You Were My Sl*ve - Chapter 53

“What’s this? Elona? Why are you suddenly acting up? Have you lost your mind?”

To my brother, I had no authority or influence. That moment required more courage than I had ever mustered before.

“Brother, how much is she worth? How cheap could she possibly be for you to treat her so carelessly?”

“What do you care how much? It’s not your money.”

“But it is the royal treasury’s money, isn’t it? You’ve been spending lavishly week after week, and now you’ve bought something expensive again today? Didn’t Father catch you last month and scold you severely? You promised him you’d only purchase one slave per month!”

My brother’s expression shifted from amused disdain to outright irritation. The joy in his face drained away, replaced with a simmering anger as he rose to his feet.

“You little… Since when do you lecture me? Who do you think you are? Hey, bring her here, now!”

The knights hesitated, glancing uneasily at one another. I spoke quickly before they could act.

“If you touch me, I’ll go straight to Father and demand a trial. I’ll ask him to sentence you to death.”

The knights froze, looking more troubled than ever. They exchanged uncertain glances, clearly taken aback by my unprecedented defiance. I had always remained silent, never daring to challenge my brother. This was new territory for all of them.

Seeing the knights hesitate, Antonio laughed bitterly in disbelief.

“Hah. So now you’re dragging Father into this, huh? Elona, do you think Father will stand by your side forever? In the end, it’s me you’ll have to rely on. Who do you think you’ll serve for the rest of your life?”

“No princess spends her entire life in one castle, Brother. Once I marry and leave, that will be the end of it.”

It was a simple, logical statement, even though no marriage proposals had ever come my way.

Antonio, seemingly tired of arguing with me, sighed in exasperation. Perhaps he realized he couldn’t order the knights to act without creating a bigger problem, and dealing with me directly was too much of a hassle. His frustration evident, he glanced down at the slave woman, then spat on the ground near her.

“What a waste of time. This has ruined my mood. Hey, clean this up. We’d better get rid of the evidence before the princess files her complaint.”

“Leave her alone.”

Once again, I stopped the knights in their tracks.

“I’ll claim her as my own. From now on, she’s my slave. So don’t touch her, Brother. She belongs to me now.”

“Fine, do whatever you want. I’ve already had my fun.”

Antonio sneered dismissively and left, followed by the knights who trailed after him like shadows. Once they were gone, only Kazan, the slave woman, and I remained in the smithy.

As silence settled over us, I let out a long sigh and collapsed onto the floor for a moment, my legs trembling. It was the first time in my life that I had stood up to my brother with such strength. There would no doubt be consequences.

‘But… I feel strangely relieved after fighting back.’

Was it because of my conversation with Kazan by the lake? Despite my worry about how openly Kazan showed his hatred for Antonio, I couldn’t help but feel envious. Yes, envious. He had the courage to do what I had never managed: openly resist Antonio without hesitation.

“Ugh… ugh…”

The slave woman whimpered and sobbed where she lay sprawled on the floor of the smithy. Up close, her condition was horrifying. Her thighs were covered with fresh brands that Antonio had seared into her skin, and blood was dripping steadily from the wounds.

I hurried to stop the bleeding as best as I could, then called out to Kazan.

“Kazan, help me move her. Let’s take her to the room next to my bedroom for now….”

“Elona.”

I turned to look at him. Kazan was still standing where he had been, rooted in place, just outside the smithy. His expression was dark, as if he were wrestling with some inner turmoil—or perhaps had already given in to despair. His voice was low as he asked me,

“Are you really going to get married?”

For a moment, I didn’t understand why he was asking. Marriage seemed like the most natural thing in the world to me. It was my only way to escape Antonio, to leave this wretched castle behind.

But in that moment, saving the dying woman in front of me felt far more urgent than pondering Kazan’s question. Growing impatient, I answered him briskly.

“Yeah, I’ll get married someday. But for now, could you help carry her inside? I’m not strong enough to lift her on my own.”

Kazan finally trudged toward us, his steps heavy with reluctance. As I saw the gloom in his eyes, I should have realized what he had really meant by his earlier question.

Elona. Are you really going to get married?

To someone who will take you away from this castle.

To someone who isn’t me.

But before I could dwell on it further, the slave woman reached out and clutched my hand, looking up at me with desperate eyes. The moment we locked gazes, I gasped softly, startled.

Even though she was battered and filthy from being dragged through the dirt, her beauty was striking.

“Princess… Are you the princess of this land?”

“Yes. Elona de Parsion—that’s my name. And you are?”

