Chapter 32 Shadow Of King
That man, he is King, a figure cloaked in mystery and fear. His voice breaks the silence, deep and heavy, like darkness given sound. He turns his piercing gaze to me and asks in a low, dangerous tone, “How did you get hurt?”
A bodyguard standing before him freezes in fear. In a trembling voice, he replies, “Sir while we were carrying her, her hand hit the road that’s when she got injured…”
The King’s eyes flash with fury, and with a sudden motion, he slams the paperweight on the table. The sound echoes through the hall like thunder. Without a word, he picks up his black gun, aims it at the bodyguard’s head, and pulls the trigger without hesitation.
A loud gunshot cracks the silence, and the bodyguard collapses to the ground, dead. The other guards stand frozen in fear, not daring to breathe too loud.
The King raises his hand silently, and the remaining guards immediately pick up the body and carry it away. The hall falls silent once again, colder than before.
His eyes rest on my unconscious face. There is no remorse or sympathy only a strange, chilling calm. In his eyes, a mysterious smile appears, as if he finally got what he wanted.
He rises from his seat, steps slow and deliberate, his boots echoing faintly on the velvet floor. His masked face is unreadable, but his eyes never leave me. His hair has fallen slightly over his eyes, and in the pale light, his presence is darkly magnetic.
Kneeling beside the couch, he stares at my face, glowing softly in the moonlight. My delicate features seem out of place in this cold, sinister room. He notices my simple white suit and trousers, completely inadequate for the freezing weather. For a moment, something flickers in his gaze—curiosity, or perhaps something else.
Without saying a word, he lifts me gently into his arms. His movements are careful but commanding. Step by step, he carries me to a luxurious bed, laying me down and wrapping a thick blanket around my fragile frame.
He turns on the room’s heater, then returns to his chair, sitting unmoving, eyes fixed on me.
Morning comes, but in King State, darkness remains. No curtains are drawn, no lights switched on. Time itself feels frozen here.
I stir. A faint groan escapes my lips as my head throbs with pain. Slowly, I sit up, confusion clouding my face.
“Where am I…? How did I get here?” I whisper to myself, panic rising.
Pulling the blanket away, I step onto the floor. The soft black carpet muffles my steps as I walk to the window and draw the curtains aside. What I see steals my breath.
Outside, snow falls in thick, gentle flurries. Endless snow-covered mountains stretch as far as the eye can see. A small smile touches my lips at the haunting beauty of the frozen landscape.
Suddenly, a deep, terrifying voice cuts through the silence. “Close the window.”
Startled, I turn quickly. Behind me stands a tall man in a black coat, his face hidden behind a mask.
My heart races. “Who are you? Where am I? Why am I here? I want to go home!” I stammer, panic rising.
The King doesn’t answer my questions. His voice is firm, cold. “I said, close the window.”
Terrified, I quickly close the curtain. My mind swirls with fear, confusion, and questions. But I now know one thing: I am trapped, and this man this King holds all the answers.
He walks slowly toward me, footsteps echoing ominously. His presence is intimidating yet strangely captivating. Tall, clad in a long black coat, face hidden behind a dark mask. Only his eyes are visible—deep, piercing grey eyes filled with mystery, command, and a chilling calm.
In a deep, heavy voice, he says, “I heard your husband is dead.”
I freeze. Tears well up. “Yes but who are you? How do you know that?” I whisper.
The King doesn’t answer directly. His voice grows firmer, more resolute. “From now on, you will stay here.”
I hesitate, fear gripping me. “No my mom must be worried I have to go home”
He steps closer, barking with authority. “No questions.”
I flinch. A silent tear escapes as I look up into those stormy grey eyes, devoid of emotion but full of power and control. Timidly, almost whispering, I plead, “Please let me go.”
Without answering, he grabs my wrist not forcefully, but firmly and guides me to sit on the bed. His touch leaves no room for resistance. Sitting me down, he asks, “Are you feeling cold?”
I shiver, not from the cold but from fear, shaking my head. He gently covers me with the blanket and turns on the heater.
A knock sounds at the door. King presses a button, and it slides open. A maid walks in quietly, carrying breakfast, placing it on the bed before silently leaving.
My eyes fall on the tray: tea, toast, and bread omelette neatly arranged. My mind swarms with fear and confusion. I want to ask so many questions, but then I notice the row of 6–7 guns nearby. I swallow my words.
King remains seated, eyes fixed on me. He takes a piece of toast and offers it to me.
“I’ll eat it myself…” I say, raising my hand slightly.
He shoots a cold, warning glance. His stare says, Do not disobey. Without further hesitation, I open my mouth and take a bite, eating silently, hands trembling.
Inside, my mind screams, Oh God, what kind of monster is this? Who is this executioner? Why am I here?
King’s heavy voice cuts through: “Stop overthinking with your little mind.”
Startled, I look up, shocked. “Did you… hear me?”
He replies coldly, “I can hear even the wind in this place.”
I say nothing more, lowering my eyes, quietly eating. Heart pounding, mind racing, body frozen.
He speaks again, voice deep and commanding, “You will stay here. You will do exactly as I say. You have no choice.”
I freeze. Breath hitching, I muster what little courage I have left. “But how can I stay here? I want to go home my family.”
Before I can finish, his piercing gaze locks on me, silencing me completely. He steps closer, tone sharp. “I make the decisions. I don’t entertain questions.”
A tear slips down my cheek. Heart sinking, hands clutching the blanket, I break down in silent sobs.
He kneels before me, dominance still palpable but strangely gentle. He extends a hand, brushing my tear-streaked face. His cold fingers graze my skin, and in a low, firm voice, he says, “Don’t cry.”
Even through the mask, I sense the intensity in his gaze deep, unreadable, almost human. Fear still grips me.
He holds my face and says, calm but with absolute control, “In this place, everything happens by my will. That includes you.” I want to protest, to ask why, but my voice fails.