AMELIA
I step out of the bathroom, the warmth of the steam still clinging to my skin after rinsing off all the soap. Beatrice has thoughtfully laid out nightwear for me, and I offer her a grateful smile as I slip it on. Settling under the covers, I’m on the verge of drifting into a peaceful slumber when a knock interrupts the tranquility.
Beatrice climbs out of bed to answer. Their hushed conversation floats back to me as I wait for her to finish talking to the person at the door. Concern prickles at the edges of my consciousness, fearing it might be Ember or Nickolas looking for me.
“Is everything alright?” I inquire as Beatrice returns, clutching a shopping bag in her hand. I hold my breath, hoping against hope that my fears are unfounded.
“Get dressed. You’re serving his majesty in bed tonight,” she says, tossing the bag onto the foot of my bed. My chest tightens, and I stare at her in disbelief, silently praying that I misheard.
Beatrice gestures towards the bag, urging me to take a closer look, but I remain frozen, still wishing I had heard wrong.
“Amelia!” she calls, her voice sharp, snapping me out of my daze.
“Yes,” I murmur, my voice trembling as I watch Beatrice stride towards the wardrobe.
“Take the bag!” Beatrice commands, retrieving a robe from the wardrobe. With hands trembling uncontrollably, I reach out and grasp the bag. As I peer inside, my eyes widen in disbelief, and instinctively, I fling it away as though it’s suddenly become toxic.
“You’re joking, right?” I stammer, disbelief coloring my tone as I continue to stare at the black lingerie scattered across the floor. My heart pounds fiercely in my chest, each beat a drumming reminder of the surreal situation I find myself in.
“The guard will return in a minute to take you to his majesty’s room. I advise you to change before then. His majesty doesn’t like being kept waiting,” Beatrice instructs with an air of detachment, walking back to her bed. With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she tosses the robe at me before slipping under her covers, leaving me to grapple with my mounting anxiety in solitude. She doesn’t even spare me a glance, seemingly indifferent to my distress.
“There has to be a mistake. Nickolas hates me; he would never want me to serve him in bed,” I protest, my voice trembling with disbelief as I continue to stare at the black lingerie on the floor. My heart pounds faster and louder against my chest, its thundering rhythm echoing in the quiet room. I wonder how Beatrice isn’t complaining about the noise.
Turning in bed, Beatrice locks gazes with me, her expression stern. “Amelia, you’re his mate. You may not feel prepared for it, but your body won’t reject him. You will be fine. Now, get dressed!” she orders, her tone brooking no argument.
“But I’m not ready to be with him,” I whimper, my voice laced with desperation.
“Once you hear a knock, wear the robe over the lingerie and follow the guard out,” she instructs firmly before switching off her nightstand lamp, signaling an end to the discussion.
I drop my gaze, my eyes fixated on the lingerie strewn on the floor. Though Beatrice’s words about my body not refusing Nickolas’s touch because we are mates ring true, it’s not just about physical readiness. Mentally, I’m not prepared for this.
“Amelia, get ready,” Beatrice’s voice interrupts my thoughts, pulling me back to the present moment.
“Isn’t there any way I can get out of this?” I ask, still unable to tear my gaze away from the lingerie.
“No, there isn’t, Amelia. The sooner you serve him, the faster you can move on from it,” Beatrice replies with a simplicity that belies the complexity of the situation.
“Everything is going to be alright. He’s our mate,” Marie reassures me, her voice a comforting presence in my mind.
“I know, but we aren’t ready,” I admit, my voice trembling with uncertainty.
“I know that too, but I trust our mate. He might hate us, but I doubt he will make such a memorable moment bad,” Marie responds with a sense of conviction.
“How do you know?” I inquire, seeking reassurance in her words.
“I just do,” she replies simply.
“Hmmm,” I murmur, though her confidence fails to fully assuage my fears.
“Trust me,” Marie urges before severing our connection, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the daunting prospect of what lies ahead.
Summoning all my courage, I decide to get changed. I’m not putting blind trust in Marie’s words; rather, I’m clinging to the hope that I can somehow persuade Nickolas when I see him. With a shaky breath, I climb out of bed. As I strip off my clothes and slip into the delicate lingerie, my hands tremble uncontrollably. The tremors refuse to abate even as I drape the robe over my body.
I startle at the sound of a knock at the door, my heart lurching in my chest. Opening my mouth to plead with Beatrice to intervene, I’m silenced by another rap on the door.
“It’s time, Amelia,” Beatrice’s voice pierces through the haze of my fear.