The woman’s clear jade-green eyes fixed on mine as she whispered her reply.

“Samira.”

With that, Samira released my hand and closed her eyes. Her head lolled to the side as she lost consciousness, her stunning silver hair falling in tangled waves. I gazed down at her, overcome with sadness and pity.

Beautiful Samira. My second slave. The second life I had saved, after Kazan’s.

Back then, and even now, I believe this:

All acts of kindness will one day be returned with kindness.

Saving her was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life. I hold on to that belief, no matter what.

*

Zahhak Omar had asked for the king’s slave—a shocking request made directly to the ruler himself.

The entire banquet hall fell silent, the stunned crowd shifting their gazes between Zahhak and the King of Shindar. By tradition, it wasn’t unheard of for a subordinate to request a slave, especially one who wasn’t officially part of the harem. After all, war slaves were considered spoils of war, treated as possessions to be distributed or traded.

But there was an unspoken complication: rumors had long suggested that the king held the princess captured from Parsion in high regard. Zahhak, having only recently arrived in Ferma, likely wasn’t aware of this.

General Tortan, who had ties to both men, observed King Kazan’s reaction with a grim expression. The king, who had spoken with calm authority earlier while offering Zahhak a reward, now regarded him silently. His stillness was unnerving, as though time itself had frozen around him.

Tortan inhaled sharply, his nerves on edge.

‘…He’s furious. This is bad.’

Tortan had known Kazan since their days as mercenaries and was familiar with the king’s habit of suppressing his emotions when they burned hottest. If Kazan had scowled or shaken his head outright, it would have been a relief. But the eerie calm he displayed now was far more dangerous.

At last, after an extended silence, Kazan spoke in a low, measured tone.

“Zahhak Omar. Regrettably, I must decline your request. This woman is the one thing I desire as well, and I cannot yield her to anyone. Instead, name something else you wish for.”

The onlookers collectively exhaled in relief. The king had managed to defuse Zahhak’s audacious request with words rather than anger.

But Zahhak, instead of backing down, chuckled softly as though he found the situation amusing.

“You spoke as if you were willing to grant me anything I desired. But, of course, not her.”

His gaze remained fixed on Elona, unyielding and unsettling. To those watching, his persistence seemed fueled by uncontrollable lust. But Elona, the object of his attention, felt something entirely different.

‘This man… he terrifies me.’

His eyes weren’t those of a man who wanted a woman. They were the eyes of a predator stalking its prey. Elona’s gaze flicked to the scimitar in Zahhak’s hand. Blood still dripped from the massive blade, forming crimson puddles on the floor.

‘He’s cruel. Why would someone like him want me? Does he hate Parsion so much that he intends to torture me? Or kill me?’

The thought brought back haunting images of her brother Antonio’s treatment of Ashatran women—how he toyed with them until they died. Her complexion turned noticeably pale.

Zahhak seemed to notice but made no move to reassure her. Instead, he smiled faintly, as if savoring her fear, before turning back to the king.

“Well then. I suppose I’ll give some thought to what I want as my spoils. Truthfully, I hadn’t considered anything else besides her.”

Surprisingly, Zahhak withdrew without further protest. Rising to his feet, he finally averted his gaze from Elona and turned away. As he strode toward his warhorse, the crowd instinctively stepped aside to clear his path.

Elona watched his retreating figure, her eyes drawn to the long, silver hair cascading down his back. It was then that she realized why he felt so familiar. Though his scarred face and ruthless demeanor had initially obscured the connection, she now felt certain:

Zahhak Omar, the great noble of Ashatra, bore a striking resemblance to her slave, Samira.

*

In the Parsion royal palace, the only room where an Ashatran slave was permitted to move freely was the bedchamber of Princess Elona.

Officially, this privilege was reserved solely for her maid and slave, Samira.

“Thank you, Samira. I think that’s enough,” said Elona, now eighteen years old, as she dismissed Samira from brushing her hair.

Samira moved gracefully to prepare the princess for bed. She folded back the covers and helped Elona out of her nightgown with a deft touch. Her service was flawless, marked by quiet efficiency and care.

As Elona climbed into bed, she turned to Samira and spoke warmly.

“Samira, tomorrow the dressmakers are coming to fit me for a new gown. If there’s anything you need, just let me know—whether it’s clothes or jewelry, anything you’d like.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Princess, but I truly have everything I need. I’m fine as I am,” Samira replied politely, her tone sincere.

Elona hesitated, her voice turning slightly awkward.

“Oh… really? I was thinking of giving you a necklace or something. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”