Sting

"Here."

Jessica shoved more clothes into my arms, even though I was already sweating under the scorching sun. I stared at the pile but didn't say anything.

Instead, I sighed and continued scrubbing. I knew Jessica was waiting for me to react.

She hated me,for what reason, I didn't know.

I felt her glare burning into me.

"You stink. So bad," she muttered.

I ignored her.

I knew I stank. I hardly got to bathe, or sleep, or rest.

"I'm talking to you, you bitch!"

She grabbed my hair, yanking it back. I winced.

"You're so ugly. You and that disgusting hair. I just hate you," she spat before shoving my face into the filthy water I had been using to wash clothes.

I thrashed, but she held me down.

"Let go... please," I choked out when she finally pulled me up.

I gasped for air, coughing and sputtering.

"Jess, let go of her!" one of the maids said hesitantly.

"The prince is coming."

At the mention of the prince, Jessica immediately let go of me and straightened her gown.

I gasped for air again, my entire body aching. Everything hurt,my sore back, riddled with scars and injuries, my swollen, bruised face, my empty stomach that hadn't seen food in days.

"Your Highness," all the maids greeted in unison.

Jessica's tone turned sickeningly sweet as she said it, her voice dripping with seduction. It wasn't just her. The other maids bit their lips, adjusted their skirts, pushed up their chests.

Then I heard my name.

"Dina."

I turned my head toward him, water dripping from my tangled, wet hair and down my face.

His eyes met mine,filled with disgust and hatred.

I immediately lowered my gaze.

"Father asks for you," he said coldly before walking away, disappearing from my sight.

I stood up, feeling anxious.

Why was my father calling me?

The last time he asked for me was when I stole some clothes from my stepmother's room. I was mercilessly beaten to a pulp that day, but I didn't mind. As long as I had clothes to wear, it was okay.

Even though I had scars from the beating, I didn't mind. It's not like anyone would care.

Everyone I passed looked at me with disgust.

I gulped.

Was I getting punished again?

I didn't do anything wrong this time.

The guards opened the throne room, looking at me with disgust on their faces.

I was used to this,disgust, hatred, and anger,every time someone looked at me.

The silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the throne room with a dim glow. The walls, painted in shades of blue and white, reflected the grandeur of royalty.

Royalty...

I had the blood of a royal.

But I was treated like a slave.

I felt piercing gazes on me.

I bit my swollen lips.

Come on, Dina. This isn't your first time here. Don't be nervous.

Just look on the bright side,you weren't brought in here with guards dragging you. Maybe it's something good.

I sighed. Maybe my thoughts were right. I wasn't being dragged here like before.

My gaze fell on my father,Edward, the King of Linton.

A kingdom of riches and wealth.

The king,my father,a splitting image of Brian, with brown hair and blue eyes.

I bowed my head in respect.

"Greetings, Your Highness," I muttered.

"Dina," he called.

I raised my head to stare at him.

He hasn't called me that in so long.

"Who was this man in your room a few days ago?" he asked.

I furrowed my brows. What was he talking about?

I turned my gaze toward the man he was referring to.

No...

No...

No.

Dimitri.

Tears stung my eyes.

"Father," I whispered.

"Don't call me that! I am not your father, you wretched child!"

His voice boomed across the throne room, cursing me.

Tears spilled down my swollen face.

Of course... he didn't want me to call him father.

I was conceived from his act of violence against my mother, and yet he refused to acknowledge that I was his blood.

I stared at Dimitri. He was bruised and injured, held by two guards,the same guards who had whipped me.

I shook my head.

This is all my fault...

"Well, I hope you're happy now. He's going to get stoned to death."

"No, please, Father! Please don't punish him. He's no one to me. He just helped me get to my room," I pleaded desperately.

Before I could say more, a loud slap echoed across the throne room.

Pain seared through my already swollen face, adding to the agony of the beatings I had received before.

I looked up to see Zilla,Brian's sister, my sister,glaring at me with pure hatred.

"You slut! Now, because of you, one of our elite soldiers is going to be stoned to death!" she spat.

I stared at her. I was older than her. She was only fifteen, and I was nineteen, yet she had the audacity to raise her hand against me.

I glared daggers at her.

Her stare wavered.

As I looked at her, an unfamiliar feeling surged within me.

I wanted to choke her.

"Mother! Help!" she suddenly screamed, clutching at her throat.

"Zilla, my baby!" Beatrice, my stepmother, rushed toward her, holding her protectively.

I continued to stare at Zilla, my fury burning.

How dare she?

I was older than her! Hadn't her parents taught her manners?

"Dina..."

My mother's voice echoed in my head.

"Dina..."

"Dina..."

Over and over again.

I kept my gaze locked on Zilla's face as it turned red, then blue.

The throne room erupted in gasps.

"Let go of her, you witch!" Beatrice cursed at me.

"Dina!"

My father's voice rang through the hall.

I tore my gaze away from Zilla, turning toward him.

"Let go of her," he commanded.

"I'm not doing anything," I muttered.

I wasn't. I didn't even know what was happening.

"Zilla, my baby," Beatrice sobbed, holding her daughter as she lost consciousness.

Before I could react, a sharp slap sent me crashing to the floor.

Blood dripped from my mouth and nose as pain shot through my entire face.

I heard Zilla gasp.

"Mom," she whispered weakly.

"It's all right, baby. I'm here," Beatrice soothed her.

A voice echoed through the hall.

"Lock her up."

It belonged to no one other than Brian.