Forbidden Hands (1)

Alessia

“Is this the princess?”

The voice came from my left. The court officials lined up along the hall in their bright robes, smiling their practiced smiles. Their eyes moved over me the way men’s eyes do when they think looking is the same as owning.

“Rare beauty,” another one uttered. “The king is very lucky.”

I kept my face calm and my expression pleasant. My mother had taught me that before any of this happened, before the war, before the betrayal, before everything I had known was turned to ash. A woman’s face in a foreign court is its own kind of weapon. Show them what they want to see. Give them nothing real.

I stopped in front of the king and bowed.

“You may rise, my beloved concubine.”

I rose. I smiled, a small, soft, and harmless gesture. The smile of a woman who has surrendered. A defeated princess.

And then I made the mistake of letting my eyes move.

He was standing to the king’s right—exactly where a first prince should stand. Tall, calm, and dressed in quiet authority. The aura around him screamed power. He looked exactly the way he had the very first time I ever saw him, before I knew what kind of man he truly was.

My lover.

No, that word didn’t fit anymore.

My archenemy.

The man who had once pressed his lips to my temple in the dark and whispered that he would love me until the world ended. The same man who helped burn my country to the ground.

The man who stood beside his father, my husband, this old king with lust in his eyes, and watched me with an expression I refused to try to understand.

I looked away, back to the king, where at least the danger was simple and clear.

“I must say,” the king said, his eyes moving over me slowly, “you look very pretty.”

I gave him a pretty smile.

“Congratulations, my king!” his ministers said together, bowing low.

He waved them off magnanimously, still looking at me like a piece of meat. He called for a maid without breaking eye contact. “Take my concubine to her chambers.” Then, directly to me, quieter: “I will join you soon.”

“I will take my leave, my king.” I bowed once more, let my gaze drift to the prince for just a fraction of a second, long enough to make sure he saw that I felt nothing for him again, and then I turned and followed the maids out.

I followed her through the winding corridors toward my new quarters.

“We’re here, Your Highness,” she said with a bow.

She opened the door, and I walked in.

“You can take your leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The chambers were large, beautiful, and suffocating all at once. Expensive fabrics, imported furniture, and flowers in vases that probably cost more than entire villages back home. My home. My burned, broken, grieving home.

I breathed a sigh of relief—I had passed the first test. The second would begin when the king entered my chambers. I fell onto the bed, thinking about the good times I spent with my beloved…

“Alessia,” he had once whispered my name, kissing me softly on the cheek. “I will never stop loving you, my flower.”

Bullshit. I stood up fast.

The anger came quick and hot, and I was glad for it. Anger is useful. Anger keeps you sharp. It stops you from making the deadly mistake of feeling something tender for someone who already shown you who they are.

I hated him. I hated that I had believed every word he said. I hated that I had kept believing him even when I could see the smoke rising from my country’s border. If I ever got the chance—

“Your Highness.”

I blinked.

The maid the king had assigned me was kneeling on the floor, her head bowed so low it nearly touched the ground. Her whole body was folded inward, like she was trying to disappear.

“What is it!!!”

“Your food is ready, Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling slightly at the edges. “Please forgive me if I have been rude in any way.”

I looked at her properly for the first time. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Her hands were shaking. I reminded myself: everyone in this palace was a potential threat.

Trust was a luxury I had left behind at the border along with everything else. But I was not my enemies. I did not need to make servants flinch.

“Rise,” I said, softer this time.

She stood immediately, eyes still down.

“You may go. Wait outside if I need you.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” She backed out carefully, like she had been punished before for turning too quickly.

I waited until the door clicked shut before approaching the tray of food. Reaching into my sleeve, I brought out a thin silver needle.

I passed it slowly through each dish and watched the tip. Silver turns black near certain poisons.

My mother’s lady had taught me that. The needle stayed silver. I sat down and started eating. Afterward, I rested a bit before going to bed.

I waited patiently for the king. Not long afterward, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thud of footsteps approaching my chambers. I clenched my hands into fists, my fingernails biting into my palms, fully aware of the role I had to play.

I had planned to drug him, cut my hand, and drip blood onto the bedsheets, making him believe he had claimed me. He must never know I wasn’t a virgin—not when it had been his own son who had stolen that from me under the guise of love.

“My beloved concubine,” the king’s voice boomed as he entered. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He walked toward me, catching my hand and bringing it to his face, inhaling deeply. Was he a dog? Or was he born a dog?

“My king,” I purred, letting my voice go warm and inviting, a honeyed trap.

His hands moved to my waist, then lower to my hips. He touched me with the heavy, careless entitlement of a man who has never been refused anything in his life. I forced myself to stay still, letting out a fake, soft moan as his grip tightened.

“You’re so pretty,” he confessed, his breath hot against my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you when I’m in meetings with my ministers.”

He grabbed my hand, guiding it firmly toward the hardening heat of his desire. My stomach turned, but my face remained a mask of submission. This damn old man.

“See what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, his eyes glinting with a dull, predatory lust as he leaned in to kiss me.

“I will be sure to please you, my king,” I said softly. Then I placed both palms on his chest and pushed, gently, playfully, like a woman eager to impress, until he laughed and fell back against the pillows.

“I made the right choice,” he started. “I—”

I brought the small packet from the hidden fold at my wrist and blew.

The fine powder hit his face. He blinked once, his pupils dilating before his eyelids grew heavy. His sentence fell apart, the words dissolving into a mindless mumble. Within moments, his breathing slowed into the deep, steady rhythm of a man lost to a sleep he wouldn’t wake from until dawn.

I stood over him for a long moment, my chest heaving as I waited for my heart to slow.

Then, I reached for the small blade hidden beneath the mattress edge, drew it quickly across my palm, and let the blood fall where it needed to fall.

“You made the wrong choice,” I whispered with a smirk. “Sleep well.”

“Well, well.”

Every nerve in my body lit up at once. I spun around, the blade still slick in my hand, my breath hitching in my throat—

And stopped.

He was leaning against the far wall, half-swallowed by the shadows. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed, as if he had been standing there long enough to see everything.

His expression remained unchanged, like an impenetrable marble mask. I had once found it fascinating, foolishly believing there was a heart behind it.