22 Unbearable

**Annabel’s POV**

Leah wasn’t with us at first, and I wondered briefly where she was and if she was all right. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and she entered, dressed elegantly. 

She walked with an air of poise and sat beside the King. His body language betrayed his discomfort, though he said nothing to oppose her presence. 

Leah glanced in my direction with an apologetic expression, but I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what she was apologising for, and even if I did, I wouldn’t dare comment on it.

Michelle, on the other hand, looked scornful, her face twisting in disdain. Whatever she had imagined had transpired between her and the King clearly wasn’t as significant as she’d hoped. 

Her bitterness hung in the air, but I ignored it.

“Good morning, Miss Leah,” I said, greeting her with a respectful nod. I recognized her elevated status now and addressed her accordingly. 

She offered me a warm smile in return, but the King’s attention shifted sharply to me.

“Won’t you serve the meal?” he asked, his tone calm but with an edge of command.

I nodded quickly, moving to serve the dish without hesitation. 

His eyes lingered on me, and just as I finished placing the food before him, his nose wrinkled slightly, and he sniffed the air.

“Is that bleach?” he asked, his voice low but pointed. My movements faltered, and I froze for a moment before nodding quickly in acknowledgement.

“You didn’t deem it necessary to wash off the bleach before coming here?” he asked, his tone tinged with irritation.

I bowed my head, feeling heat rise to my face. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” I managed, my voice steady though my nerves were frayed. I had tried so hard not to offend him, and yet I had failed again.

The room grew quiet, the tension palpable as I awaited his reaction, unsure what consequences would follow this latest misstep.

"If I may speak, Your Majesty," I said cautiously, bowing my head. His gaze shifted to me, and he nodded slightly, granting permission.

“I used the bleach to shower because you complained that I smelled yesterday,” I explained, trying to keep my tone even. The truth felt both embarrassing and necessary.

Beside me, Michelle chuckled softly, the sound cutting through the tense air like a knife. My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression neutral, unwilling to let her mockery affect me.

Darius’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of shock crossing his face. I couldn’t tell if it was because of what I’d said or because I’d dared to speak at all.

“I see,” he said finally, his tone flat and unreadable. He continued eating without another word, and I took the opportunity to serve Leah, keeping my distance from him. 

When the meal ended, Michelle and I quietly packed up the dishes and left the room.

The rest of the morning was spent tending to the captives, a gruelling but familiar task that left little time to dwell on my mistakes. 

By evening, Michelle and I were called to serve Darius and Leah in the garden. The setting was beautiful, the cool evening air and lush greenery contrasting sharply with the unease I carried.

As I placed the dishes, I noticed the kind old lady from before. She sat quietly nearby, her expression clouded with a sadness she tried to conceal. 

It tugged at something inside me, but I quickly refocused on the task at hand. As long as I wasn’t annoying the King, I could endure anything.

Was it hard being treated like this? Yes, unbearably so. But I couldn’t complain. 

My time with Maxwell had been a gift—one that I clung to now like a lifeline. He had loved me fully, embraced every part of me without hesitation. 

Maxwell would never have treated me this way, and the memories of his love provided an escape from the harshness of my present reality.

I found myself silently hoping Darius would reject me soon. Perhaps then, the inexplicable pull I felt toward him would disappear. 

Maybe then, the jealousy and the ache in my chest when he showed attention to others would fade. For now, though, all I could do was survive.

"The bleach smell again," Darius muttered in irritation, his tone sharp and dismissive. 

I froze, the sting of his complaint cutting through me. I hadn’t had time to shower after the morning’s labour, and now I was paying for it.

“I’ll give her perfume tonight,” the old woman interjected, her voice calm but insistent.

“I don’t like perfumes, and you know this,” Darius shot back, his annoyance apparent.

His words were the final straw. I couldn’t take it anymore. The endless cycle of complaints, the disdain, the way my every action seemed to offend him—I had reached my limit.

“If my scent offends you, Your Majesty,” I began, forcing the words out before fear could silence me, “maybe it’s best you remove me from your personal service. I could work in the kitchen or the farms instead. That way, you wouldn’t have to deal with my smell.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Every eye was on me. Leah’s face twisted with worry, while Michelle looked like she was eagerly awaiting my downfall. 

It was as if I had committed an unthinkable offense, and the tension in the air thickened with each passing second.

“The last slave who spoke to me like that didn’t end well,” Darius said, his voice a low, menacing growl. He stood abruptly, his movements deliberate and intimidating.

“Darius, please,” the old woman pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m sure she didn’t mean disrespect.”

But her words fell on deaf ears. He strode toward me, his presence overwhelming, and before I could react, his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip. Without a word, he began to drag me away.

“Please, Darius!” the old woman called out again, desperation in her tone. But he didn’t stop.

I knew, without a doubt, that whatever awaited me would be cruel. Apologizing or begging wouldn’t change anything—it would only feed his anger. 

Instead, I held my head high, determined not to show fear. If today was the day I joined Maxwell, so be it. 

I had nothing left to lose. There was no reason to cling to this life anymore, a life stripped of dignity and purpose.

I stumbled as he pulled me along, trying to keep my footing to avoid being dragged entirely. 

My steps faltered under his relentless pace, but I refused to cry out or resist. The cold resolve in my heart was the only armor I had left.