⚠️Trigger Warning: Attempted Sexual Assault, Physical Restraint, Drugged.
(This scene contains themes that may be distressing to some readers. Please proceed with caution.)
"I never wanted to end up in this situation," Matthew said, his voice flat, his expression a mask devoid of warmth as he advanced toward Zuleika.
Her body trembled. The drug burned through her veins, leaving her weak, heavy, almost unrecognizable to herself. She tried to fight, to raise a hand, to push him back—but nothing obeyed her.
In one swift motion, his hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her forward, dragging her fragile frame to the bed. Zuleika gasped, her breathing ragged, terror curling like icy claws in her chest. The fire of the poison raged through her limbs, betraying her, paralyzing her will.
Matthew stood over her, his shadow stretching across her small figure. He untied his robe with chilling calm, fabric falling aside to reveal his bare chest. Slowly, deliberately, he climbed onto the bed.
"Stop…" Zuleika's voice was a broken whisper, fragile but still defiant.
He didn't stop.
Instead, he leaned closer, his hand brushing through her hair, curling strands of it around his fingers before lifting it to his face. He inhaled deeply, his words dripping with bitterness.
"What is it in me that you did not like, Princess?"
Her body writhed weakly, fighting the invisible chains of the drug. She was trapped inside her own skin, every movement a betrayal. Her heart screamed to run, but her limbs lay bound in stillness.
"This would not happen if only you had agreed to marry me from the start." His voice was low, sharp as a knife. "Now, the Emperor forces me to do such a thing. Don't blame me, Princess… I am merely—"
He leaned down, hands grasping at her clothes, tugging them loose.
"—doing my duty as the heir of Revazkerio."
Zuleika's crimson eyes brimmed with tears. They slipped down her cheeks, burning trails of fear, fury, and helplessness. "Stop… it…" she muttered, barely audible, her lips trembling.
His lips pressed to her neck, hot, forceful, suffocating. She wanted to vomit. Disgust rolled through her in waves.
"Please… stop… stop…" she cried, voice shattering, desperation raw in every word. But Matthew pinned her down with an iron grip. The drug dulled her body, made her strength worthless.
Her anger surged, mixing with her horror. "N-no… stop…" she cried again, biting her lip until the taste of iron filled her mouth. The metallic tang was grounding, a reminder that she was still there, still fighting, no matter how powerless she seemed.
Her eyes widened faintly as she felt warmth drip from her bitten lip. Blood.
Her ring pressed sharply against her skin, and with trembling defiance, she forced her finger against it until it cut deep. Pain seared—but so did power. A secret, ancient truth stirring.
That moment, she finally drew breath.
No one had ever seen it clearly. Only whispered fragments existed of the truth—that the power of Vasiliou was not bound to the seas, but to their blood. And when they bled, the room itself trembled with danger.
Matthew didn't notice. He was still fighting to strip away her clothes, his mouth trailing like poison against her skin.
But Zuleika's blood had already awakened something else—something that would no longer let her remain helpless.
Zuleika's chest heaved as strength surged back into her trembling body. With every ounce of desperation, she shoved Matthew away. Her push was too strong, wild, unmeasured. His body slammed against the bedframe, his head striking the wood with a sickening thud. He collapsed, motionless.
Zuleika froze, her body quivering violently. Her dress hung loose, fabric slipping from her shoulders, baring more skin than she could bear. Blood streaked from her lips, dripping down her chin, staining the pale silk.
Her breaths came jagged, shallow, uneven. She clawed at her chest as if her lungs refused to obey, her panic spiraling into a storm. She wanted to scream, but no voice came out—only the sound of choking gasps, the sound of someone desperate not to drown.
Her eyes darted to Matthew's body sprawled across the bed. He wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing—at least she couldn't tell. Her mind blurred, clouded with terror, anger, shame, disgust. Her stomach churned violently.
One thought cut through the haze.
Run.
Staggering to her feet, Zuleika nearly collapsed again. Her knees buckled, her body weak and sluggish from the poison still gnawing at her veins. She stumbled toward the door, sweat beading down her temple, hair disheveled, sticking to her tear-streaked face.
Her hand shook as she gripped the door handle, slick with the blood still streaming from her finger. She pushed it open, light from the corridor spilling into the chamber.
"Princess Zuleika?"
The voice snapped her frozen. Her eyes darted up.
Zejidiah. The third prince.
Her body flinched, instinct screaming at her to protect herself. Her arms instinctively tried to shield her loosened dress, her chest rising and falling violently. Her lips quivered as sobs broke through—raw, broken, uncontrollable.
Zejidiah's eyes widened in shock. His usual calm shattered at the sight of her—hair undone, dress torn, skin exposed, her entire form trembling and bloodied.
"What happe—"
But he never finished.
Zuleika bolted past him, tears streaming down her face. She didn't look back, didn't care who saw her. Her footsteps echoed down the hall, frantic, uneven, carrying only her desperate need to escape.
Zejidiah remained rooted, stunned, his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned toward the open chamber door. His hand pushed it wider, and the sight before him made his heart stop cold.
Matthew. Unconscious. Half-dressed. The bed in disarray.
Zejidiah's hands tightened at his sides, his wide eyes reflecting the storm now rising in his chest.
...
Cess had just finished folding the last of Zuleika's gowns into the chest, humming softly to herself, when a sudden thud rattled the chamber doors. She jolted, her heart leaping into her throat.
"Your Highness?" she called, rushing forward.
When she opened the door, her eyes widened in horror.
Princess Zuleika stood there—no, barely stood. Her body was trembling so violently it seemed her knees might give out at any moment. Her hair was a tangled mess, strands plastered to her damp, tear-streaked face. The silken dress she had worn so neatly just an hour ago now clung loosely to her shoulders, slipping down in a way that exposed her fragile state. Her lips were bloodied, sweat rolling down her temple.
But it was her eyes that broke Cess's heart—glassy, unfocused, filled with sheer terror. The proud, lively princess who always smiled so brightly looked nothing like herself. She looked shattered.
"Your Highness!" Cess cried, rushing forward.
The moment her arms wrapped around her mistress, Zuleika collapsed against her, as though the last thread of strength had finally snapped. She buried her face in Cess's shoulder, trembling like a frightened child. No words came, only the sound of broken sobs tearing from her throat.
Cess tightened her hold, stroking her back with trembling hands. "What happened? Who did this to you? Please, tell me!" she pleaded, her voice shaking.
But Zuleika couldn't speak. She only clung desperately to Cess, her tears soaking through the maid's clothes, her cries weak and pitiful. Her whole body shook with each breath, as though even breathing had become unbearable.
Cess's eyes burned, her heart aching at the sight of her mistress—usually radiant, playful, untouchable—now reduced to this fragile, broken figure. It was a sight so pitiful it made her chest tighten with rage and grief alike.
"My princess…" she whispered, holding her tighter, as though shielding her from a world that had just betrayed her.