By the time I was awake I found myself in a room full of what looked like slaves. They all looked at me and murmured amongst themselves.

Where the hell am I?

The faint pain I felt in between my legs was a reminder of what I had to endure that night. What happened to that man?

“How did you survive a night with the Rogue King?”

A blonde girl came up asking me so eagerly.

Wait. That man was the Rogue King?!

Just then the doors flew open and the Rogue King emerged followed by a lady dressed in a purple dress. All the slave girls instantly got on their knees and bowed their heads. All except me who was still sitting on the bed in utter confusion.

The Rogue King’s eyes searched the room until they landed on me. Once our eyes met my breath was seized. His crimson eyes had the power to draw me in and a take away any sense left in my body.

The King’s command fell heavy in the air.

“She will be my personal maid.”

My heart lurched. I could feel the weight of every gaze in the room.

Across the polished marble floor, the woman, stiffened. Her eyes…cold, green, and glinting with something far sharper than disapproval found mine like an arrow finding its mark. Her lips curved into the faintest smile, but it was the kind that promised ruin.

“As His Majesty wishes,” she said sweetly, bowing low.

The Rogue King sent one last look at me before he dissapeared leaving only the woman standing there with a scowl on her face as she glared at me.

She walked up to me and yanked me up from the bed, her nails digging into my skin.

“Do you think you’re special?” she asked, circling me like a cat sizing up a mouse.

“That one night in his bed means you belong here?”

She stepped close enough for me to smell the sharp tang of mint on her breath.

“I have served him for twelve years. I have bled for this palace. And you…”

Her gaze swept over me like I was dirt tracked in from the garden.

“…are a passing amusement.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Enjoy it while it lasts. I’ll see you gone before the next moon.”

She turned to the rest of the girls.

“The Royal Banquet will be held in two days! Get up on your feet and make sure everything is perfect for his Majesty!”

That was all she said before she walked out slamming the door shut behind her and leaving me confused. The blonde girl came up to me.

“You are new here and have already pissed off Lady Mireille?”

I looked up at her with grey eyes.

“Lady who? What is this place?”

“This is the Rogue King’s palace. Rhydian is his name. If you want to survive here, you’ll have to keep your head low and avoid pissing off Lady Mirielle…although I think it’s already too late. By the way I’m Mabel”

I sat up looking at the bruise her nails left on my arm.

“Mabel…Who is this Lady Mirielle?”

Another girl scoffed.

“She considers herself the bethroted to the King but he is yet to marry her after so many years. She turned into an obsessed woman who is madly in love and she will get rid of any girl who she sees as a threat”

The girl came to sit on my bed.

“Hi. I’m Sandra. Congratulations on being appointed Personal Maid to the King”

I scoffed. Was that something to be glad about? Sounds like utter hell to me.

“Is that something to be congratulated for?”

Sandra shrugged.

“It’s much better than being a mere slave. Goodluck. Lady Mirellie is going to be training you to be perfect since you’re holding such position”

My heart sinked.

“What Training?”

———————————————

The days that followed were an endless gauntlet of “training” that felt more like punishment. My hands blistered from polishing silver that already gleamed. My knees ached from scrubbing floors meant for display, not walking. Every lesson came laced with insults…subtle in public, poisonous in private.

Lady Mirelille was bound to punish me till i perished. She didn’t bother to hide her growing hatred for me.

When the royal banquet was announced, a feast to honor the visiting Duke of Varros…Mireille’s smile returned, false as ever.

“You’ll serve at His Majesty’s table” she said. “Consider it… your chance to prove yourself.”

The banquet hall glittered that night. Chandeliers blazed, bathing the room in gold. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, jeweled fruits, and wine as deep as garnet. Nobles laughed, toasting the King and his guest.

In the kitchen, Mireille handed me a silver platter herself. On it sat a dish fit for royalty: a pheasant glazed with honey and spices, garnished with figs. The scent was mouthwatering but there was something in her eyes that made my skin prickle.

“Straight to His Majesty” she said. “And don’t spill a drop.”

I walked into the hall, the platter trembling faintly in my hands. The King’s eyes flicked up when he saw me sharp, unreadable and for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the distance between us.

