You Were My Sl*ve - Chapter 54

“Yes, I’m a slave, aren’t I? Wearing a necklace would be too much. This is enough for me.”

Samira glanced at the small ring on her right middle finger. The ring, adorned with a modest red gemstone, was strikingly ornate for a slave. Elona’s gaze followed hers and lingered on it.

“You said you brought that from your homeland, right? Is it important to you?”

“Yes, it’s precious. Someone very dear to me gave it to me.”

As Elona continued to ask questions, Samira gently guided her to lie down on the bed. Once the princess was tucked in and settled under the covers, Samira finally extinguished the lamp and left the room.

The moment the door closed, Samira let out a long, weary sigh, her thoughts shifting to frustration.

‘That girl talks too much. Now she’s offering gifts? Playing the kind master just to feel superior.’

She cast a glance down the corridor, her sharp eyes narrowing. Oddly enough, the boy wasn’t there tonight.

Kazan, the other slave who unofficially frequented the princess’s chambers.

‘Strange. He’s been distant lately.’

Normally, Kazan would wait in the corridor for Samira to finish her duties. If Elona was still awake, he’d slip into her room quietly. Samira had no idea what the two did together, and she didn’t particularly care. What irritated her was Kazan’s obvious affection for the princess.

To Samira, it was pathetic. Kazan, an Ashatran, pining for a Parsion princess? It was a betrayal of his pride as a slave from Ashatra.

‘I don’t understand what he sees in that fake little princess. She might act sweet, but to her, we’re just slaves. Nothing more.’

Muttering to herself, Samira turned toward the servants’ quarters. The hour was late, and she deliberately avoided the main path, opting instead for a narrow back alley. She had no desire to encounter any guards who might harass her.

As she walked along the deserted side path, the sharp sound of clashing steel rang out in the distance.

Clang!

Samira froze. Who would be training at this hour? She turned her gaze toward the dark woods near the edge of the palace grounds. There shouldn’t have been anyone in the forest at this time of night, but the unmistakable sound of swords clashing came from that direction.

‘The Parsion knights aren’t exactly known for their work ethic, let alone training in the dead of night. Who could it be, practicing in secret like that?’

Her curiosity piqued, Samira cautiously moved closer to the forest’s edge, peering into the shadowy depths. The sound of steel meeting steel grew fainter, then stopped altogether.

“What’s this? The princess’s slave?”

Startled, Samira flinched as a knight appeared from the forest without warning. The man, stocky and broad-shouldered with short brown hair, was none other than Sir Xerox of the royal knight order. He seemed just as surprised as she was and quickly raised his hands in a gesture of reassurance.

“Whoa, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t do anything!”

“What were you doing in the forest?” Samira asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

Sir Xerox hesitated, looking sheepish. He scratched his cheek awkwardly before responding.

“You’ve got to keep this a secret, alright? It’s nothing serious, but just in case… please, just don’t tell anyone!”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and quickly walked off, leaving Samira standing there, bewildered.

‘What’s with him? I’m just a slave—why does he seem so awkward around me? What a strange man.’

But what exactly had he been doing in the forest? Unable to resist her curiosity, Samira stepped cautiously into the woods.

“…Samira?”

A familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. Emerging from the forest, following Sir Xerox at a more relaxed pace, was none other than Kazan. Samira’s eyes widened in surprise as she noticed the sword strapped to his side—a sight far from ordinary for a slave.

“Kazan? What were you doing in there?”

“Sparring. I’m learning formally from Sir Xerox. Keep it a secret,” Kazan said calmly.

‘Why would a knight teach a slave swordsmanship? Is Sir Xerox not really from Parsion?’ Samira frowned, mulling over the oddity of it all.

As she stood pondering, Kazan walked closer and asked, “How’s Elona? I heard she was excited about getting a new dress tomorrow.”

“She’s fine. Overly excited, as usual. She even made a fuss about wanting to buy me a necklace, but I told her not to bother.”

“You… you’re so consistent in your hatred,” Kazan said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t criticize me. From my perspective, the fact that you like that princess makes you the real odd one. Why waste your time on something so hopeless….”

As Samira grumbled, she glanced at Kazan, who had moved closer and froze in shock. His arm was drenched in blood, likely from an injury sustained during his sparring session.

“For heaven’s sake! This is what happens when you swing swords in the dark!”

“Yeah, I guess. I did feel a little dizzy,” Kazan said nonchalantly.

“Don’t act so carefree. Come here.”

With the tone of an older sister scolding her reckless younger sibling, Samira grabbed his arm to inspect the wound. Blood was still seeping through the torn fabric of his sleeve, and she grimaced at the sight.

