19 Sudden Hostility

**Annabel’s POV**

Leah wasn’t thrilled about the outing with the King, but none of us dared to speak of it openly. Her silence hung heavy, a reflection of the tension we all felt. Soon, Aida appeared, her ever-present smirk firmly in place. She made no effort to hide her disdain as she separated Leah from us.

“I told you not to get your hopes up,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery as her eyes fixed on me. Her smile was almost triumphant, but I chose to ignore her. 

Responding wouldn’t change anything, and it would only feed her satisfaction. Aida chuckled to herself and led Leah away, leaving Michelle and me to the tasks ahead.

The two of us were directed to the kitchen, where the King’s meals were prepared. It was a chaotic scene, bustling with activity, and we were put to work immediately. 

Washing plates, scrubbing floors, cleaning every corner—we were pushed to the limit. By the time we finished, it was well into the afternoon. 

Only then were we allowed a meager breakfast, but we had to eat in a hurry. The King’s lunch service awaited, and there was no time to linger.

I took charge of the food cart, pushing it carefully as Michelle followed behind. 

The morning’s labor and hunger had dulled her usual sharp tongue, leaving her quieter and more subdued. For once, her silence was a welcome reprieve. 

As I pushed the cart down the corridors, my thoughts drifted. I wondered how Rebecca and Alfred were faring. 

Were they being worked as hard as we were? Did they have even a shred of relief? I doubted it, but the thought lingered anyway.

When we entered the King’s chambers, he was seated at his desk, surrounded by documents. His brow was furrowed, his focus intense. 

Whatever he was working on clearly required his full attention. We greeted him softly, but he didn’t acknowledge us. Michelle and I quickly moved to set up the meal, working in silence as we served the dishes.

Finally, King Darius rose from his chair, his eyes briefly scanning the table before he sat down to eat. 

The moment he tasted the soup, however, his reaction was swift and furious. He spat it out, his face twisting in disgust, and before I could even register what was happening, the bowl went flying. 

The contents splashed across Michelle and me, the hot liquid soaking into our clothes.

“Who cooked this meal?” he thundered, his voice sharp with rage. His piercing gaze bore into me, and I felt the weight of his fury like a physical force.

“The cooks in the kitchen, Your Majesty,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my insides. I didn’t flinch, but my heart was racing.

His eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled from his chest. The room felt charged, the tension thick enough to suffocate. I braced myself, unsure what his next move would be, but certain it wouldn’t be pleasant.

"Did I ask you to speak?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. I froze, realizing just how bad his mood was. Shaking my head, I quickly stepped back, trying to avoid provoking him further.

"Next time you speak without permission, you will be dealt with," he continued, his tone cold and unforgiving. "Do not think that having a separate room makes you special. The only reason you’re there is to make you more accessible to me when I need something. That’s all. I hope I’ve made myself clear."

I nodded swiftly, my heart pounding in my chest. I hadn’t expected anything different from him, but hearing those words still stung. They reminded me of my place—a slave, nothing more.

“Serve something else,” he barked, and I instinctively moved to carry out the order. But his voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Not you. I can’t stand your scent,” he said, his disdain palpable. It felt like a slap. 

Though he hadn’t explicitly called me foul-smelling, his words cut just as deeply. My stomach churned, but I kept my expression neutral.

Michelle, standing nearby, chuckled lightly, breaking the heavy silence. 

She stepped forward to serve the food instead. I stayed rooted to my spot, unsure what to do, waiting for further orders. 

The truth of our situation couldn’t have been clearer. We were nothing but slaves, disposable and easily replaceable. 

Yet in that moment, I felt an odd sense of gratitude that Maxwell wasn’t alive to see this. He would have revolted against this cruelty, and knowing him, it would have cost him his life. At least one of us had escaped this torment.

The room was heavy with tension as King Darius finally broke the silence with an unexpected question. “Do any of you have children?”

I didn’t answer, unsure if it was meant for me or Michelle.

“No, Your Majesty. I do not have children,” Michelle replied cautiously, her tone carefully measured.

His piercing gaze shifted to me. “And you?” he asked.

“No, Your Majesty,” I said, my voice steady, though my insides twisted under his scrutiny.

He nodded slowly, his lips curling slightly in a way that felt more mocking than thoughtful. “So, both of you are barren, I see,” he said, the words hanging in the air like an accusation.

Michelle quickly shook her head, her face turning pale. “No, Your Majesty. I am not barren,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

I remained silent, unsure how to respond. His words had struck a nerve, but showing any reaction would only invite more humiliation. I stood there, waiting, hoping this ordeal would end soon.