20 Unwanted Scent

**Annabel’s POV**

"I am a newlywed, Your Majesty. We weren’t trying for a baby," Michelle said, her voice tinged with hope. 

I wondered why she was offering such personal information. It wouldn’t do her any good here. If she believed dreams like that had a place here, she was gravely mistaken. 

Dreams of that sort were reserved for women like Leah—unmated, untouched, and ready to be molded into someone else’s ideal. 

I held my tongue, unwilling to offer any details of my own. If King Darius wanted to believe I was barren, so be it. 

The truth was that Maxwell and I had simply decided to wait. But that wasn’t something Darius needed to know.

He looked at me then, his sharp gaze burning into me. I immediately bowed my head, avoiding eye contact. 

I had learned that keeping my head down and my silence intact was the safest way to navigate moments like this.

When he finished eating, Michelle and I cleared his plate and prepared to leave. His voice stopped us at the door.

“The two of you should return and fix this room. Take note of the chores because they will be your responsibility every day unless I say otherwise,” he commanded.

We both bowed and left without a word, heading back to the kitchen. 

There, we hurriedly washed the dishes, giving the cooks the King’s feedback about the soup before returning to his chambers to clean. 

The sooner we could finish, the better.

The moment we entered, his eyes landed on me again, and I felt a chill run through me. His expression was unreadable, but his words were sharp and direct.

“I won’t be needing your services. I can’t stand your smell. Do something about it, because it’s driving me nuts,” he said coldly.

I nodded, swallowing the sting of his words. “May I be excused, Your Majesty?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and respectful.

Michelle’s eyes lit up briefly, as if she relished the idea of being alone with him. 

I caught the flicker of smugness but didn’t let it bother me. I had no desire to stay in this room any longer than necessary.

“You can help the other slaves serve the new captives,” he replied, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “There will be no dinner service for me tonight, so feel free to retire afterward.”

Bowing again, I left the room, my steps measured and purposeful. My heart felt heavier with each step, but at least I could spend the rest of the evening away from his scrutiny. Whatever solace that provided would have to be enough for now.

After asking for directions, I was led to the area where the captives were being served. The task was grueling, even more so as hunger gnawed at my insides. 

Watching the captives receive their meals only added to my discomfort—I doubted there was any plan to feed me tonight. I pushed through the tedious work, my body aching and my spirits low.

Eventually, I returned to the room that had been allocated to me. 

As I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the lavish furnishings that only served as a cruel contrast to my circumstances, the weight of my new reality settled in. 

This place wasn’t going to be a fresh start or a reprieve; it was going to be a new kind of hell.

There was no doubt in my mind that King Darius hated me. He hated the bond we shared, hated the fact that Fate had chosen me for him. 

What I couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just reject me. 

Surely it would be simpler, cleaner—for both of us. But perhaps he would, eventually. I could only hope he found someone else soon, someone who would make this bond irrelevant.

My thoughts drifted to Leah. My heart ached for her, knowing she didn’t like him yet was being drawn into his orbit. And Michelle—was she safe around someone with his volatile temper? 

I didn’t know, and honestly, I didn’t want to involve myself. It wasn’t my business, and I had enough of my own problems to deal with.

Determined to avoid further confrontation, I showered and scrubbed my skin with baking soda and bleach, hoping to mask or erase whatever scent had offended him. 

It was a desperate act, and I doubted it would work, but I had to try. The last thing I wanted was to provoke his anger again.

Not long after, there was a gentle knock on the door. My stomach tightened, fearing it might be Aida or someone else with more disdain to heap on me. 

But when the door opened, relief washed over me. It was the kind old lady from the night before, her presence a rare comfort in this oppressive place.

“Good evening,” she said softly, her kind eyes scanning the room before settling on me.

I offered a faint smile, grateful for her appearance. “Good evening,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and for the first time in hours, I felt a small flicker of peace.