28 A Little Breather

**Annabel’s POV**

As we walked through the corridor, Michelle’s anger was practically tangible, her footsteps heavy and her muttering relentless. The jealousy rolling off her was unmistakable.

“Why won’t he take me?” Michelle spat bitterly, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

Leah, ever the calm observer, smirked and quipped, “Seems you need to impress him a bit more in bed.”

The comment caught me off guard, and before I could stop myself, I laughed. Leah joined in, the sound light and infectious, and for a moment, the tension lifted.

But Michelle wasn’t laughing. Her glare could have cut through stone. 

It was a good question. If he was sleeping with Michelle, then he should have asked her and not me.

The truth was, I didn’t know why he’d chosen me, and I didn’t want to dwell on it. 

Overthinking would only add to the anxiety already bubbling inside me. Instead, I shrugged it off and focused on Leah, who was watching me with a playful grin.

“Come on,” Leah said suddenly, grabbing my arm. “I’ve been dying to see your room.”

Her unexpected enthusiasm made me laugh again. “Leah—” I started, but she was already pulling me down the hall, leaving Michelle fuming behind us.

Michelle growled in frustration as she realised she’d be stuck doing all the chores alone, but I didn’t care. 

Leah and I had both been granted the rare reprieve of being off duty, and I wasn’t going to waste it. Let Michelle stew in her bitterness.

When we reached my room, Leah stepped inside and immediately gasped. Her eyes widened as she took in the modest yet comfortable space, a stark contrast to the bleak, utilitarian quarters most of us were assigned.

“The room I was placed in isn’t half as beautiful as this,” Leah said, spinning slowly to take in the details. Her awe was genuine, and it made me appreciate the space in a way I hadn’t before.

Then her gaze fixed on me, her expression curious. “What’s the deal between you and the King?”

I froze at her question, feeling a rush of unease. “Why do you ask?” I said cautiously, unsure where she was going with this.

“Well, for starters,” she began, settling onto the edge of the bed, “he’s always asking about you. About your old life, your family, your relationships. It’s the only thing he ever talks about with me.”

I blinked, stunned by her words. “What do you mean? Why would he ask you about me?”

Leah shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. But it’s obvious he’s interested in you—more than he lets on. I don’t want to say it, but I think he’s smitten with you.”

I shook my head, incredulous. “Smitten? Leah, he insults me. He’s cruel and unpredictable. If he cared at all, why would he act that way?”

Leah leaned back, her expression wry. “Because he’s the King. He doesn’t know how to handle his feelings like a normal person. 

That’s why he swings between being nasty and, well, taking you to a banquet. It’s confusing, sure, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel something.”

Her words left me speechless. Could it be true? Could Darius’s erratic behaviour stem from something deeper, something even he couldn’t articulate? 

I wasn’t sure what to believe, but one thing was certain: tonight’s banquet was going to be more significant than I had anticipated.

"Your room is exquisite, Annabel. Just a door away from the King’s chambers. Wow," Leah said, her voice filled with wonder as she admired the space. 

Her words made my stomach flutter despite my best efforts to suppress the reaction. 

She didn’t know the half of it—that my room was secretly linked to the King’s chambers by a hidden door. That was a detail I wasn’t ready to share, not even with her.

“Why isn’t he taking you, though?” I asked, partly to steer the conversation away from my room but mostly because I was genuinely curious.

Leah chuckled and shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Accompanying that man is torture. He doesn’t speak to me or even look at me most of the time. 

The only things he ever talks about are you or your former in-laws. That’s it. It’s like he has no interest in me at all. 

Honestly, I’d rather be alone than sit through another silent evening by his side.”

I frowned, taken aback by her bluntness. “But why does he take you if he’s so disinterested?”

“For appearances,” she replied with a wry smile. “I’m just there to fill a seat or to keep up whatever image he’s trying to project. 

Most events end the same way—me sitting alone, drinking champagne, and wishing I could leave. It’s not glamorous, Annabel. It’s lonely.” Her smile faded, and she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I hope he doesn’t do the same to you tonight.”

Her honesty was refreshing, and for a moment, we just sat there, sharing an unspoken understanding. “My only real chat buddy is my wolf,” she added with a small laugh, breaking the tension. 

I couldn’t help but laugh with her. I knew that feeling all too well.

Our conversation shifted as the moments passed, meandering through shared memories and the fates of the others who had come to this place with us.