. Here.” Viktor’s voice was sharper now, his warlord nature bleeding through, his eyes glinting with an unforgiving coldness.

Shaking, the guard stepped forward, his movements hesitant and jerky.

Viktor rose slowly from his chair, the motion deliberate and full of menace. The flickering firelight illuminated his face, revealing the sharp angles of his jaw and the cold fury in his eyes. He reached for his sword, the blade catching the light as he lifted it.

Amelia’s stomach churned, her lips parting to speak, but no sound came forth. She watched helplessly as the guard, shaking like a leaf, took hesitant steps toward Viktor.

“Closer,” Viktor demanded, his tone sharper now, like the edge of his blade.

The guard obeyed, his face pale as death itself. He fell to his knees before the warlord, his hands clasped as if in prayer. “My lord, mercy,” he begged. “I only sought to do as commanded—”

The blade descended in one swift motion.

Amelia screamed, her hands flying to cover her face as the guard’s head fell to the floor with a sickening thud. Blood sprayed across the stone, pooling around Viktor’s boots. The headless body crumpled to the ground, joining the lifeless pile of flesh.

“No!” Amelia cried, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. She stumbled backward, her knees giving out as she collapsed against the wall. Her vision blurred, the horrific scene burned into her mind even as she tried to block it out.

Viktor turned to her then, his eyes as cold and unyielding as steel. The firelight flickered against his scarred face.

The room was eerily quiet after the guard’s lifeless body collapsed to the floor. The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood, which pooled and stained the cold stone beneath Viktor’s boots. He stood over the body for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with the effort of restrained fury.

Amelia remained frozen near the door, her back pressed tightly against the wooden frame. Her chest heaved as her trembling fingers clutched the folds of her dress. She couldn’t bring herself to move, her legs feeling like lead beneath her. Her mind replayed the guard’s final moments: the swing of Viktor’s sword, the sickening thud of the head hitting the ground, and the expression of terror frozen on the guard’s lifeless face.

Her knees buckled, and she grabbed at the doorframe for support, her vision swimming. A sharp pain shot through her palms as her nails dug into her own skin, grounding her just enough to stay upright. She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block out the gruesome image. But the darkness behind her eyelids was worse, for it brought the scene to life again in vivid detail.

“Amelia,” Viktor’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, cold and commanding. “Come here.”

Her eyes flew open, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She shook her head frantically, pressing herself further into the door as though it might swallow her whole and deliver her somewhere far away from him.

“I said,” Viktor repeated, his voice lowering to a dangerous growl, “come here.”

She shook her head again, her lips trembling. “I-I can’t,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Viktor’s jaw tightened, his patience snapping. In one swift motion, he crossed the room to her. Before she could react, his large hand tangled in her hair, yanking her forward. Amelia cried out, her hands flying to his wrist in a futile attempt to lessen the pressure.

“Why is your hair unbraided?." he said his voice harsh. His icy gaze bore into her, making her feel small and powerless.

Amelia whimpered, her fingers clawing at his hand. “Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “You’re hurting me.”

Amelia’s mind raced, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sound of her own sobs. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t tell him it was Malcolm who had undone her braid, who had touched her hair with a tenderness so unlike Viktor’s rough grip. Who knew what Viktor would do if he learned of it?

“I... I...” she stammered, her voice shaking.

“Speak!” Viktor roared, giving her hair another sharp tug.

“Malcolm!” she finally cried, the word tearing from her throat.

Viktor froze, his grip on her hair tightening briefly before he abruptly let go. Amelia stumbled back, clutching her scalp, her legs barely supporting her weight.

His jaw clenched, and a dark, humorless laugh escaped him. “Of course,” he said, his tone bitter. “It’s always my dearest brother.”

Amelia’s stomach twisted at the venom in his voice. She backed away from him, but there was nowhere to go. Her chamber door was shut, and Viktor’s towering presence blocked her path.

He stepped closer, his cold blue eyes never leaving her. “Did he touch you?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Amelia’s breath hitched. She shook her head quickly, but her movements were too frantic to be convincing. Viktor’s gaze narrowed, his expression hardening further.

“Tell me the truth,” he said slowly, his voice like ice.

“No!” Amelia stammered, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “He didn’t... he didn’t touch me.”

Viktor’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist tightly. She gasped, her free hand instinctively moving to push against his chest, but he didn’t budge.

“Do you think me a fool?” he hissed, his face inches from hers.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head. “I swear it, Viktor. He didn’t... he didn’t touch me like that.”