Why did he have this effect on me? His aura had me weak in the knees.

The taster stepped forward, as custom demanded. He took a single bite.

It happened fast.

One moment he was chewing, the next his face twisted, hands clawing at his throat. He crumpled, the goblet beside him clattering to the floor.

The hall erupted. The Duke shot to his feet. Guards surged forward, swords half-drawn. Someone shouted, “Poison!” and the word spread like wildfire.

Everyone’s eyes turned to look at me.

“She brought it!” a guard barked, seizing my wrist so hard it burned.

“No! I-” My protest was drowned in the uproar.

Mireille stood at the far end of the hall, her face the perfect mask of horror except for the glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes that only I seemed to see.

“Your majesty, she tried to kill you”

——————————————

The first lash stole my breath.

By the tenth, I’d forgotten how to breathe at all.

The whip sang through the air, sharp as lightning, and landed across my back with a sound that felt carved into my bones. My body jolted against the post, the rope digging into my wrists. My screams tasted of blood.

“Thirty-four,” a soldier’s voice drawled lazily, as if counting coins.

Somewhere after fifty, the numbers blurred. The world narrowed to pain white, searing, endless. My knees buckled, but the ropes kept me upright. Every heartbeat throbbed against the open cuts.

When the hundredth stroke fell, I no longer had the strength to cry out. They cut me loose and I collapsed into the dirt, my cheek pressing against the cool grit.

“Take her to the dungeon!” the captain ordered.

They dragged me by the arms, my bare feet scraping over the stone steps that spiraled down into blackness. The air grew damp, colder. An iron door groaned open, and they tossed me into the dark.

The stench hit first…rot, mold, and the faint, metallic tang of rusted chains. Somewhere, water dripped in a slow, maddening rhythm.

I lay there for hours, maybe days I couldn’t tell…half-conscious, my back a pulsing map of agony. Hunger gnawed. My lips cracked from thirst. My thoughts drifted like smoke.

“You’re new.”

The voice was soft, feminine. My eyes adjusted enough to see her crouched in the opposite corner of the cell. A young woman with tangled hair and hollow cheeks. She was nothing but shadows and sharp bones.

“I’m Sophia,” she whispered. “You?”

I almost didn’t answer. My voice felt buried under sand. “Eliora.”

She gave a small nod. “Don’t lose hope, Eliora They release us sometimes. A mistake, a change of orders. It happens.”

Hope was a dangerous thing, but I clung to it anyway.

Days passed. We spoke in whispers about the world beyond the dungeon, about food we missed, about what sunlight might feel like on our skin again. She had been here longer; she swore she’d seen prisoners walk free.

One morning, the door screeched open…not for us, but for Lady Mirielle. Her presence was worse than the guards. She was the King’s blade without steel, cutting people down with words alone.

She stepped into the cell, skirts brushing the filthy floor, her sharp eyes raking over me.

“Hope you’re counting your days” she murmured. “The King is not pleased. His fury grows by the hour. Do you know what he does when he’s in this mood?”

I glared at her. I never poisoned the King. She had set me up!

“He burns the rot from his kingdom. All of it.” She leaned close, her perfume sour in the damp air. “You’ll wish for death before it finds you. Count your breaths, girl…they’re numbered.”

“I didn’t do it! You set me up!”

She chuckled darkly.

“Oh really? Tell that to the King”

Her heels clicked as she left, the sound echoing in the silence she left behind.

That night, Sophia’s voice trembled for the first time. “We’re going to actually die” she whispered and I could hear the fear behind the words.

“We are not going to die”

I assured her.

“I’ll make sure of it”

If the King’s rage truly meant to crush us all, I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I wouldn’t die on my knees. At least not until I have gotten my revenge on everyone who caused me harm and so I had a plan.

The next morning came.

The guards came in dragging people out of their cell and that was my chance. I found a shard of rusted metal hidden in the straw. My hands shook, but I gripped it hard enough to cut my palm. I pressed it to my wrist.

The sting was sharp, then warm. Blood welled up, spilling over my hand. It was almost beautiful, like red threads unraveling from my skin.

Sophia started screaming.

“Eliora! Help! Somebody Help! She is dying!