The Dark Trinity

Chapter 10

The grunts pulled Amelia from a restless sleep, her body tensing instinctively. For a moment, she lay still, hoping the sounds would fade. But they grew louder, punctuated by muffled gasps and low moans. She groaned softly, rubbing her eyes before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. 

Dragging herself to the door, she cracked it open just enough to peer outside. The hallway was dimly lit by the faint light of dawn, but the sight before her made her stomach twist in disgust. 

A guard stood near the wall, his pants halfway down, his body pressed against a servant girl. Her head lolled back, eyes closed, her lips parted in soft moans. His large hands gripped her roughly, one clutching her breast while the other supported her waist as he thrust into her with little regard for who might see. 

Amelia’s breath hitched, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. The scene was grotesque in its brazenness, and the girl’s submissive expression—whether from fear or resignation—only made it worse. 

Annoyance surged through her chest like a flame. She slammed the door shut before they could notice her, leaning against it as she exhaled sharply. 

"Of course," she muttered under her breath, anger simmering in her veins. The palace seemed to run on a steady diet of exploitation and debauchery, and she was suffocating in it. She had hoped for a quiet morning, perhaps a moment of peace to gather herself, but even that was too much to ask. 

Amelia pushed off the door, her bare feet cold against the stone floor as she made her way to the small washing area in the corner of her room. She grabbed the basin of water left by a servant the night before and poured it over herself, the cool liquid cascading down her skin. 

The makeshift shower did little to cool her temper. As she scrubbed her arms and face, she let the water wash away the lingering disgust from what she had seen, hoping it could also cleanse the bitterness that seemed to settle deeper into her soul with each passing day. 

She closed her eyes, letting the water drip from her hair onto her shoulders. The sounds from the hallway had faded, but the image remained vivid in her mind. It was just another reminder of how twisted this place had become, how far the palace had fallen from the days of her childhood. 

Amelia dressed carefully, her hands moving mechanically as her mind wandered. Usually, the old woman who oversaw the servants came by to assign her duties for the day. But today, no one came. The silence in her small room felt suffocating, the lack of routine unsettling. 

She waited for a while, sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the chipped wooden door. When it became clear no one would come, she decided to find the old woman herself and ask for her tasks. 

The hallways were busier now, servants darting back and forth with buckets and rags, their hurried movements betraying their unease.

Finally, she found the old woman in one of the grand halls, barking orders at a group of servant girls scrubbing the floor. The woman’s voice was sharp, her gnarled hands gesturing wildly as she chastised them for their slow work. 

Amelia approached cautiously, tapping the woman’s shoulder to get her attention. The old woman turned, her gaze locking onto Amelia’s with a coldness that made her stomach churn. It wasn’t the usual disdain Amelia was used to. This was sharper, harder—like ice cutting into her skin. 

The intensity of it made Amelia falter for a moment. She had always known the woman disliked her, but this look felt different, as though her very presence was an affront. Amelia swallowed the unease rising in her throat and forced herself to speak. 

“I was waiting for you this morning,” she said, her voice quiet but steady. “What are my tasks for the day?” 

The old woman didn’t respond at first, her eyes narrowing as if Amelia were speaking another language. Then, with a sharp snort, she turned back to the servant girls. 

“Scrub harder,” she barked. “The king doesn’t want to see a single speck of dirt in this hall.” 

Amelia stood there, waiting, feeling the weight of the other servants’ eyes on her. A few of them smirked, their gazes brimming with malice as they continued their work. 

After a few agonizing moments, the old woman finally addressed her without looking directly at her. “The king says you’re not to be given any duties. King’s orders.” 

Her tone was mocking, her words dripping with contempt. The other servant girls exchanged looks, their expressions shifting from curiosity to barely contained glee. 

“King’s orders,” one of them mimicked under her breath, earning a round of muffled giggles. 

Amelia’s face burned, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. She opened her mouth to protest, but the old woman waved her away dismissively. 

“You’re free to go,” she said, her voice hard. “Don’t let me see you standing around and getting in the way.” 

The servant girls snickered louder now, their whispers growing bolder. 

“She probably has a tight cunt,” one of them muttered, her voice loud enough for Amelia to hear. 
“Bet that’s why the king doesn’t want her doing any work,” another added, her giggles piercing the air like daggers. 

Amelia turned sharply on her heel, her head held high despite the shame burning her from the inside out. She walked away as quickly as she could, ignoring the stares and laughter that followed her down the corridor. 

By the time she reached the quiet of another hallway, her hands were trembling. Her pride warred with her frustration, but she bit her tongue, refusing to let their words break her. 

Still, as she continued down the hall, her shame lingered, clinging to her like a heavy, suffocating cloak.

Amelia clenched her jaw.  One day, she thought, her resolve hardening. One day I'll leave this wretched place behind.