Chained Princess

Chapter 4 - The King

Anastasia felt her breath hitch in her throat as her attention was directed back to the king, who had put the papers down and was now rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair, replacing his feet on the top of the desk.

The female soldier next to him looked irritated at his casual behavior. "Sir!" she scolded under her breath. He stopped rubbing his nose and looked up at her. He let out a loud sigh and put his feet back down, standing from his desk. Immediately, every solider in the room stood to attention. He waved his hand and the two soldiers holding Anastasia up suddenly let her go. She wasn't ready for the lack of support and crumpled to the floor.

"So," he started, looking directly into Anastasia's grey eyes, "you are not just from Sasnia, but are the Sasnian princess." He was not asking her; he was stating a fact.

Anastasia sucked in her breath sharply and pursed her lips. Terror crawled over her skin and spread to the pit of her stomach. No one was supposed to know. How many times had she been told that growing up? How many countless times had she been scolded when she almost slipped up? What would this stranger do with this information? Would he use her as leverage to gain control of her country? Would he kill her as a sign of dominance? The last question had her blood turning to ice.

Her eyes scanned the other people in the room. Cesare was looking rather shocked and the other soldiers were just confused. She felt more tears prick her eyes and a sob escaped her lips.

"Please, do not kill me," she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she bowed her head.

Anastasia could hear footsteps approach her as she continued to cry, staring at the red carpet. It was the color of blood. She felt herself shake more as images of her death flashed before her mind's eye. A pair of boots stopped in front her. She refused to look up. Squatting down in front of her, the king grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look into his frosty eyes.

"You are in no danger here, princess. Perhaps," he hesitated, averting his eyes before locking his gaze on her again, "we should talk about this tomorrow. You look... tired."

Processing what he was saying, she took a few deep breaths. Composing herself, Anastasia wiped the tears from her eyes and stood. The king rose with her. She was now staring too intimately at his chest and immediately took a step back to give herself some personal space.

"Actually," she said softly, looking up at him for only a moment before casting her eyes back to the carpet, "I was hoping you may allow me to read the letter."

She should have just read it to begin with. Obviously, her trust in her step father was misplaced. If she had known he was going to expose her to these strangers, she never would have come looking for this king named Syran.

"No," Anastasia heard the king say. Her head whipped in his direction, her brow furrowing as he stared at her.

"No?" she repeated incredulously.

"I don't think I stuttered," he said nonchalantly as he waved his hand at her and sat on the edge of desk, crossing his ankles and folding his arms as he studied her. Anastasia bristled at his rudeness.

"It is my letter, what do you mean no?" she spat at him, anger replacing whatever timidity she had been feeling. His face showed no emotion at her outburst.

"I have one question for you, princess," the king said back, emphasizing her meaningless title. "Where are your chevaliers?"

The soldiers in the room tensed at the king's question. Anastasia's eyes quickly scanned over them before landing back on the king. Her what? Her chev-yal-yays?