Forcing my limbs to obey, I shuffle towards the door and pull it open. The guard stands there, waiting expectantly. With a silent nod, he gestures for me to follow him before turning on his heel. With every step I take, my heart pounds harder against my ribcage. I wipe away the sweat that beads on my brow, only to realize that my palms are clammy and slick with sweat, too. I clench them into tight fists, willing the trembling to cease. He can’t know how terrified I am. Men like him likely thrive on that knowledge.
We arrive at Nickolas’s room, and the guard knocks on the door. With every passing second of silence, my heart pounds louder and faster, the anticipation nearly suffocating me. Then, like a lifeline in the darkness, I hear Nickolas’s voice from within: “Come in.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” I whisper to myself like a mantra, repeating it over and over as I grasp the doorknob and push open the door, stepping into the room.
The room is engulfed in darkness, save for the flickering glow emanating from the lit fireplace. Turning towards it, I spot Nickolas seated in front of the flames, a glass of whisky in his hand. I stand frozen in my spot, waiting for him to say something to me.
Minutes pass by in eerie silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire and the occasional sip of Nickolas’ drink. With each passing second, my insides churn. I find myself unconsciously twisting my fingers in front of me, a nervous habit that betrays my inner turmoil as I struggle to gather the courage to speak up. Fuck it!
“Nick…” I begin, only to be abruptly silenced by his sharp command.
“Shut the fuck up,” his words slice through the air like a blade, leaving me speechless. I comply immediately, swallowing back any further attempts at communication, praying I haven’t made things worse for myself.
Time seems to stretch endlessly as I stand there, my legs starting to cramp from remaining in one position for so long. Finally, Nickolas’s voice fills the room, resonating with a deep baritone British accent that sends shivers cascading down my spine to the very core of my being. I swallow hard, feeling unsettled by the involuntary response my body has to his voice.
“Take off the robe,” he commands, his tone brooking no disobedience.
My breath catches in my throat as I lock eyes with him, silently pleading with him to reconsider. Yet, his resolve remains unyielding, each word he uttered earlier solidifying the dread pooling within me. I attempt to gather my voice, but the weight of his gaze stifles any words before they can escape my lips. Never have I seen such menace cloaked in a casual sip of a drink. Every line etched on his face warns of the peril awaiting my defiance. And I don’t dare, so with trembling hands, I reluctantly shed my robe. As it slips to the floor, so too does any semblance of faith in escaping this room unscathed.
The sheer black fabric of the lingerie accentuates every curve, leaving little to the imagination, especially with the delicate floral pattern teasingly veiling my cleavage. My midriff is exposed, the fabric barely concealing my skin, while my core is only shielded by the scant fabric of my underwear. His emerald gaze moves languidly over my form, tracing a path from the arch of my foot to the expanse of my thighs before settling on my face. A rush of warmth floods through me as his eyes alight with desire, devouring me whole. My knees threaten to buckle as his intense scrutiny renders me powerless. The tension in the air is evident, each heartbeat echoing the primal pull between us. It’s as if my body is on fire, craving his touch. I know the mate bond is responsible for my body’s reaction because the way my heart pounds, fearing he might go ahead with it, says much.
“Take off everything,” his command pierces the air, sending a jolt of fear coursing through me. Despite knowing it was coming, I had secretly hoped he would sense my reluctance and change his mind.
Nickolas raises an eyebrow, his head tilted in question. I quickly move my hand to lower the lingerie strap, but my hands shake, and I can’t summon the strength to do it. My heart pounds faster with each passing moment. The thought of taking it off fills me with dread because it means we’ll mate, something I’m not ready for. Despite knowing it won’t physically hurt, the idea of being intimate with him terrifies me. He’s my enemy, maybe even the one who killed my family, and he’s caused me immense pain. Even though the mate bond might make my body crave him, my heart refuses to accept him.
“I said fucking take off everything,” Nickolas’s loud voice booms in the room, snapping me out of my thoughts. Staring at him, I notice the lust in his eyes is gone and replaced by growing rage.
Tears well up in my eyes. This moment was meant to be filled with love and longing, his eyes reflecting desire, not seething with anger. With a heavy heart, I gasp as a tear escapes, trailing down my cheek.
“I said, take it off,” he yells once more, now standing in front of me, his chest heaving with pent-up fury.
More tears spill from my eyes, their salty tracks marking the anguish etched on my face. I inhale sharply as Nickolas’s hands move with brutal force, tearing the delicate fabric from my body and leaving me exposed in nothing but my underwear. My knees buckle beneath me, unable to withstand the weight of my despair, and I collapse to the unforgiving ground, consumed by sobs wracking my body. The crushing realization settles in that no one will come to my rescue, leaving me to face my impending doom alone.