Chapter 5

Reyna

I did not stop running or look back until I bumped into someone right at the corner of the hallway while I was looking back to see whether the king was following me.

"Oof." I stumbled backwards, losing footing entirely and crashed down hard on my ass; I thought my tailbone broke. The clatter of a silver tray and shattering porcelain dishes coming into contact with the floor followed. Food was sprayed everywhere, including hot stew on my exposed arm.

"I'm so, so sorry," I blurted, ignoring the stinging pain of the hot food as it came into contact with my exposed skin. My first instinct was to put on the dress, to cover myself. I hurriedly slipped it on and scrambled to stand up. "I wasn't looking where I was going—"

The words died in my throat as my eyes fell on a familiar face. He was the boy from the auction cell, the boy who had told me girls sold quicker than boys. Who knew we would end up in the palace? "You," he said sharply.

"You remember me?" I whispered, looking at his dark curls slightly covering his blue eyes.

Before he could answer, hurried footsteps cut through the corridor. A girl dressed in a mid-thigh white dress appeared, her eyes widening when they fell on the scattered food and broken plates on the floor. She must have been a servant, like the ones who had bathed me.

"Oh no, what have you done, Lucas?" She rushed forward, looking at the boy then at me. "No, no, no..." she trailed off, lowering her eyes to the mess again. "We are dead," she whispered in a cracked voice. "That was Lady Thelma's lunch; I told you to carry it carefully."

"I- it's my fault," I mumbled.

"No, I'm the one who bumped into her," Lucas countered, stepping forward to shield me. Why was he protecting me, a slave he barely knew? The small commotion drew in a small number of servants, each one of them looking at me and Lucas pitifully. Who was this Lady Thelma that had them trembling? Then we heard them, slow footsteps, the kind stilettos made on concrete. Every servant lowered their heads while I looked at the end of the corridor. A woman dressed in a purple bodycon dress approached, swaying her hips from left to right in such perfection.

As she came closer and closer, I couldn't help but notice how perfect her makeup was. Her hair was slick, combed straight without even a strand out of place. Her eyes dropped to the food, then to me and to Lucas, and her face contorted.

"You." She pointed at me with her manicured index finger. "How dare you look at me when everyone else is bowing?" I didn't respond faster than the slap she gave me directly on my cheek, the same cheek Kieran had slapped. I whimpered, my hand flying to hold it as pain exploded and the taste of iron filled my mouth.

"Who spilt my food?" I closed my eyes as she yelled, bracing myself for another round of slaps. "Lucas," she called.

"My lady," he responded, his tone low.

"Did you do this?" she asked, stepping closer to him.

"It was the slave; she bumped into him." The maid who had approached first beat Lucas into speaking.

"The slave, huh?" Thelma repeated. Her gaze swept over me slowly, from my feet to the dress and finally to my face, a scowl of disdain on her face. "So you are the new king's toy," she stated as a matter of fact. "I have been hearing whispers of you since morning. Are you coming from his office?" That was an odd question for her to ask.

Before I could speak, she leant closer to my ear. "The king is mine," she whispered, a low, vicious hiss made for me alone. "You will soon realise why the other slaves before you are not here." She stepped back, but something about her words didn't stand well with me. It almost felt like she was threatening me. "Guards?" she called. Two men came running, each one of them acknowledging her.

"Take her to the punishment room. Give her fifty lashes on her ugly back until she knows her place." The order was clear as day, so even as I was dragged away, I didn't bother begging. I had been whipped so many times by Alpha Tristan that I didn't panic. They took me to the basement of the palace, where all sorts of torture weapons lay arranged, and tied me to a pole at the corner.

"Aaaah!" I screamed when the first whip landed on my back, breaking my skin instantly. Another scream left my lips as more and more connected with my skin until I felt a warm liquid flowing down my back beneath the dress. "No one is coming to save you," one mocked, but the next lash never landed. I looked over my shoulder as the guard released the whip.

"Sir Clark," the guards said at the same time. His eyes swept over my back, a muscle visible ticking in his jaw.

"I leave the palace for 20 minutes, and somehow Thelma gets to her?" He shook his head, like he already knew she was responsible. I was grateful to whoever told him I was being whipped.

"Leave," he simply said, the tone of his voice similar to the one he had used in the auction. It had a command in it that even I wanted to obey despite not being even a guard. "And the next time before you take an order from Thelma, remember that this is King Zion's property."

"I see you have met the bitch already," he muttered as he freed me. I would have laughed had it not been that the moment I dropped my arms, agony spread through my spine. With each breath, the pain spread further. "Let's get you treated." He carried me out of the basement, out of the palace through what seemed like the back door, and into an SUV. He laid me in the back seat on my stomach, careful not to cause anymore damage.

He drove for what felt like ages, with me whimpering and him trying to console me. I couldn't help but wonder why the king's right-hand man had any shred of care for a slave like me. Finally, we came to a stop outside a two-storey cabin in the middle of the woods. Like before, he carried me inside, where we found an elderly woman in one of the rooms, bowls arranged on a table, waiting as if she knew we were coming. It smelled of herbs. Clark must have informed her beforehand. He laid me on a raised bed, whispering a series of sorrys when I cried out.

"Poor girl," the woman muttered, handing me a cup of coffee-coloured liquid. "Drink this; it will help with the ache and sleep for recovery." She then pulled a chair and sat besides me. Slowly, she held my hair in a bun to prevent the strands from coming into contact with the open skin. Slowly she pushed the dress strands after Clark left the room.

However, as soon as she began cleaning the wounds, her hands froze in place. Then her fingers moved on my left shoulder blade, gently. "Where did you get this mark?" she asked.

"It's just a birthmark," I responded, letting out a soft cry when pain once again exploded.

"You do not have any idea, do you?" Her voice trembled as she looked at me in an expression I couldn't read.

"What do you mean?" I squinted, my eyebrows pulled together as I stared at her in my blurry vision. The herb she had given me for the pain was beginning to set in, and I could feel myself slipping into sleep.

I swear I heard her talk, but my brain was shutting down. "Huh?" I slurred the words.

"Never mind, sleep. When you wake up, you will feel much better." As I drifted into darkness, I couldn't help but wonder what she meant.