The Dark Trinity

Chapter 19

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her body trembling as she listened to the echo of Viktor’s heavy footsteps fading down the corridor. The silence that followed was suffocating, wrapping around her like a noose. She hadn’t even had the chance to fully process what had just happened.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse yet imposing decor. Viktor’s chambers were large but stark, devoid of any warmth or personal touches. The walls were made of cold gray stone, their surface broken only by the heavy tapestries that hung like sentinels. It unsettled her.

The massive bed she sat on was draped in dark crimson sheets that felt rough against her fingertips. The canopy above her head was made of black silk, its edges trimmed with gold, but the opulence felt hollow. The bed was too big, too cold, a place where no comfort could be found. 

To her left, a large fireplace dominated the wall, though it was unlit. The ashes from a previous fire lay in a crumbled heap, as if no one had cared to tend to it in days. A few logs were stacked neatly nearby, but Amelia didn’t dare approach. 

A simple wooden desk sat in the corner, its surface bare save for a single, flickering candle. Shadows danced on the walls, casting eerie shapes that seemed to move of their own accord. A few shelves lined the wall behind the desk, filled with books bound in dark leather. She wondered if Viktor read them, or if they were merely decoration, relics of a life he no longer cared to live. 

The air in the room was heavy with the scent of smoke and aged wood, mixed faintly with something sharper—metallic, almost like blood. It made her stomach churn. 

Amelia shifted uncomfortably, her gown rustling against the sheets. She still wore the wedding dress the maids had forced her into, its fabric stiff and unyielding. The corset bit into her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Her makeup, hastily applied hours ago, felt like a mask she couldn’t remove, the paint smudged and streaked from her tears. 

She couldn’t bring herself to move. Even sitting on the bed felt wrong, as though she were trespassing in a place she didn’t belong. The thought of touching anything—let alone sleeping in the bed—filled her with dread. 

But she was so tired. Exhaustion weighed down on her like a heavy cloak, her limbs aching from the day’s events. Her mind raced, she felt like a pawn in a game she didn’t understand.

Amelia glanced toward the door, half-expecting Viktor to return at any moment. But the door remained closed, the heavy wood standing as a barrier between her and the rest of the world. She doubted he would come back anytime soon. 

She sighed, her breath shaky as she rose to her feet. She paced the room slowly, her fingers trailing along the edges of the furniture as if to ground herself. When she reached the window, she pulled back the heavy curtains and peered outside. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the palace grounds. She could see the faint outlines of the garden below, its neatly trimmed hedges and frozen fountains shimmering in the moonlight. 

Reluctantly, she returned to the bed. She sat on the edge for a long time, her hands folded in her lap as she stared at the flickering candle on the desk. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. She had cried enough. 

Eventually, exhaustion won out. Amelia lay down on the bed, careful to keep herself near the edge, as far away from the center as possible. The sheets felt cold against her skin, and the scent of smoke clung to them like a second layer. She curled up on her side, her arms wrapped around herself as if to shield her from the emptiness of the room. 

She didn’t bother to remove her gown or her makeup. The thought of undressing, of making herself vulnerable in this place, was unbearable. She would sleep as she was.