Firm

"You know, that was the first time I've ever seen Lucy run or behave in such a manner," Manta says, her voice soft, almost as if she's speaking to herself rather than anyone else. Lucy? that's new "He has always been well-mannered and composed, regardless of the circumstances." She walks with me back to my bedchamber and closes the door behind us, making sure I hear the lock click before approaching me. "You really don't want to have a word with him?" she asks again, her voice even softer, almost pleading. I lift my head to meet her gaze. Her eyes are filled with something deeper than fear—something akin to desperation. She must truly love him to beg me like this. The thought stirs a mix of anger and an emotion I can't quite name within me. Why does no one ever ask how I feel or if I have a decision to make, seeing her so fragile, so ready to put herself in this position, just for him? For a moment, I want to say no, to turn my back on the entire situation. But the way she looks at me... it's hard to ignore.

"I... I will," but not now, I want to say, but I don't think it matters. I wait for her to say something, to smile in satisfaction that she won, or to rush back and call him, admitting I was willing for him to lie to me and tell me it was all a misunderstanding. But her face twists in disgust for some reason, and she grips the hand I use to clench my nightgown—no, his robe, since everything here is his, including my thoughts. I should just go and apologize now, rather than have him complain to mother about my recent actions. Yet, I can't help feeling this way about him; what he's doing now feels more painful than what William used to inflict, for some reason.

"Saltanat, you don't have to heed what others say or request if you don't wish to. As a queen, you set the rules for others to follow, not the other way around. If his actions hurt you, and I, as someone who cares for him, urge you to forgive without considering your feelings, that would make me selfish. It would mean I fail to recognize that Lucy is not a good person." She holds my hands gently, giving them a light peck. "I know you find my words contradictory to what your mother taught you, but deep down, you know she wasn't right in that regard. I hope there's a valuable reason for what she did with your Ignis, as the kingdom views it as treason to keep one away from his possessions. And imposing a vow that later harms the individual is akin to double homicide. But for now, understand that being a queen is different from being a duchess. You're not just the queen of a kingdom; you are the queen to the king. Make him feel that" she says, smiling as if she believes I can do this without harming myself.

"How?" I whisper, my voice hardly audible. I never imagined this conversation taking such a turn. I assumed she was here solely because the king was not acting himself, and she desired to see him return to his composed demeanor. But the idea that she would support me, unaware of his actions, is something not even my mother could consider. Yet, if she's privy to something as confidential as my Ignis, how could the cause of my fury remain concealed to her?

"It really depends on his actions and your feelings. People react differently to the same situations. For instance, if you and Hyndrelle both owned the same pair of shoes and I chose to steal them from you both, what do you think your reactions would be?" she asked, letting go of my hands to walk into my changing room for a moment.

"I wouldn't mind much, as I have plenty more. However, Hyndrelle would be upset because it would take her a long time to afford another pair," I say, waiting for her response.

"Exactly. Now, what he did hurt you, right?" she asks, stepping out of the room with one of my nightgowns and placing it next to me. I nod, and she smiles. "There's this saying I love: 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.' He did something that hurt you, so what should you do?" she asks again, and I bite my lip, unsure if my answer will match hers.

"Do the same?" I inquire. Her smile widens as she walks to the couch, sighs, and settles into it for a while before speaking.

"You really are clueless, my dear child," she sighs, sinking deeper into the cushion. "Charlie has done everything she threatened to do, but unfortunately for her, I am still here," she whispers with an exasperated sigh, then looks at me, her eyes suddenly softening as if she's found something she lost centuries ago and has only now recovered it. "Society is unfair, dear child. Unfortunately, you will never be able to hurt your husband in the same way he hurt you without facing any dire consequences. If a wife and a husband decide to be unfaithful to each other, who do you think will be more condemned—the wife or the husband?"

"The wife," I whispered, my voice barely audible, yet the truth within it was heavy with significance.

Her expression darkened, as if the stark reality had just settled upon her. "Yes, always the wife. In their eyes, you're to endure, forgive, remain loyal. Yet, the moment you deviate..." She trailed off, her fingers tracing the cushion's seam absentmindedly. "No matter the justification, no matter the hurt... it's you they'll fault." She leaned in, her voice a hushed whisper, as if imparting a clandestine truth. "But there's a secret to holding your ground," she murmured, capturing my full attention. "The key lies in mastering survival in a world that anticipates your defeat."

"But he is the king," I protested, my voice trembling as the weight of his title loomed over me, casting a long shadow from which I couldn't escape.

"And you are the queen," she responded, her tone firm yet gentle, as if the words carried more power than I had ever realized. She leaned in, her gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "Remember that. Just because he wears a crown doesn't make yours any less significant. You are not merely a pawn in his game; you are the queen, and that is of great importance."

I swallowed hard, a knot forming in my throat. "But what does it mean? In his eyes... what power do I truly possess?" He abandoned his wife on their wedding day; how can I possess such an enigmatic power?

She sighed, leaning back again, her gaze steady and unwavering. "It means you possess the strength to stand, to persevere, to command respect in ways he may never comprehend. Kings may govern through fear, through might, but queens..." She paused, her tone becoming gentler. "Queens govern with wisdom, with dignity, and sometimes, with the power of silence."

"But he doesn't see me that way," I whispered, frustration constricting my chest. "To him, I'm merely... there."

Her expression softened again, but her voice remained firm. "Then make him see. A queen does not need to raise her voice to command attention. The moment you recognize your own power, he will too," she said, standing and walking towards the door, pausing halfway to turn and smile at me. "Live your life the way you want, write your own story. Come back after your trip, and we'll discuss more about etiquette and... ensure he understands that he's causing you pain," she stated, and with those final words, she exited and closed the door behind her. 'Make sure he knows I am hurting,' her last words echoed in my mind. 'Make him know?' How can someone born to assist be oblivious to the pain they inflict? How can someone so committed to protecting and healing be so unaware of the harm they cause?

