Chapter 19

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her body trembling as she listened to the echo of Viktor’s heavy footsteps fading down the corridor. The silence that followed was suffocating, wrapping around her like a noose. She hadn’t even had the chance to fully process what had just happened.

Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse yet imposing decor. Viktor’s chambers were large but stark, devoid of any warmth or personal touches. The walls were made of cold gray stone, their surface broken only by the heavy tapestries that hung like sentinels. It unsettled her.

The massive bed she sat on was draped in dark crimson sheets that felt rough against her fingertips. The canopy above her head was made of black silk, its edges trimmed with gold, but the opulence felt hollow. The bed was too big, too cold, a place where no comfort could be found.

To her left, a large fireplace dominated the wall, though it was unlit. The ashes from a previous fire lay in a crumbled heap, as if no one had cared to tend to it in days. A few logs were stacked neatly nearby, but Amelia didn’t dare approach.

A simple wooden desk sat in the corner, its surface bare save for a single, flickering candle. Shadows danced on the walls, casting eerie shapes that seemed to move of their own accord. A few shelves lined the wall behind the desk, filled with books bound in dark leather. She wondered if Viktor read them, or if they were merely decoration, relics of a life he no longer cared to live.

The air in the room was heavy with the scent of smoke and aged wood, mixed faintly with something sharper—metallic, almost like blood. It made her stomach churn.

Amelia shifted uncomfortably, her gown rustling against the sheets. She still wore the wedding dress the maids had forced her into, its fabric stiff and unyielding. The corset bit into her ribs, making it difficult to breathe. Her makeup, hastily applied hours ago, felt like a mask she couldn’t remove, the paint smudged and streaked from her tears.

She couldn’t bring herself to move. Even sitting on the bed felt wrong, as though she were trespassing in a place she didn’t belong. The thought of touching anything—let alone sleeping in the bed—filled her with dread.

But she was so tired. Exhaustion weighed down on her like a heavy cloak, her limbs aching from the day’s events. Her mind raced, she felt like a pawn in a game she didn’t understand.

Amelia glanced toward the door, half-expecting Viktor to return at any moment. But the door remained closed, the heavy wood standing as a barrier between her and the rest of the world. She doubted he would come back anytime soon.

She sighed, her breath shaky as she rose to her feet. She paced the room slowly, her fingers trailing along the edges of the furniture as if to ground herself. When she reached the window, she pulled back the heavy curtains and peered outside. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the palace grounds. She could see the faint outlines of the garden below, its neatly trimmed hedges and frozen fountains shimmering in the moonlight.

Reluctantly, she returned to the bed. She sat on the edge for a long time, her hands folded in her lap as she stared at the flickering candle on the desk. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to cry. She had cried enough.

Eventually, exhaustion won out. Amelia lay down on the bed, careful to keep herself near the edge, as far away from the center as possible. The sheets felt cold against her skin, and the scent of smoke clung to them like a second layer. She curled up on her side, her arms wrapped around herself as if to shield her from the emptiness of the room.

She didn’t bother to remove her gown or her makeup. The thought of undressing, of making herself vulnerable in this place, was unbearable. She would sleep as she was.

But sleep did not come easily. She lay awake for hours, her mind spinning with fear and uncertainty. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind rattling the windows, made her heart race. She half-expected the door to burst open at any moment, for Viktor to storm in.

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep. She focused on her breathing, on the rise and fall of her chest, but it did little to calm her racing thoughts. The room seemed to close in around her.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her. Her breathing slowed, her body relaxing despite the discomfort of the gown and the coldness of the sheets. She drifted off into a restless sleep.

----

Viktor pushed open the heavy door to his chambers, the sound of the latch clicking shut behind him echoing through the cold, dim room. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the stone walls, but it did nothing to soften the tension that tightened his shoulders. He had stepped out for air, for a drink, anything to calm the storm raging inside him. But now, stepping back into his room, the sight that greeted him only stoked the embers of his barely restrained anger.

Amelia was on his bed.

She lay curled on the edge, her body small and frail beneath the heavy crimson blankets. Her wedding gown was still on, wrinkled from sleep, and her makeup—now smudged. She looked uncomfortable even in slumber, her brows faintly furrowed, her hands clutching the fabric of her dress.

Viktor’s jaw tightened.

He closed the door with a quiet click, moving further into the room with measured steps. His eyes remained on her, his expression impassive.

Amelia shifted slightly, her hand brushing against the bed’s edge as if searching for something in her sleep. Viktor stopped at the foot of the bed, his gaze narrowing. Her presence here, in his chambers, felt like an invasion.

The anger he’d tried to bury earlier resurfaced. It wasn’t just about her—it was everything. Malcolm’s games, the suffocating weight of the kingdom. And her…

Every time he looked at her, all he could see was his mother. Her lifeless form, a woman who had once been his entire world.

Viktor dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. He couldn’t let his emotions control him. Emotions were weakness, and he had no room for weakness—not in this palace, not in his life.

Without a word, he began to undress. He pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby chair, exposing his broad, scarred chest. His muscles, hardened, tensed as he moved. The chill of the room didn’t bother him; he had grown accustomed to discomfort.

He approached the bed, standing over her sleeping form. Her breathing was soft and uneven, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed to mock his own restless state. For a moment, he considered waking her—telling her to get off his bed, to sleep on the floor or anywhere else but here. But the thought passed as quickly as it came.

