When Maltherion led her toward the door of her chambers, his steps were measured, deliberate. The heavy doors swung open without a sound, revealing a room that was vast, undeniably beautiful, and completely foreign to her. He stepped aside, allowing her the first glimpse. His gaze, sharp but unreadable, lingered on her as she took in the towering windows, the embroidered silks, and the golden candlelight flickering softly against the stone walls.
Every inch of the room spoke of wealth and power. It was a life meant for a queen. A life meant for her. But not her. Not Xandria. Not the girl who had once dreamed of a life far away from these cold, imposing walls.
"This is yours now," Maltherion said, his voice calm, measured. It was not a question. Not an offering. It was a statement. An unshakable truth.
His eyes searched her face, almost expectantly—as if waiting for some kind of reaction. Gratitude, awe, maybe even surrender. But she gave him none. She stood there, fingers curling at her sides, jaw tightening ever so slightly. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not after everything that had happened.
She glanced over the room again—beautiful, yes, but it wasn't hers. It was his, just like everything else here. The palace. The riches. The power. And her. Everything belonged to him.
"Get yourself accustomed to the palace and your room. We are having dinner by eight pm together," Maltherion added, his words carrying the weight of command.
Xandria's spine stiffened. "That won't be necessary," she replied quickly, too quickly, the words sharp as a blade.
"It was not a suggestion, Xandria. It is a command."
The use of her full name sent an unexpected shiver through her, and for a brief moment, she felt her stomach flutter. She hated it. She hated how he could make her feel anything at all, especially after what he had done to her.
"Why do I have to do what you say?" She forced the words out, barely meeting his eyes.
"Because I'm your king and your husband."
Her heart skipped a beat, and she could feel the fire rising in her chest. "You are not my husband." The words were a defiant declaration, a barrier she would not let him cross.
"Stop trying to play with destiny, Xandria. You will only get hurt." He patted her head, his touch condescending, before turning and leaving, his steps as silent as a shadow.
Xandria stood in the massive room, alone for the first time since they arrived. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing her in. She stared at the grand walls, the elegant designs, but none of it felt real. None of it felt like home. It felt like a cage—golden, yes, but still a cage.
Her eyes drifted toward the windows, drawn by the view outside. She stepped closer, and the familiar scent of jasmine filled the air, grounding her in memories of her village, of her family. I'm going to escape. One way or another, she whispered to herself, the words a quiet promise.
The knock on the door startled her. She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat and called out, "Come in."
"Good day, my lady," the maid greeted, stepping into the room.
Xandria barely spared her a glance, her mind still clouded with resentment. She nodded curtly, not in the mood to engage.
"The king has assigned me to be your personal maid from today onwards."
Xandria's eyes narrowed. "What do I need a maid for? I can bathe myself and I can clothe myself."
"I'm here to ensure you have everything you need," the maid said, her voice soft but insistent.
Xandria scoffed, the bitterness seeping through. "That's a lie, and you know it. You're here to keep an eye on me."
"It doesn't have to be that way, you know."
Xandria paused, her guard rising instinctively. "What do you mean?"
"My name is Anaya. I can be your friend. And maybe, just maybe, you will find that here isn't as much of a cage as you think."
Xandria studied her, the maid's warm smile and gentle demeanor at odds with the coldness she had come to expect. "I'm Xandria," she replied, more out of habit than anything else. She was surprised, however, by the faint spark of something in the woman's eyes—a glimmer of hope, or perhaps pity.
"I know who you are."
Anaya seemed to be in her late 40s, with soft features that suggested wisdom and kindness. The kind of warmth that made Xandria ache with homesickness. Her mind drifted to her mother, and the feeling of missing her little sister, Ellara, crept in. It was all so unfair. Her father had given her away. Never once had he even tried to oppose the king's demands.
When Anaya led her to the wardrobe, Xandria's breath caught. She had expected emptiness—nothing to wear but the royal gowns, nothing to remind her of her old life—but instead, the wardrobe was filled with luxury beyond anything she had ever imagined. Gowns, robes, tunics—all crafted from silks, velvet, and chiffon. It felt like a dream.
She hesitated, running her fingers along the delicate lacework of a gown in soft blue, the bodice dotted with tiny pearls. The beauty of it was overwhelming, but she couldn't bring herself to accept it. None of this is mine. None of this is real.
Turning to Anaya, she spoke, her voice distant. "I didn't bring any clothes with me…"
"The wardrobe was prepared for you, Xandria," Anaya said gently. "His majesty made sure of that."
Xandria's heart stumbled at the words, a warmth unfurling inside her chest, but she quickly smothered it. It doesn't matter, she told herself. He's the one who's keeping me here. He's the one who took me from everything I knew.
She shook her head, the warmth replaced with a sharp chill. "I'll be back in the evening to get you ready for dinner with the king." Anaya's voice was kind, but Xandria barely acknowledged it as she turned away.
The bathroom was a sanctuary in comparison. The quiet, the peacefulness—it almost felt like she was escaping for a moment, even though she knew better. The marble floor, the rose-gold etched vines, the soft scent of lilac and vanilla... The bath was beautiful, but it wasn't her home. She wasn't home.
She stood there, staring at the delicate soaps and oils arranged neatly in the shelf, the personal touches that felt almost intrusive. Everything here was chosen for her, every detail crafted to make her feel at ease.
But in the back of her mind, the question lingered. Was this a gift? Or a golden cage?
It was a question she didn't want to answer, not yet. She wasn't ready to accept the truth. Not when everything in her wanted to break free.