Chapter 29
Lina's POV
I woke to soft dawn light filtering through gauzy curtains, disoriented and warm beneath silk sheets that felt impossibly smooth against my skin. The air carried the faint scent of ash and frost—a scent I had come to associate with him.
I sat up abruptly, my heart hammering as the previous night flooded back. The massage. The way he had pulled me close, his golden eyes boring into mine with predatory intensity. The feel of his fingertip tracing my jaw, brushing my lips. And then... nothing. I must have fallen asleep.
I looked down at myself, trembling as I checked my clothing. My plain linen tunic and skirt were intact, undisturbed. No marks on my skin, no bruises. I exhaled shakily, relief washing over me.
But the fact that I was still here, in his bed, filled me with creeping dread. I slipped out and moved toward the door, easing it open just enough to peer outside.
Selas stood in the corridor, his broad shoulders rigid. The moment he heard the door creak, he turned and met my gaze. "You are awake," he said quietly.
I nodded, swallowing hard. "Where is His Majesty?"
"He has gone to the War Council," Selas replied carefully. "He left orders that no one is to disturb you."
My stomach twisted. "Orders?"
Selas's gaze flickered with something like pity. "You are to remain here until he returns. He will speak with you then."
The words settled over me like a shroud. I stepped back into the room, closing the door softly, my mind racing.
Selas escorted me to a small sitting room adjacent to the main chambers. I sank onto one of the cushions, my body trembling with exhaustion and confusion, trying to steady my breathing.
Kira appeared moments later, her face lighting up with relief. "Lina! Thank the gods, you are all right." She hurried over and clasped my hands tightly. "I was so worried. Are you hurt? Did he—"
"I am fine," I interrupted hoarsely. "He did not hurt me."
Kira squeezed my hands gently. "His Majesty said you are not to leave this room. You are to wait here until he finishes his business."
I nodded numbly, my mind spinning with fear and uncertainty.
The morning dragged on in agonizing slowness. Kira stayed with me, though neither of us spoke much. I picked at the food she brought, my appetite nonexistent.
And then, just as the sun reached its zenith, the door burst open. A guard stumbled in, his face pale and eyes wide. "Are you Lina Valerian?" he gasped.
I rose to my feet, my heart lurching. "Yes. What is it?"
"Lady Isabella is here," he said, words tumbling over each other. "She has demanded to see you. She is on her way now."
Kira's face went white. She grabbed my arm, fingers digging into my skin. "Lina, you must be careful. Lady Isabella is jealous and cruel. If she has come for you, it is not for anything good."
Cold dread settled in my stomach, but I forced myself to nod. "I understand."
There was no point in running. I straightened my shoulders, smoothed my rumpled skirt, and followed the guard into the corridor.
Lady Isabella waited in one of the outer chambers. She stood in the center, arms crossed, her blue slit-pupil eyes blazing with fury. She was beautiful in a cold, predatory way—chestnut curls cascading over her shoulders, crimson gown clinging to her voluptuous figure. But there was nothing soft about her. She radiated menace.
I stepped inside and sank into a low curtsy, my gaze fixed on the floor. "Lady Isabella, you summoned me?"
She did not answer. Instead, she moved toward me with slow, deliberate steps.
And then, without warning, she struck.
The blow came from the side—a heavy silver candlestick, swung with vicious force. I barely had time to flinch before it connected with my temple, and pain exploded through my skull. I staggered, vision swimming, and felt warm blood trickle down my forehead.
"You filthy half-blood bitch!" Isabella shrieked. "I knew it! I knew you were trying to seduce His Majesty! Look at you—crawling into his bed like the dirty little whore you are!"
I pressed a hand to my bleeding temple, trying to steady myself, but she was on me in an instant. Her fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back with brutal force, and then she slammed my face down onto the cold stone floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain through my skull, and I tasted blood in my mouth.
"Remember your place, slave," she hissed, her breath hot against my ear. "You are nothing. His Majesty would never want a disgusting half-breed like you."
I could not speak. I could not move. My left ear was ringing, a high-pitched whine drowning out everything else, and my vision blurred with tears and pain.
And then I felt the cold kiss of steel against my throat.
I froze, breath catching in my chest. Through the haze of pain, I saw the glint of a jeweled dagger, its blade pressed against the soft skin of my neck. Isabella's face hovered above mine, twisted with malice.
"I could kill you right now," she whispered, almost tender. "I could slit your throat and leave you here to bleed out like the animal you are. And His Majesty would not care."
The blade bit into my skin, and I felt a thin line of blood trickle down my neck. I closed my eyes, trembling, and waited for the end.
But it did not come.
Instead, I heard Kira's voice, hoarse and desperate. "Help! Someone, please! Help!"
Isabella's grip on the dagger tightened, and she turned toward the sound. "Shut up, you stupid girl," she snarled.
But Kira kept screaming, her voice raw and frantic. Isabella cursed and kicked out, her boot connecting with Kira's stomach. Kira collapsed with a choked gasp, blood spilling from her lips, and I felt a surge of guilt and despair so overwhelming I could barely breathe.
This was my fault. Kira was suffering because of me.
And then, cutting through the chaos, I heard a voice that made my blood run cold.
"His Majesty approaches!"
The effect was instantaneous. Isabella released me, stepping back and smoothing down her gown, her expression shifting from fury to calculated distress. I lay on the floor gasping for breath, my body trembling with pain and shock, as heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
The door swung open, and Augustus Ashenwing strode into the room. He was dressed in a black-and-gold tunic, his dark hair slightly disheveled, and his golden eyes swept over the scene with cold, merciless precision. Behind him, Selas stood at attention, his face grim.
For a moment, there was silence. Augustus's gaze moved from Isabella to me, and I saw something flicker in his eyes—something dark and dangerous.
"Isabella," he said, his voice low and deadly. "What are you doing in my chambers?"