Viktor needed rest, and he wouldn’t waste more energy. He had a long day ahead, as he always did. The kingdom didn’t run itself. The wars didn’t fight themselves. And while Malcolm played his twisted games and basked in the glory of his title, it was Viktor who carried the weight of the realm on his shoulders.

He moved to the other side of the bed, sitting down heavily on the edge. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Amelia stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Viktor rubbed a hand over his face, the rough stubble on his jaw scratching against his palm.

Amelia shifted again, her lips parting slightly as if she were about to speak. Viktor froze, his body going rigid as he waited for her to wake. But she didn’t. Instead, she let out a soft sigh, her body curling further into itself.

His mind drifted back to their childhood. He remembered a girl with tangled hair and a bright smile, a girl who had laughed at the simplest things and chased butterflies in the palace gardens. That girl was gone. The woman lying before him was a stranger.

Viktor leaned back against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at the ceiling. The weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him like a physical force. He had no time for distractions, no time for emotions. His role was to keep the kingdom from crumbling under the strain of Malcolm’s rule.

And yet, here she was. A distraction he hadn’t asked for, a complication he didn’t need.

He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. But it eluded him, as it always did.

Beside him, Amelia stirred again, her soft murmurs filling the silence.

Turning his gaze back to the ceiling, Viktor let out a slow, measured breath. He would endure this, as he always did. He had no other choice.

----

The pale light of dawn crept into the room, spilling through the tall, arched windows and illuminating the stone walls. Amelia stirred, her body tense before her mind had even registered why. It was the uncomfortable warmth surrounding her that brought her fully awake. Her breath hitched as she realized she was wrapped in someone’s arms.

Her head rested against Viktor’s bare shoulder, her cheek brushing against the hard lines of his chest. His arm was draped around her waist, strong and unyielding, holding her against him as if she belonged there. The rise and fall of his breathing was steady, but his grip on her was anything but gentle.

Amelia’s pulse raced, panic creeping in as she tried to move without waking him. Her fingers brushed against the corded muscle of his forearm, but as she shifted, his hold only tightened.

Her gaze traveled up to his face. Even in sleep, Viktor’s features were taut. The scar that marred his cheek seemed starker in the morning light, a cruel reminder of the man he had become.

She bit her lip, debating her next move. She didn’t want to be this close to him, didn’t want to feel the heat of his skin or the strength of his arm pinning her in place. But as she squirmed again, Viktor’s eyes snapped open, piercing blue.

For a moment, they stared at each other in silence.

His expression didn’t change as he looked down at her, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make her shrink back. Without a word, he released her and sat up, the bed shifting under his weight.

Amelia watched as he stretched, his broad shoulders rolling and his muscles flexing with the movement. He ran a hand through his blonde hair before standing, his bare torso exposed to the cool morning air.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away. Her hands gripped the edge of the blanket, her knuckles white.

Viktor didn’t spare her a second glance. He crossed the room with purposeful strides, heading toward the adjoining bathroom. The door shut behind him with a firm click, leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts.

Her heart was still racing, her skin crawling with discomfort. The memory of his arm around her waist, his warmth seeping into her skin, made her stomach churn. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if it could shield her from the weight of what had just happened.

She waited, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, as the sound of water and the occasional clatter of metal came from the bathroom. Minutes turned into what felt like hours, and still, Viktor did not return.

When he finally emerged, he was dressed in his armor, the polished steel glinting in the morning light. He looked every bit the warrior he was—a man forged in the fires of battle.

Amelia watched him cautiously, her hands gripping the blanket so tightly that her fingers ached. Viktor didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge her presence as he adjusted the straps of his gauntlets and checked the fit of his breastplate.

To him, it was as if she wasn’t there at all.

But then, just as she thought he might leave without a word, he turned to face her. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto hers as he approached the bed, his boots heavy against the stone floor.

Amelia tensed, her breath hitching as he stopped in front of her. He reached out, his gloved hand gripping her chin and tilting her face upward. His touch was firm, not painful, but there was no gentleness in it.

For a moment, he studied her, his gaze sweeping over her face with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

“Don't leave this room,” he said finally, his voice low and controlled. He spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a child too dim to understand. “Everything you need will be brought to you.”

Amelia blinked, her lips parting as if to protest, but the sharp edge in his tone silenced her.

Viktor continued, his grip on her chin tightening just enough to emphasize his point. “Do you understand?”

She nodded shakily.

Satisfied, Viktor released her and straightened, adjusting the sword at his hip. He turned toward the door, his movements precise and deliberate.

Before he left, he paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. There was something unreadable in his gaze, a flicker of emotion that disappeared as quickly as it came.

Amelia sat frozen on the bed as the door closed behind him, the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as the tension drained from her body. But the feeling of his hand on her chin lingered.

---

In the corridor, Viktor’s expression was unreadable as he made his way toward the training grounds. He moved with purpose, his mind already shifting to the day’s tasks.

But a part of him remained behind, lingering in that room with her. He hadn’t planned on holding her during the night; in fact, he couldn’t even remember how it had happened. All he knew was that he’d woken up with her in his arms, and the memory of her soft, warm presence still clung to him.

He pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the tasks ahead.

He knew what he was doing by keeping her confined to his room.

Malcolm cared for her, whether he admitted it or not. If there was one thing Viktor knew how to do, it was to strike where it hurt the most.

If Malcolm had a heart—a small, twisted thing that it was—it beat for Amelia. And Viktor would make sure to keep her away from him.

He stepped into the training yard, the clang of swords and the shouts of soldiers welcoming him. He had a war to prepare for, and a brother to outmaneuver.