The Dark Trinity

Chapter 20

Amelia spent hours in Viktor's chambers, the silence weighing down on her. The room felt like a tomb. She'd paced, sat on the edge of the bed, stared at the flickering candle, and even returned to the window to gaze at the gardens below. But no matter what she did, she couldn't shake the suffocating heaviness in her chest.

She was trapped, in every sense of the word.

Hours passed, and she had no way of knowing what time it was. The flickering candle on the desk had long since burned out, leaving the room dimly lit by the faint light filtering through the heavy curtains. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger was a familiar sensation, one she could endure. What she couldn't endure was the uncertainty of what came next.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence. Amelia tensed, her heart leaping into her throat as the door creaked open.

Two women entered, their heads held high and their expressions cold. They were dressed in the simple but elegant uniforms of palace maids, their dark skirts brushing against the stone floor as they moved. They didn't spare Amelia a kind glance; instead, their eyes swept over her with barely concealed disdain.

"Lord Viktor has instructed we prepare you," one of them said curtly, her tone clipped and professional.

Amelia hesitated, the weight of their hostility pressing down on her. When she didn't move fast enough, the other servant grabbed her arm-not roughly, but firmly enough to make it clear she didn't have a choice.

They led her toward a door she hadn't noticed before, partially hidden in the shadows of the chamber. One of the servants pushed it open, revealing a bathroom unlike anything Amelia had ever seen.

The walls were smooth marble, veined with dark streaks of green and black. The floor was polished to a mirror-like shine, reflecting the faint glow of sconces mounted on the walls. In the center of the room was a massive sunken tub, its edges carved with intricate patterns of vines and flowers. Steam rose from the water, filling the air with the faint scent of lavender. A pile of plush, dark towels sat neatly folded on a nearby bench, and a silver tray held an array of soaps and oils.

The servants didn't wait for her to take it in. They set to work immediately, pulling at the laces of her gown with brisk, practiced movements.

"I can do it myself," Amelia protested, trying to bat their hands away.

The servant didn't bother to hide her irritation. "It's not your place to do anything for yourself anymore," she said, her words laced with venom. "You may have been a servant once, but now you are a royal."

The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because of the way they were spoken-with a sneer that made it clear the servants resented her. Amelia could feel their judgment in every rough tug of her dress, in the way their hands lingered just a second too long on her skin as they stripped her bare.

She stood there, shivering, as they led her to the tub.

The water was scalding, but Amelia welcomed the heat. It was better than the chill of the air, or the icy stares of the women who now worked to scrub her skin raw. They poured fragrant oils into the water, their hands moving with a precision that suggested they'd done this a thousand times before.

Amelia flinched as one of them scrubbed at her back with a rough cloth.

Amelia bit her lip, her hands gripping the edge of the tub to keep herself from snapping back. She knew what they thought of her, that she was some upstart who had clawed her way into power through deceit or manipulation.

When they were finished bathing her, they helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in one of the plush towels. The softness was almost overwhelming after the rough treatment, but Amelia couldn't bring herself to relax.