Chapter 3 3
The guards returned not long after the king left.
Daisy hesitated before stepping into the hallway, almost afraid they would change their minds and throw her back into the tiny stone room. After a week of seeing nothing except cracked walls and an iron door, the castle felt unfamiliar. Sunlight poured through towering windows, warming polished floors that reflected every step she took. It should have been comforting, but all she could think about was why she had been brought out in the first place.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked quietly.
One of the guards didn’t even glance at her. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She already knew.
The king’s words echoed in her mind, making her chest tighten with every step. This wasn’t freedom. It was preparation.
The maids led her into a spacious bathing chamber where steam drifted lazily through the air. A large tub sat waiting in the center, filled with warm water scented with herbs and flowers.
Daisy stopped at the doorway.
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” she said with a dry laugh. “Slaves don’t get baths like this.”
“They do when the king gives the order,” one of the younger maids replied.
Daisy looked from one woman to the next before shaking her head. “How generous.”
Three maids surrounded her, each silently beginning their task. The oldest introduced herself as Beau, and from the way the others waited for her instructions, it was obvious she was in charge.
“Easy now,” Beau said gently as Daisy stiffened. “We’re only here to help.”
“Help?” Daisy met the older woman’s eyes. “Is that what we’re calling this?”
Beau didn’t answer.
Warm water washed away the dust and grime that had clung to Daisy’s skin for days, but it couldn’t wash away the dread settling deep inside her. Every careful touch reminded her that this wasn’t kindness. It was the king’s command.
Once she was dry, Beau stood behind her with a wooden comb, patiently working through the knots in her tangled hair.
“You have lovely curls,” Beau murmured.
“They weren’t worth noticing until today.”
A flicker of sympathy crossed the older woman’s face before it disappeared just as quickly.
When the combing was finished, another maid returned carrying folded crimson garments.
Daisy frowned.
“That’s all?”
The younger maid nodded nervously.
The leather skirt barely reached the tops of her thighs, while the matching top left far more exposed than covered. Daisy stared at herself in disbelief before letting out a bitter laugh.
“So much effort to dress someone who’s barely dressed at all.”
“The king selected them himself,” Beau said quietly.
“I’m not surprised.”
Without another word, the maids fastened the outfit before draping a long robe over her shoulders, hiding most of the revealing leather beneath its heavy fabric. One of the younger girls uncorked a crystal bottle and lightly sprayed perfume across Daisy’s neck and wrists.
The sweet scent only made her stomach turn.
“All ready and done,” Beau announced.
Daisy lingered before the tall mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable.
For the briefest moment, she wasn’t a prisoner dressed in crimson leather or a defeated daughter awaiting her punishment. She saw the woman she had once been—the princess who had walked marble halls with her head held high, believing the world would always bow before her.
That girl was gone.
“You should leave now,” Beau said, her tone respectful but firm. “His Majesty dislikes being kept waiting.”
Daisy’s fingers tightened around the edge of her robe.
She wanted to ask a thousand questions. Were the people taken from her kingdom still alive? Had any of them escaped? Were they locked away in cells like hers, or had they already been sold to powerful families throughout Magonia?
The silence in the room answered none of them.
A bitter thought settled over her.
Whatever had become of them was no more than a reflection of what her own father had inflicted on Magonia for years. She had witnessed enough to know the cruelty of his rule. Perhaps this was justice.
Even so, knowing that did nothing to quiet the fear twisting inside her.
Her own fate was waiting just beyond the next corridor.
With slow, reluctant steps, Daisy made her way through the palace until she reached a pair of towering black doors trimmed with gold. She stopped in front of them, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
After taking a shaky breath, she raised her hand and knocked.
“Come in.”
The king’s deep voice carried effortlessly through the thick wood.
Daisy pushed the doors open.
Warm golden light flooded the chamber, reflecting from polished floors and ornate furnishings. Shelves lined the walls, each filled with books and carefully preserved scrolls. Every detail spoke of wealth, authority, and absolute control.
Under different circumstances, she might have admired it.
Instead, her eyes found only one person.
King Lorenzo sat behind an enormous desk, his broad shoulders illuminated by candlelight as he dipped a feather into an inkpot and continued writing as though her arrival barely deserved his attention.
It was difficult to imagine this man had once lived in chains.
Yet everyone knew the story.
For ten years he had survived the prisons of her father’s kingdom, enduring suffering few could imagine. Now he ruled the very empire that had once enslaved him.
The balance of power had shifted.
Without looking away from the parchment, Lorenzo spoke.
“Close the door.”
She obeyed.
Only then did he lift his head.
His gaze settled on her with unnerving patience, moving over her appearance before returning to her face. It wasn’t desire she found there.
It was judgment.
Cold, unwavering judgment.
His expression remained carved from stone, revealing nothing except the resentment that lingered beneath the surface.
Daisy fought the urge to look away.
Lorenzo rose from his chair with deliberate calm, circled the desk, and stopped a few feet in front of her.
“Remove the robe.”
The order hung heavily between them.
Daisy froze.
His eyes darkened.
“I don’t repeat myself often,” he said evenly.
Her throat tightened.
With trembling fingers, she untied the robe and let it slip from her shoulders until it pooled at her feet.
His gaze never left her face.
“Understand this, whore,” he said, his voice quiet enough to be dangerous. “When I give an order, you follow it immediately. If you hesitate again, I'll cut off your fingers and feed it to you.”
The threat stole the color from her face.
She swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how deeply the words unsettled her.
“Yes… sir,” she replied.
The title tasted like poison. There wasn’t an ounce of submission in her voice.
If Lorenzo noticed the defiance hidden beneath her answer, he did not show it.
He leaned casually against the edge of the desk, folded his arms across his chest, and held her gaze for another long, suffocating moment.
Then he spoke again, his voice firm.
“Get naked, filthy whore! And show me that fresh glistening pussy of yours that I will destruct beyond repair!"