“Then what did he do?” Viktor demanded. “What happened in his chambers?”

Amelia hesitated, her mind scrambling for a response that wouldn’t further incite his wrath. “He... he spoke of music,” she said softly. “And... and of memories. Nothing more.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened further, his expression unreadable. He released her wrist abruptly, and she stumbled back, clutching her arm where his grip had left angry red marks.

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he laughed—a cold, hollow sound that sent shivers down her spine.

“A joke,” he muttered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “That’s what I am to him. No title, no respect."

Amelia took a hesitant step back, her bare feet brushing the cold stone floor. Her voice trembling. “Nothing happened. I swear it—”

“Shut up!” Viktor roared, his voice echoing through the chamber like a crack of thunder.

Amelia flinched, tears spilling down her cheeks. But he wasn’t done. In a swift motion, he closed the distance between them, grabbing her face roughly, his calloused fingers digging into her cheeks.

“Do not lie to me,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. “Do you think I cannot see it? The way you look at him? You’ve always loved him. Always.”

Amelia shook her head as best she could in his iron grip, her voice muffled by the force of his hold. “That’s not true,” she pleaded, her words barely audible. “It’s not—”

“Don’t!” Viktor snarled, his eyes burning with a mix of fury and something darker, more wounded. “Don’t lie to me, Amelia. Tell me—he fucked you? Did it feel good?”

The vulgarity of his words struck her like a physical blow, and her eyes widened in shock. She pushed against his chest with all her strength, surprising both of them when he actually stumbled back a step.

“Stop it!” she screamed, her voice breaking.

But Viktor was unrelenting. His lip curled into a sneer as he advanced on her again, his towering frame casting a shadow that seemed to swallow her whole.

Viktor spat, his laugh bitter and humorless. “You’ve done nothing but betray me since the moment you entered my life. Do you know what it feels like, Amelia? To watch as he takes everything—everything—and still thinks he’s entitled to more?”

His voice cracked, and for a fleeting moment, Amelia thought she saw something vulnerable in his expression. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold, unyielding mask he always wore.

“What happened to you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “To my Viktor?”

He froze at her words, his entire body going rigid. For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of their labored breathing. Then, slowly, he shook his head, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

“That Viktor,” he said, his tone low and venomous, “died the day my mother did. You know whose fault that is, don’t you?”

Tears streamed down her face, but she refused to look away. She stood frozen, her body trembling, as his words cut into her like a blade.

“How can you say that?” she asked, her voice shaking. “How can you—”

Before she could finish, Viktor’s hand shot out again, tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. She cried out in pain, her hands clawing at his wrist.

“Because it’s the truth,” he said harshly.

They stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to look away. Amelia’s tears blurred her vision, but she could still see the raw pain in Viktor’s eyes—the pain he tried so hard to mask with anger.

“You’re wrong,” she said finally, her voice trembling but firm.

His gaze softened for a fleeting moment, but then it hardened again, and he pulled her closer, his face mere inches from hers.

“Do you think your words will save you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amelia didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

And then, without warning, his lips crashed against hers.

The kiss was rough, almost punishing, as though he was trying to erase all the anger and hurt inside him by consuming her. Amelia froze at first, her mind unable to process what was happening. She had never been kissed before—not like this, not at all.

But Viktor gave her no time to think. His grip on her hair tightened, forcing her to stay in place as his lips moved against hers with a desperation that bordered on madness. Slowly, hesitantly, she began to mimic him, her inexperience showing in the awkwardness of her movements.

The taste of him was overwhelming—bitterness and salt, fury and anguish, all rolled into one. She couldn’t tell where her tears ended and his lips began.

The blood on the floor, still warm and sticky, added a twisted layer to the moment. It stained the air with its metallic tang, a reminder of the violence that had just occurred. But somehow, in that instant, none of it seemed to matter.

Viktor’s hands moved from her hair to her waist, lifting her effortlessly. She let out a small gasp as he carried her to the bed, his movements fueled by anger and something else she couldn’t name.

He tossed her onto the mattress with a force that made her bounce slightly, her breath leaving her in a rush. She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her mind a whirlwind of fear, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing.

But it wasn’t longing. It couldn’t be. It was madness, plain and simple.

Viktor loomed over her, his shadow stretching across the bed like a dark omen. His gaze burned into hers, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Amelia’s voice trembled as she finally spoke. “Viktor.”

He didn’t respond, his chest heaving as he fought to control himself. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said, his voice low and filled with a strange, dangerous intensity. “And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”