Karmella's P.O.V
The soft clink of keys outside the door made my stomach twist. I stiffened on the floor, my back pressed against the wall, the thin blanket wrapped tight around my knees like armor. My breath caught as the door opened—not harshly, not rushed.
Marcus stepped in and there were two guards behind him, but they remained outside leaving him alone in the threshold. His presence was… gentler than I would have expected.
"Get up," he said, voice low but not unkind. "You're being moved."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Moved?
To where?
Another cell?
Somewhere worse?
My legs wouldn't move at first and he seemed to notice my hesitation.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he added, quieter. "But you can't stay here. Orders from the King."
I still hesitated because I didn't trust him, I didn't trust anyone. But my body moved anyway, slow and uncertain, like every motion required permission from pain itself. I rose on trembling legs, wincing from the tight ache in my joints. He said nothing, he only nodded to the guards, and they formed a soft perimeter as he led the way and I followed.
Because what choice did I have?
We walked through stone corridors, but these were not like the ones that were underground leading to the cells. They were warm, alive with golden sconces, flickering flames, wide windows that let light pour in. I hadn't seen sunlight in what felt like forever, and I drank it in quietly, my eyes burning in response. The hall opened wider, ceilings rising into pointed archways, the walls adorned with portraits and tapestries—history and legacy stitched into silk and canvas. And then, we passed through a massive iron-framed arch. The castle swallowed me whole as my feet faltered. I hadn't even realized we'd reached the main fortress.The air here became thicker and thicker the closer we neared. Thick with power—ancient, cold, unyielding. But the beauty…It stole the very breath from my lungs.
Marble floors, curved staircases, glass chandeliers glittering like frozen stars. The walls carved in a mix of wood and stone, laced with deep velvet curtains along the ceiling high windows. I'd never seen anything like it. And I knew the moment my eyes adjusted that I didn't belong here.
I wasn't clean enough.
I wasn't whole enough.
I would never be enough.
Marcus led me up two full flights of stairs before stopping in front of a tall white door, gilded with gold trim and a lion-shaped handle. My body burned, legs felt like they were about to buckle from under me in the next step. And my lungs screamed for air faster than I could provide.
"This is yours," he said.
I stared at the door like it might vanish if I blinked. Mine? Was he sure? The door alone was magical in looks alone.
"You're not allowed to leave the room," he added. "Not unless we say otherwise. You'll have a guard posted outside at all times. If you need anything, and I mean anything, ask."
I turned my eyes toward him, I wanted to ask why. Why was he being kind? Why wasn't he shouting or throwing me back into a cell? Why did his voice sound like he meant it when he said I could ask for help?
But no words came.
Only silence.
He didn't push. He nodded once, then turned and walked away. The door clicked shut behind him.
And then...I was alone.
The room froze me in place in just one quick glance. It was enormous, a chandelier glistened from above, casting warm gold light across the rich cream walls. The floors were smooth hardwood, polished to a shine with overly plush rugs perfectly placed throughout. And the bed…the bed…looked like something that could only come from a dream. Massive, covered in ivory and gold sheets, and more pillows than I could even count. Stepping farther in I seen that there was a walk-in closet. Though I didn't dare go near it. The bathroom had double sinks trimmed in gold, a glass bidet I didn't understand and only ever seen when I had cleaned the privileged rooms back home. A rainfall shower cascaded down in the middle of the room, and pooled into a tub that I could drown in. There was even a vanity with rose-gold fixtures and a black velvet stool. The room was light, warm, clean and beautiful.
But it was the French doors that truly undid me.
They stood at the far end of the room, slightly cracked, letting the breeze sweep in and kiss at my cheeks. I stepped toward them, drawn like a prayer, and pulled them open. A balcony stretched out before me, and the sun sat full in the sky—as if watching me.
I stepped outside. The air was cold with winter. Crisp. But I took another step, then another and I just breathed. And for the first time in what felt like forever—I didn't feel caged.
But I didn't feel free either.
My hands trembled at my sides and I looked down at them, then back at the room. It was too clean, too beautiful. Too… much.
I didn't belong in this room.
This wasn't meant for someone like me. It felt like a sin just to stand on the rug. I took one careful step back inside and shut the balcony doors. I walked till I stood in the middle of the room near the edge of the bed.. And then I sat.
On the floor.
Because I didn't dare touch the bed.
I curled my arms around myself and rested my forehead on my knees, heart pounding. This was sanctuary…wasn't it? This was what I begged for.
So why did it feel like I was standing in a chapel soaked with blood?
I wasn't safe. Not from them, not from him, and not from myself.