chapter 10

Lucia POV

The heavy crystal decanter felt impossibly heavy in my trembling hands. The rich, dark liquid sloshed softly against the glass as I poured the red wine into the ornate goblet resting before King Damian. Every movement felt magnified under the oppressive weight of the silent, watching hall.

Before I could even lower the decanter, a low, melodic chuckle broke the tension.

It was Remo, the King’s striking younger brother. He leaned back in his high-backed chair, his sharp amber eyes sweeping over my kneeling form with an expression that mixed genuine astonishment and quiet intrigue. He tilted his head, looking between the formidable sovereign and my shattered, trembling frame.

“How can a beautiful woman like her serve you as a common maid, brother?” Remo asked, his voice ringing smoothly across the obsidian dining table.

My breath caught in my throat. A rush of hot blood flushed my pale cheeks at his unexpected words—beautiful. In a fortress where I had only ever been called an unwanted burden, a ghost, or a fraud, hearing a compliment felt like a foreign language.

King Damian let out a harsh, dry sound of disgust. His silver eyes narrowed as he flicked a cold, dismissive glance down at me, as if I were nothing more than an insect crawling across his pristine table.

“You call this thing beautiful?” Damian scoffed, his deep baritone dripping with open, unadulterated contempt.

The cruel label stung worse than a physical wound. A thing. Not a person. Not a wife. Not even a prisoner with rights. Just an object he was forced to tolerate.

Remo’s eyebrows shot up, his expression hardening into a frown of disapproval. He shifted forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Bro, you have an entire wing of servants, an army of maids at your beck and call in this palace,” Remo argued, his amber eyes flashing with a spark of fraternal frustration. “Why on earth are you forcing your own wife to pour your drinks?”

“She is my unwanted wife, Remo,” Damian corrected him sharply, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal growl. “Not a real one. She serves because she belongs under my heel, not upon my throne.”

Remo shook his head, looking genuinely unsettled by his brother’s malice. “Unwanted or wanted, she is still your legally bound Luna before the eyes of the Moon Goddess. Treat her with a shred of decency.”

“I don’t care about the title, and I certainly don’t care about decency,” Damian snapped back, waving a dismissive, gloved hand through the air. “Drop it.”

My hands were shaking so violently I thought the crystal glass would slip from my fingers. Desperate to escape the suffocating crossfire of their argument, I carefully placed the heavy wine bottle down upon the polished wooden tray. I kept my head bowed low, my silver hair falling forward to veil my tear-stained face, and quietly stepped backward to retreat into the shadows.

I almost made it away from the table.

Clash.

Before my boots could take a second step, King Damian’s large, calloused hand shot outward with terrifying, calculated speed. He deliberately swept his heavy forearm across the table, smashing directly into the crystal goblet.

The glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards against the stone floor.

Bright, deep-red wine exploded across the table, splashing violently over the fine silver platters, before soaking in a thick, dark crimson stain straight across the front of Damian’s dark leather tunic.

The entire dining hall plunged into a dead, terrified silence.

Damian bolted up from his chair with explosive force, his massive frame towering over the table. He slammed his palms down onto the wood, his face twisting into a mask of pure, fabricated rage.

“What is wrong with you?!” Damian roared, his voice shaking the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, his hand moved like lightning.

CRACK.

The back of his heavy, leather-clad hand struck the side of my face with brutal, unchecked force.

The impact sent a shockwave of blinding white pain through my skull. My feet swept out from under me, and I crashed hard onto the cold marble floorboards, the taste of copper flooding my mouth as my lip split open. My left ear rang with a high, deafening pitch, and the world spun violently out of focus.

“It… it was a mistake, sir,” I sobbed out, my breathy, broken voice trembling as I instinctively curled into a tight ball on the floor, clutching my throbbing cheek.

“Why in the hells did you hit her?!” Remo shouted, leaping out of his chair so fast his seat crashed backward onto the floor. His amber eyes blazed with fury as he stared at his brother in absolute disbelief. “She was walking away! You did that on purpose!”

Damian didn't flinch. He stood tall over my trembling, crumpled body, his chest heaving, his silver eyes flashing with dark, defensive malice as he glared down at his brother.

“Can’t you see what she did?!” Damian snarled, gesturing angrily to the red stain splattered across his chest. “She purposefully ruined my tunic! She is clumsy, incompetent, and completely incapable of doing anything right!”

Hot, scalding tears poured down my cheeks in a torrential flood. The physical pain of the blow was agonizing, but the sheer humiliation of being beaten in front of strangers broke something fundamental inside my soul. I couldn't stay here another second. I couldn't breathe in this poisoned air.

Pushing myself up onto my hands and knees, my whole body shaking uncontrollably, I scrambled backward. I desperately wanted to run—to flee down the corridors, lock myself inside the cold bedroom, and hide away from the cruel world.

I scrambled to my feet, turning blindly toward the double doors, my vision blurred by a curtain of tears.

“Where do you think you are going?” Damian’s voice cracked like a whip across the silent hall.

I froze, my legs trembling so hard I could barely stand.

Heavy, echoing footsteps approached me from behind. Before I could take another step, Damian’s large, suffocating hand gripped my shoulder, spinning my bruised, fragile body around to face him.

His face was inches from mine, his silver eyes burning with a cruel, unrelenting fire that burned away every last shred of my dignity.

“You should be grateful I even married you,” Damian hissed, his voice dropping into a harsh, venomous whisper meant only for my ears. “If I had a choice—if the laws of the realm didn't bind my hands—I would have left you to rot in the dirt where you belong. I would never, in a thousand lifetimes, choose to marry someone like you.”

He gripped my shoulder tighter, his fingers digging painfully into my collarbone as he stared down at me with bitter confusion and intense loathing.

“I don’t even know why…” Damian whispered, his voice catching on a dark, frustrated note as he glared at the glowing mark on my neck, “...why you managed to enter my private hotel room that night. You are a plague upon my life. And I will make sure you regret every single day you spend under my roof.”