I sighed, feeling the heavy weight of realization. Deep down, I knew she was right; I've witnessed many women, including my mother, steadfastly uphold their beliefs and never agree to anything that contradicts their principles. Perhaps the cruelest aspect is when someone genuinely believes they are doing good yet remains oblivious to the pain they inflict for others to endure.

Rising, I made my way to the changing room, seeking the solace of comfortable attire to still the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. The chamber basked in a dim light, with the dying day's soft luminescence seeping through the drapes. Yet, upon entering and swinging open the wardrobe, I was rooted to the spot in shock.

Not one of my gowns hung there.

My heart skipped a beat, an odd disquiet washing over me. Inside, there was only a simple towel and another nightgown—far from the usual assortment of garments.

I blinked, my thoughts racing for an explanation. Could someone has moved them? What reason would anyone have to take all my gowns?

A shiver traveled down my spine as I gently shut the wardrobe, its door's echo resounding too loudly in the silent room. My eyes darted around, half-expecting an answer to emerge from the lurking shadows.

Yet, there was no one.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of anxiety. Something was profoundly wrong. In a rush, I moved toward the door, half-thinking someone might have an answer. But before my fingers could graze the doorknob, it swung open on its own. There he stood, the very devil I'd been avoiding, framed in the doorway, as if summoned by my fears. His aura filled the room—a dark force wrapped in majestic calm, his eyes shining with the thrill of catching me unprepared.

"There you are, wife," he said, his voice a perilous blend of arrogance and charm. His lips twisted into a smirk, the sort that sent shivers down my spine.

I stepped back, my breath catching, but I was determined not to show him how afraid I was. "What have you done with my things?" I demanded, my voice betraying more confidence than I actually felt. Clearly, he was the only one who could have tampered with them; there was no one else. Was he sending me away because of my recent actions? action I do not believe William will send me back home for. Yet, I am the one who's hurt, always on the receiving end of pain. Why me? Without another thought, I charged at him.

"What have I ever done to you? We... we don't even know each other yet. Do you hate me that... that" I have much to say, but once again, everything blurs, and I find myself falling into the deep abyss of hell. I always wonder why I pass out each time I am near this brain eater of a husband It wasn't just fear. It was something deeper, darker, as if he was draining my very essence, pulling me into the abyss of my own mind.

Time and again, I succumbed. What power did he possess that could twist my mind so? I tried to resist, to claw my way back to consciousness, but it was in vain. His presence was overpowering, consuming. Like a parasite, it fed on my thoughts, my fears, and my will. As I descended further into the abyss, one thought persisted, a question that echoed even in the void: What is he doing to me?

...

As my eyes fluttered open, I was immediately struck by the room's unfamiliar warmth. The air was perfumed with the rich scent of sandalwood and smoke. My body felt heavy, almost sinking into the plush velvet that enveloped me. This was not my bedchamber. A wave of panic washed over me as I recognized my surroundings.

I was in his room.

Dark, opulent curtains draped the walls, and the fire's dim glow cast dancing, eerie shadows across the floor. The air was thick, almost suffocating with intimacy, as if the room were an extension of him—dangerous and all-consuming. My heart pounded, fear and anger churning within me. How did I end up here? How long had I been unconscious?

Rising abruptly, my head reeled from the swift movement. The gown I had worn before was missing, now replaced by a simpler garment—an elegant silk robe, black with intricate gold embroidery. It felt alien against my skin, another symbol of his dominion.

And then, there he was.

He stood by the window, outlined against the fading light outside. He gazed into the distance, his back to me, hands clasped behind him as if he had been anticipating my awakening.

"You've fainted once more," he remarked, his tone cool and distant, as if such occurrences were commonplace. "You ought to take better care of yourself."

My heart rate accelerated. "What... why am I here?"

Without turning, he responded, "Where else should you be? After all, you are my queen."

"I didn't ask to be brought here!" I retorted, fighting to maintain a steady voice. The last thing I desired was to reveal my vulnerability to him.

At last, he faced me, his demeanor serene, yet his eyes sparkled with a dark, inscrutable intensity. "You are where you should be," he murmured, advancing a step closer. "This is the safer option."

"Safer?" I scoffed, resisting the lingering dizziness. "For whom? You? Is this your way, seizing control when it's convenient, as if I'm merely a possession?"

His smile was faint, failing to touch his eyes. "You misunderstand, my dear. My actions have always been in your defense. Yet, you persist in fleeing from me. However, one cannot escape what we inherently are."

Rising to my feet, despite my legs' frailty, I met his stare. "Then tell me, what exactly are we?"

His gaze softened momentarily, a glimmer of something nearly human crossing his features. But it vanished swiftly, supplanted by the icy, calculating expression that had become my dread.

"Bound," he stated plainly. "In manners you've yet to comprehend."

The words lingered, laden with an implication I was reluctant to fathom. Bound? To him? The notion sent shivers down my spine, yet underneath the disgust lay an emotion I couldn't quite identify. Was it confusion? Intrigue? Fear?

I retreated towards the door, eager to flee the oppressive nearness of the room, of him. Yet, as I extended my hand towards the doorknob, his voice halted me.

"You won't discover your answers by fleeing."

I stood motionless, my back turned to him, feeling my heart throb in my chest.

"And you won't liberate yourself by rejecting what has already started," he continued, his tone now gentler, nearly affectionate. "Our connection is more resilient than you believe."