From Maid To The King's Beloved

~ANYA’S POV~

The guards pulled me out of the van. They did not take me through the Grand front doors. Instead, they dragged me around to the shadows at the back of the building. We went down a set of dark, freezing concrete stairs, deep underground into the high-security holding block.

The air was bitterly cold and smelled like wet cement and bleach. We walked down a long, brightly lit corridor. The guard swiped a key card, and the heavy steel door beeped open. Inside was a small cell with barren concrete walls and a reinforced door.

They pushed me inside. I stumbled and fell onto the cold concrete floor. The guard slammed the heavy door shut, and the electronic lock engaged with a loud, echoing sound.

“Wait in here," the guard said in a cruel, mocking voice through the barrier window. “When we get news from the trauma team, we will know what to do with you. Pray to the heavens that the king wakes up, little girl. Because if his heart stops for good, yours will too."

The guard walked away, his heavy boots fading into the eerie quiet of the cell block.

I sat alone in the freezing room. I pulled my knees tightly to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself trying to preserve what little warmth I had left. I closed my eyes and prayed. I did not pray for my grand dream of the city anymore. I only prayed the king would open his piercing, icy blue eyes again.

That evening, I sat shivering in the freezing, windowless concrete holding cell deep beneath the palace. I hugged my knees to my chest and waited. I did not know what was going to happen to me.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy combat boots echoed outside. An electronic keypad beeped loudly, and the heavy steel security door swung open.

A Royal Guard in a sleek black uniform stepped into the cell. A woman followed behind him.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. She wore an elegant crimson designer dress that hugged her slim waist. Diamonds sparkled around her neck under the harsh fluorescent lights. But her face was twisted with pure anger.

I slowly got to my feet. Standing beside her, I felt so small. Her graceful posture and tall high heels only made me feel smaller. I opened my mouth, but before I could even say a single word…

The stranger raised her hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force. She hit me so hard that my head snapped to the side. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my jaw. Warm blood instantly filled my mouth.

I was so dizzy and confused. I slowly stood up straight again, my eyes wide. I wanted to ask why she hit me, but my voice was stuck in my throat. I was too shocked to speak.

Before I could even take a breath, she slapped me a second time, much harder than the first. Her heavy diamond rings dug into my cheek. The force pushed me backward. I lost my footing and fell hard into the cold concrete floor. I held my bleeding lip, looking up at her in total terror, still unable to make a sound.

“Shut your dirty mouth!" the woman shouted, even though I had not spoken a single word. She pointed a sharp, manicured finger right at my face. "You filthy peasant rat! If anything happens to the king, I will make sure you disappear. I will throw you into the river for the crocodiles myself.

She turned around and stormed out of the cell. Her designer heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor. The guard slammed the heavy steel door shut, and the electronic lock beeped, securing me inside again.

I lay on the freezing floor and I wept silently. The caramel skin of my cheek was swollen, bruised, and throbbing. That night, I knew my fate was sealed. My life was over. I would never get to experience life in the capital, and I would never go to a real school. My story was going to end in this dark, underground box.

A little while later, a small slot at the bottom of the door slid open. A guard pushed a stainless steel tray inside. It was my dinner.

I stared at the tray in disbelief. There was a warm roast pheasant, thick crusty white bread, and a flimsy plastic cup filled with clean water. It was the richest food I had ever had -– far better than the scraps of root vegetables I ate back at the Griggs cottage. But I felt so miserable and heartbroken that my stomach felt twisted into knots. I chewed on the soft bread, but I couldn't taste anything. It felt like eating dry sand.

For two days, I stayed in that cold cell. I never saw the sun. I did not know if it was day or night. I only sat on the hard floor, waiting for the guards to come and tell me the king was dead.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the heavy steel door finally opened.

A tall palace guard walked in. He did not look murderous this time. “Get up," he ordered gruffly.

I stood up, my small legs shaking. I thought he was taking me to be executed. But he didn't reach for the gun strapped to his thigh. He grabbed my arm and led me out of the holding block. We rode a sleek glass elevator up from the underground, finally stepping into the beautiful, sunlit parts of the royal estate.

He led me down a wide, brightly lit corridor with floor-to-ceiling windows, modern art, and plush red carpets. We stopped in front of a warm, clean maids' quarter.

The guard handed me a pile of folded clothes. “Go inside," he instructed. “Take a hot shower. Wash the dirt off your body and put on these clean clothes."

"Why?” I asked, my voice was barely a whisper. "Am I going to die?”

The guard looked down at me. "No. His Majesty seeks your presence.”

My heart jumped into my throat. The king was alive!

I quickly went into the room. I washed my dark hair and scrubbed the dirt off my skin in a luxurious, modern marble shower, though it took me a long time to gather courage to ask the guard how to use it. He later called a young maid to show me. The hot, steaming water felt like heaven in my sore, bruised muscles. I put on clean clothes. It was a simple floral gown. It fit my small body perfectly, and it was soft and incredibly warm.

When I was ready, the guard escorted me to a massive set of carved mahogany doors. Two Royal Guards pushed them open.

I walked into the grandest room I had ever seen. It was the royal audience hall, a breathtaking blend of modern architecture, expansive glass windows overlooking the city skyline, and imposing marble pillars.

At the far end of the room, sitting upon a sleek modern throne of dark leather and polished steel, was the King.

He looked terribly pale. He wore a dark tailored shirt that was slightly open at the collar, just enough to make room for the thick white bandages wrapped tightly around his injured chest. Captain Julian stood beside him, his hands clasped professionally behind his back.

But they were not alone.