Free Web NovelChapter 352: Chapter 352
She had never stepped foot inside Hairan’s private chambers before, nor had she ever been told where it was located. Yet as they turned down the corner and the music from the feast faded behind them, she knew instinctively where they were headed.
The maid pushed open a heavy door at the end of a quiet hall and ushered Elka inside without a word. The door shut behind her with a hollow thud.
Elka stood alone in her husband’s bedchamber. The room was lavishly furnished with dark polished wood, velvet draperies. A large bed dominated the center of the room, draped in rich cream silk sheets.
This was where they were meant to consummate their marriage, she realized with a growing sense of horror.
Her heart began to pound violently in her chest. But instead of excitement or anticipation, only cold dread flooded her veins. The pain in her back intensified, making her vision swim.
She moved toward the nearest solid surface which happened to be a carved writing desk and braced herself against it, fingers digging into the wood as she tried to steady her breathing. She felt faint, as though the room were tilting beneath her feet.
She was not alone for long.
Minutes later, the door opened again but it was not the maid who entered. It was Hairan.
He stepped inside lazily, closing the door behind him. He barely spared her a glance as he removed his coat and draped it carelessly over a chair.
When he finally spoke, his voice was as frigid as a winter storm.
"Do I have to remind you why you are here?" he asked, turning his eyes toward her at last. "Strip."
The command fell heavily between them. It was sharp and devoid of warmth.
Elka’s breath hitched. She did not move.
Impatience flickered across Hairan’s face. He crossed the room toward her, each measured step more threatening than the last, tightening the fear around her lungs.
"I do not like repeating myself," he said when he stood close enough to reach her. "I said strip."
Seeing no escape, she drew in a slow, trembling breath. Her fingers lifted shakily to the laces of her gown. It had taken three attendants to fit her into the elaborate dress that morning. Now, her hands fumbled uselessly at the knots, her vision blurring with both pain and panic.
The silence stretched thin and Hairan’s patience snapped.
In one swift motion, he withdrew a knife and sliced down the front of her gown. The sound of tearing fabric echoed sharply in the chamber.
She gasped, instinctively wanting to step back, yet she froze in place, terrified that any sudden movement might cause the blade to nick her skin.
He seized the fabric and tore the ruined gown from her body, leaving her standing in only her corset and thin shift.
"Turn around," he ordered flatly. "You wish to be queen one day, do you not? This is where it begins."
There was nothing in his expression that suggested he would entertain defiance.
Heat rushed to her cheeks, shame burning brighter than the pain. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and slowly turned her back to him. There was no hiding the dark stains soaking through the pale fabric of her shift.
He said nothing and the silence was much heavier now.
Instead of using the knife again, he reached for the laces of her corset, fingers methodically loosening each one. The tight pressure around her ribs slackened inch by inch until the garment fell away, pooling soundlessly at her feet.
Now she stood in only her shift. The thin material clung to her skin, damp with sweat and blood.
Without warning, he pushed the fabric upward, exposing her bare back to the cool air of the chamber. A sharp chill swept over her wounded flesh.
He exposed her naked flesh but he wasn’t focused on her curves that were now on display. Hairan was not even looking at her body with lust.
His gaze fixed instead on the angry, bloodied gashes that marred her back, the raw evidence of what had been done to her.
"Is this a joke?" he said, the words coming out low and rough. It was nearly a growl. The anger in his tone was unmistakable.
For the briefest moment, a fragile spark of hope bloomed in her chest. Could it be that he was angry for her? That he saw the injustice of it all, the cruelty of the arrangement, and resented it on her behalf?
But his next words crushed that delicate hope without mercy. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
"I didn’t even ask for a wife, yet they went ahead and sent me one who is broken," he said coldly. His lip curled as though the very sight of her offended him. "Does your father expect me to fuck you in your own blood?"
The disgust in his voice was not subtle. It was like a sharpened blade aimed squarely at her.
Elka felt the words like blows against her skin. The humiliation burned hotter than any physical pain. She squeezed her eyes shut as a single, scalding tear slipped free and trailed silently down her cheek. Her fingers trembled at her sides, but she forced herself not to move, not to cover herself, not to beg. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
He did not touch her again that night.
The space between them felt vast and hollow as he turned away. She remained where she stood, bare and exposed beneath the dim light of the chamber, her skin prickling with cold and shame. The silence stretched endlessly, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as he pulled his coat back on and the heavy sound of his footsteps in the room.
When the door finally shut behind him with a dull, final thud, the echo of it rang in her ear long after he was gone. Only then did her shoulders sag, and the strength she had clung on to slipped from her grasp.