Pulling out a handkerchief, she began staunching the bleeding. Blood smeared her hands, but she didn’t seem to mind—it wasn’t the first time she had patched someone up. When she was younger, she had often tended to her siblings in similar ways.

“Thanks, Samira,” Kazan mumbled, looking slightly sheepish.

For the first time, Samira got a proper look at his face up close, and she was momentarily taken aback. She had always thought of him as a pretty boy, but now that he was about eighteen, his features carried a distinct sharpness, a manly edge that hadn’t been there before. She had to admit, he was undeniably handsome.

‘What a waste. If this kid had stayed in Ashatra, he could have easily charmed some noblewoman and lived comfortably.’

As Samira was appraising Kazan’s looks with cool detachment, something unexpected happened.

“…Huh?”

While she was diligently cleaning the blood from his arm, a faint light began to glow from her right hand. Kazan, who had been sitting quietly, also noticed the strange glow and froze. His gaze dropped to his arm, then to her hand. Both of them stared intently at Samira’s right hand, where the light seemed to be emanating.

The red gemstone on her ring had started to emit a soft, silvery-white radiance.

Startled, Samira yanked her hand away from Kazan’s arm. He, just as startled, pulled his arm back and took a step away from her. For a moment, they stood there like strangers, as though they’d encountered a sudden intruder.

Heart pounding, Samira tentatively brought the bloodied handkerchief back to her ring, testing it.

As expected, the soft, silvery-white light once again emanated from the gemstone, illuminating Samira’s face in the darkness.

“Samira, why… why do you have Zahiretta?”

Kazan stared at her, his expression a mixture of shock and suspicion. In the dim light, his face took on a menacing edge, like that of a wounded predator whose hidden vulnerability had been exposed.

Samira, no less shaken than Kazan, struggled to process the situation. He was right—the gemstone she possessed was Zahiretta, a sacred mineral imbued with the blessing of Zahira, the goddess of fire and wisdom. This extraordinary gemstone was known to purify all poisons and was so rare and precious that even the Ashatran royal family regarded it as a treasure of immense value.

What made Zahiretta even more special was its reaction to the bloodline of the royal family of Mileshatra.

“My family was chosen by the goddess Zahira,” Samira said, forcing herself to remain calm. “My younger brother received this from the temple and split it in half so we could share it.”

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves, before asking the question that had begun to take root in her mind.

“Kazan Mileshatra. So, this is your real name? You’re not just someone with the same name—you’re really the seventh prince?”

“…Yes,” Kazan replied simply, his gaze fixed on her. His voice was low and weighted with gravity.

“Keep it a secret,” he continued, his tone cold and unyielding. “If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to kill you right here.”

Samira nodded immediately. She had no reason to betray his secret—no desire to, either. On the contrary, she was eager to protect it.

Standing before her was not just any man but a prince of Ashatra. In the humiliation of her life as a slave in Parsion, he was the only possible escape route, the key to reclaiming her dignity.

If she could return to Ashatra with him—if she could make him hers—her family and the entire Ashatran nobility would welcome her with open arms. After all, he held a rightful claim to the throne.

“Of course. This will be our little secret,” she said with a radiant smile.

It was a pure, dazzling smile, filled with joy, ambition, and hope.

*

The first-anniversary celebration of King Shindar’s coronation, though marked by some incidents, concluded with a grand banquet and passed without major mishap. Elona resumed her routine, traveling between the Manok Palace and the Temple of Lu as usual. Yet, a new worry began to occupy her thoughts.

‘Zahhak Omar… What’s his connection to Samira? Their hair is the same color, and there’s something eerily similar about their presence. Could they be related by blood?’

If that were true, it would mean that Samira was a noble from the Omar family. But Samira had never shared such a thing with Elona.

‘Could she be hiding something from me, just like Kazan did? Perhaps she didn’t reveal her identity because she thought I wouldn’t be able to help her, even if I knew.’

The thought stung, but Elona tried to reason it out as realistically as possible. If there was indeed some connection between Zahhak and Samira…

‘Zahhak stayed in Parsion even after the war ended. Could it be that he was looking for clues about Samira in the royal palace? And when he asked for me, maybe he was hoping to find her whereabouts through me.’

What should she do if he asked her about Samira? Should she tell him the truth? Or should she lie, saying that Samira was living as a freewoman somewhere in Parsion?

‘I don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know anything about him at all.’

Elona paced the room, her thoughts heavy. It was late at night, and she was alone in her chambers in the Manok Palace. Kazan hadn’t come by tonight—he was at the Temple of Shindar, offering prayers.

‘I’ll ask Lady Miriam tomorrow morning. She might know something about Zahhak.’