CHAPTER 3

"Here we are, my Queen. This is your room,” she said.

I scanned the space in disbelief. The room looked unreal, almost dreamlike. What was I supposed to do with something this large? The bed alone was wide enough to hold four people, and the bedside tables were exquisitely crafted.

I turned and caught my reflection in an enormous, crystal-clear mirror. The dressing table was crowded with creams, oils, and delicate bottles. I felt dazed. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

“I am sure my Queen loves her room,” she said softly. When I turned, she was smiling faintly, her gaze fixed on the floor. I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to behave like royalty, not a stunned village girl.

“Yes, I do. It truly caught my fancy,” I replied, sitting before the mirror and pretending this level of luxury was familiar to me.

“I am glad you love it, my Queen. I personally designed the room for you,” she said, blushing with pride. “I am certain you would like to know my duties as your personal maid.”

She spoke as I paced the room, still overwhelmed.

“Yes, please tell me,” I said, turning back to her.

“I am here to serve you and you alone,” she explained with a bow. “I will prepare your meals unless the King requests a family dining. I will bathe you, dress you, and escort you wherever you wish to go. In short, I will take care of you entirely, my Queen.”

“You will bathe me?” I exclaimed, startled. She lifted her head slightly.

“I hope my Queen has no objection?” she asked politely.

“No. I suppose I do not,” I replied, though my mind was racing.

So she would see me naked. Regularly.

What was wrong with the rich? Why would I stand idle while someone else bathed me simply because I was a Queen, allegedly?

“My Queen, may I remove your outer garments and prepare your bath? You must be exhausted from the journey. I would also like to give you a massage to help you relax,” she said gently, stepping closer.

“What will I change into? I came here with nothing,” I asked.

“The King arranged clothes and shoes in various sizes so you would not have any difficulty,” she said, opening the wardrobe.

My breath caught.

The closet was overflowing with dresses, shoes, and finely made garments. It was far too much for one person. If they were truly mine, I wished I could send some to Seren and Rosamund. Everything was beautiful, crafted from rich fabrics.

“That was thoughtful of him,” I said quietly, allowing her to remove my gown.

After a warm bath and a soothing massage, I sat before the mirror while she worked carefully on my hair, applying creams and brushing it smooth. Slowly, the dullness faded, and the shine returned to my bone-straight red hair.

I had always hated my hair, especially its color. Now I realized it had simply lacked care. Though there were many breakages, which was expected after years of illness, it looked healthier than it had in a long time.

Still, no matter how carefully she styled it, my hair could not rival hers.

I watched her reflection as she applied lotion to my freckled skin with gentle precision. Her devotion was unmistakable.

“Are you from this kingdom?” I asked softly, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She smiled faintly. “No, my Queen. I am from Bemuga, the neighboring kingdom.”

She set the brush down. “I am finished with your dressing.”

“You did an excellent job,” I said, though my gaze drifted to my chest. The gown revealed far more than I was comfortable with. According to her, the King preferred such clothing.

Of course he did. The infamous ladies’ man.

“Is there nothing I can do to cover myself a little?” I asked, tugging at the fabric, though it barely moved.

“I am sorry, my Queen, but the King insists on this style. He would be displeased if you wore something more modest,” she said.

I sighed and sat back down, glaring at my reflection.

“I apologize if you are uncomfortable,” she added quietly. “I wish I could help.”

“It is not your fault, Sage. You did your job perfectly,” I said just as a knock sounded at the door.

I gestured for her to open it.

A woman entered, older than the others, her presence commanding. Sage bowed slightly. I almost did the same before remembering my position.

The woman surveyed the room with clear disgust. I knew instantly that she despised me.

Competition had begun the moment I arrived.

Her eyes swept over me slowly, critically, as though assessing a defect. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm.

Her gaze shifted to Sage, who still stood bowed.

“What are you still doing here?” she snapped.

Sage looked at me for permission.

“You may go, Sage. Thank you,” I said.

The woman scoffed.

“Trying to act sweet so everyone will like you?” she mocked.

I crossed my arms, already tired of her scrutiny.

“You are not even worthy of competing with me,” she added.

I scoffed internally. I had never asked to compete.

“I am Zinnia,” she continued. “The King’s first wife. His favorite. Stay in your place, and do not attempt to win his attention.”

She turned to leave, then paused.

“And the King despises red-haired women. Remember that.”

She slammed the door behind her.

I collapsed onto the massive bed, memories of my parents and friends flooding my mind. I was completely alone.

Everything had been taken from me so quickly. My parents were gone, murdered by the same man who now claimed me.

Even if they had wronged me, they did not deserve such a fate.

If the King truly hated red-haired women, why marry me at all? Was this another form of punishment?

I prayed Seren and Rosamund were safe. Their escape had been reckless, but they were strong.

I looked around the room once more. It was filled with beauty and wealth, yet it felt like a prison.

I was here to marry King Archer, the ruthless ladies’ man.

And no matter how they dressed it up, I knew the truth.

I was not a Queen.

I was a possession.

@pop precious