I followed her silently, my steps cautious, keeping distance as she led me through narrow paths between the huts. The villagers moved about their tasks, heads low, eyes occasionally flicking toward me, but none approached. The presence of the black guard walking beside me felt… different. She was calm, patient, unthreatening.
She opened the door to a small room, dimly lit but tidy. A table was set with a variety of foods: steaming bread, roasted vegetables, a thick steak, and a jug of dark, rich-looking drink. My stomach growled at the sight, sharp and demanding. I hesitated, unsure if I could trust even food in this village of strange devotion and fear.
But the hunger was overpowering. I sat down anyway, eyes scanning the room, my body tense. My hands hovered over the steak. My fingers itched to just grab it.
Before I could, her voice came softly. "Here," she said, holding out a fork with a gentle smile. My eyes flicked to her, and I realized she wasn't judging me. She wasn't like the others, at least in small ways.
I took the fork hesitantly, pressing it into the steak. The first bite surprised me. Tender, flavorful, rich. My eyes widened as taste hit me fully. I chewed slowly, savoring it, the hunger in my stomach easing a little.
She stood, walking toward the door, leaving me in the small room. I watched her move, noting the careful way she carried herself, the quiet confidence in each step. My pulse quickened slightly, and for a moment I found myself staring longer than I intended.
Uh… "What's… your name?" I asked, voice low, hesitant. My eyes flicked up to hers, catching the faint light in her brown eyes. She smiled softly, a little surprise in her expression.
I quickly looked away. She was attractive, yes, warm, alive… but she was part of this village. Like the others. I couldn't let my guard down. Not here. Not yet.
She didn't answer immediately, just inclined her head slightly, leaving the question hanging in the air as I focused on the food in front of me. My hands shook a little, still tense from everything that had happened, but hunger pushed through, demanding attention.
Each bite grounded me, a fleeting comfort in the chaos. But even as I ate, I couldn't stop feeling it—the pull of the villagers, the mark beneath my skin, the knowledge that no matter what small connection I might feel to her, the rules of this place were mine to break or enforce.
And I wasn't ready to trust anyone yet.
The name's Cora," the black female guard said softly, standing near the table as I continued to eat.
"Cora?" I asked, glancing at her briefly, then quickly looking back down at my plate.
"Yes, your queen," she replied softly. Her voice was calm, steady, almost soothing.
I didn't say anything, letting my fork hover above the food as I took another bite. The taste grounded me in a way that nothing else had since I woke in this village. My hands shook slightly, but hunger demanded I keep eating.
"You should know," she said quietly, "if you get tired, you have your own house."
I glanced at her again, the briefest spark of curiosity in my chest, then returned my attention to the food. She didn't push further, only waited, her presence calm, patient.
"I have my own," I said finally, not looking at her. My voice was flat, unshaken. I didn't care about her kindness, her warnings, or the softness of her tone. I only wanted to know what had been mine before this—who I had been.
She nodded slightly, as if acknowledging that I might one day remember. But she didn't press, didn't try to get me to talk. Her hands rested calmly at her sides.
I continued eating in silence, each bite filling the hollow ache inside me. Outside, the village moved as always—quiet, attentive, loyal. But here, in this small room, with Cora nearby yet still distant, I felt a small moment of control. A fraction of freedom in a place where nothing had ever been mine.
And even though I didn't admit it to her, a part of me wanted to ask more. About her. About herself. About the life that existed outside this place of obedience and fear.
But that part stayed buried. For now, all I wanted was the food, the warmth, and the brief pause from the weight of being their queen.
I continued to eat, sipping the soda from the glass on the table. The carbonation tickled my throat, a small comfort amidst the chaos that had become my life. I glanced back at Cora briefly, noting the calm patience in her posture, the subtle attentiveness as she stood near the doorway.
I leaned back fully in the chair, letting it support my weight. My arms rested loosely across the table, but I kept one eye on her, cautious, always alert. Slowly, I pushed myself upright again, the muscles in my back stiff from sitting tensely.
"Come here," I said softly, my voice steady but firm.
Cora's feet moved toward me, careful, measured, her gaze fixed on mine. She did not hesitate, did not question. She simply obeyed.
I let my eyes travel over her armor and weapon, noting every detail. Her bow slung across her back, the slight wear on the leather of her armor, the way her boots made almost no sound on the wooden floor. My pulse quickened. I had power here. I could test it, see how far it reached.
I reached out and took the weapon from her hands, holding it in mine. Her eyes met mine for a fraction of a second, and I searched for resistance, defiance, hesitation.
There was none.
She stood there silently, waiting, unmoving.
A small thrill ran through me, tight and dangerous. My fingers tightened around the weapon. I could see the way her posture shifted subtly, a faint acknowledgment that she would obey whatever I decided.
The reality of it pressed against me: the villagers were loyal, yes—but she was human, and yet still she obeyed. I could command them all. Every one. And the mark beneath my skin throbbed, alive, reminding me of the power I carried.
I held the weapon a moment longer, then set it down carefully on the table, testing her reaction. She did not flinch, did not move. She only stood silently, calm and attentive.
"You… always this obedient?" I asked quietly, almost to myself.
Cora's lips curved slightly, a hint of a smile. She said nothing, simply nodded once, almost imperceptibly, as if acknowledging my question without breaking the tension.
I pressed my palms to the table, trying to ground myself. Hunger was fading, replaced now by a cold, creeping awareness: the villagers, the mark, the obedience… it was intoxicating. Terrifying. And I had only just begun to explore it.
I realized, with a mix of dread and fascination, that testing boundaries, seeing what I could do, was inevitable. And that with each small act, I would be stepping further into something I might never come back from.
For now, though, I simply watched Cora stand near the table, silent and still, and allowed myself a quiet moment of control — one small assertion in a world that had offered me none.