Legacy of Fire and Sand

Chapter 60: The King's Obsession

The sun had barely set when Ashara was summoned again to the King's chambers. The dread that gripped her heart had become a familiar, suffocating companion over the past few nights. She had grown numb to the sickening routine—the forceful hands, the demanding touch, and the cruel whispers of a man who saw her as nothing more than a vessel.

As she stood in the grand corridor, waiting for the guards to lead her to the King, her thoughts drifted to Valen and Elara. It had been days since she had last seen them, days since she had felt their warmth and affection. Their bed, once a sanctuary of pleasure and intimacy, now felt like a distant memory. She missed the way Valen's hands would gently caress her, the way Elara's soft lips would brush against her skin, filling her with a sense of belonging. But that was before—before the King's obsession had taken hold of her, trapping her in a nightmare she couldn't escape.

The heavy doors of the King's chambers creaked open, and Ashara stepped inside, her heart pounding in her chest. The King was waiting for her, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating hunger. He motioned for the guards to leave, and as the doors closed behind them, Ashara felt the walls of the room closing in on her.

"Come here," the King ordered, his voice laced with a chilling authority.

Ashara hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot. She could feel his gaze burning into her, the weight of his intentions pressing down on her shoulders. Slowly, she stepped forward, her body moving on autopilot as her mind screamed for her to run.

When she was close enough, the King reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her towards him with a force that made her stumble. He yanked her down onto the bed, his hands already working to remove her clothing.

"You will give me an heir," the King hissed, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Unlike my son, you will give me a child worthy of the throne. A child that will be raised to rule, not to disappoint."

Ashara bit back a gasp, her mind reeling. The King's grip tightened on her, his fingers bruising her skin as he forced her legs apart. There was no tenderness in his touch, no desire—only the harsh, unyielding demand to possess and dominate.

He did not bother with the perfumed oils that Valen would always use to prepare her for their lovemaking. The King's need was primal, brutal, and devoid of any pretense of affection. As he forced himself inside her, Ashara bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

With each thrust, her thoughts spun in a whirlwind of anger and despair. She clung to the memory of Valen and Elara—their love, their warmth—as a lifeline, something to ground her as she endured the King's violation. Her mind wandered to her unborn child. Would it be Valen's, conceived in love and passion? Or would it be Kellen's, the result of a different, darker connection? The uncertainty gnawed at her, filling her with a sickening dread.

The King's movements grew more frantic, his breath hot against her neck as he panted and groaned. He gripped her hips with bruising force, his fingers digging into her flesh. "You will carry my seed," he snarled in her ear, his voice a mixture of rage and twisted desire. "You will bear me a son who will be everything Quentyn is not."

Ashara felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried too many tears in the darkness of her chambers, her heart breaking with each forced encounter. But now, she felt only a hollow emptiness, a void where her spirit once resided.

The King collapsed onto her, spent and satisfied, his weight pressing down on her like a suffocating shroud. He lingered for a moment, his breath ragged in her ear, before finally rolling off and leaving her lying there, cold and trembling.

"I will return tomorrow night," the King said, his voice dripping with the satisfaction of a man who had just secured his prize. "And every night after that, until I am certain my seed has taken root."

Ashara did not respond. She lay there, her body aching and sore, her mind a tangled mess of pain and rage. When the King finally left the room, she pulled the blankets around her, curling up into a ball as she tried to will away the horror of what had just happened.

She stayed like that for hours, her mind replaying the night's events over and over again, each memory more vivid and painful than the last. She thought of Valen and Elara, the way they would hold her, the way they would make her feel cherished and loved. She thought of the child growing inside her, and the terrible uncertainty that came with not knowing whose it was.

But most of all, she thought of the King, and the burning hatred she felt for him. She would not let him continue to use her like this. She would find a way to escape, to take back control of her life and her body.

As the first light of dawn crept through the windows, Ashara made a silent vow. She would kill the King, no matter the cost. She would take back what he had stolen from her, and she would make him pay for every moment of pain he had inflicted on her.

But first, she had to survive. She had to bide her time, to wait for the right moment to strike. And when that moment came, she would be ready