"Untie her this instant," Nickolas commands, his voice firm. The guard immediately begins to work on the knots binding me, but his hands pause at her words.

"But she bit me," Ember protests, pouting. She extends her hand to Nickolas, revealing the slowly healing wound due to it being a werewolf bite.

"And you think the appropriate response is to whip her?" Nickolas's voice carries a hint of disbelief as he fixes Ember with a piercing stare, his dark brow raised in questioning. Ember's expression falters, and she swallows hard before reluctantly nodding.

A heavy silence settles over the room as Nickolas approaches Ember, his footsteps deliberate and purposeful. He leans in close to her, his lips brushing against her ear as he speaks in a low, almost menacing tone that still reaches my ears.

"I am only going to say this once, Amelia," Nickolas asserts, his tone steely as he pivots to face me. Our gazes lock, and I find myself trapped in the intensity of his stare. "She is my fucking prisoner, not yours. If she missteps, I'm the one who will mete out punishment, not you," he declares, his words dripping with the irresistible allure of authority.

A bead of sweat trickles down Ember's brow as she nods in silent agreement, the weight of Nickolas's command hanging heavily in the air. A whirlwind of emotions churns within me as I absorb Nickolas's words. He has just labeled me his prisoner. As possessive as he sounded, I can't shake the feeling that it's beyond his control, the mate bond being responsible.

I also can't believe I misjudged him. From his reaction now, I can tell he didn't approve of me being whipped, but it still doesn't change much between us.

Nickolas moves back toward me, his presence seeming to envelop the room, commanding attention with every step. With practiced ease, he finishes untying the ropes around my hand, his touch sending an unexpected jolt of sensation through my body. A startled yelp escapes my lips as his fingers graze my skin.

Turning me around with a suddenness that catches me off guard, Nickolas's gaze locks onto mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that leaves me breathless. I expect him to help me down from where I'm perched, but instead, he simply watches, his scrutiny penetrating to my core.

I swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away from his intense stare. His gaze traces over the wounds on my arm, his touch gentle as he brushes his thumb over the damaged skin. A shiver runs down my spine at the contact, my breath catching in my throat as a wave of heat floods my body.

I should be repulsed by his touch, disgusted by the knowledge of what he's done with Ember. But despite my best efforts, I find myself unable to resist the pull of the mate bond that binds us together. The overwhelming desire to push him away, warring with the inexplicable need to draw closer, is a maddening contradiction.

"Please remove your hand," I ask, barely above a whisper, avoiding his gaze as best as possible. I try to ignore the scorching heat of his thumb resting on my arm, the proximity of his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

"Did she do this?" he demands, his voice tight with barely contained fury, pressing his thumb firmly against my skin.

"Yes," I reply softly, unable to meet his intense gaze. I sense his jaw clenching at my admission, his attention snapping toward her with a ferocity that sends a chill down my spine. From where I stand, I can't see the expression on his face, but I feel the pressure on my arm increasing to the point of pain, fearing he might be adding another bruise to my collection.

"You're hurting me," I manage to say, feeling his nail digging into my skin. With deliberate slowness, he withdraws his hand and rises to his full height. When I finally gather the courage to meet his gaze, I find his eyes darkened with anger, a storm brewing beneath the surface. I can't help but wonder what has ignited such fury within him.

My mate's actions once again leave me bewildered. Without a word, he begins to unbutton his dress shirt, the fabric parting under his skilled fingers. As I watch him, a knot of confusion forms in my stomach, noticing something peculiar. The shirt he's removing is the same one he wore yesterday. A wave of bewilderment washes over me. Does he own multiple identical shirts?

Before I can dwell on that puzzling thought, my eyes widen even further as Nickolas reveals his bare chest. I can't help but be struck by the sight of his chiseled physique, his muscles rippling beneath his taut skin. I scream inwardly. I want to kill the man for cheating on me, but I also want to lick every inch of him right now. I hate how I want him when he is the enemy and the reason for my pain.

But just as I'm about to lose myself in the conflicting emotions swirling within me, Nickolas abruptly throws his shirt across my face, blocking my view of his impressive chest. Startled, I reach out instinctively to catch it.

"Put it on," he instructs, his voice firm, and I comply without hesitation. As I finish buttoning up the shirt, he gestures to the guard and instructs him to assist me to the maid's quarters.

Entering the maid's quarters, the guard hands me over to Beatrice, who then takes me to a room at the far end of the hallway. As we step inside, the overwhelming stench of sex hits me like a physical blow, assaulting my senses and threatening to choke me. I scowl, instinctively recoiling and holding my breath to ward off the suffocating odor. I can't believe this is the room they are giving me.

"This room is where the maids and guards usually have sex, explaining the smell of sweat, cum, and pussy," Beatrice states matter-of-factly, her blunt words causing my cheeks to flush crimson. I've never encountered someone so unabashedly direct before, and I find myself at a loss for words.

"Is there another room I can be given?" I inquire, struggling to mask my discomfort as I hold my nose against the overpowering scent that fills the air.

Beatrice's expression remains impassive as she delivers the unwelcome news. "Yes, but you will have to share with someone, and unfortunately, no one wants to share with the werewolf princess." Her words hang heavy in the air, a harsh reminder of my reality now.

She moves further into the room, pulling the sheet off the makeshift bed against the wall; my stomach churns at the sight of fresh stains marring the fabric. I gag, bile rising in my throat as I fight to suppress the urge to vomit.

"But I can't stay here," I protest, my hand pressed against my mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to ward off the offensive odor. Though I know I have little say in which room they assign me, I can't help but plead for a reprieve.

"You have no choice," Beatrice replies, her tone stern and unyielding, her face betraying no hint of sympathy or compassion.

"Isn't there anything you could do to help, please?" I implore, desperation creeping into my voice as I search her expression for any sign of leniency or understanding.

"It's not in my..." She starts to say, but my words cut her short with a piercing scream. My heart lurches in my chest as I leap into the air, startled by the sudden commotion. My eyes widen in alarm as I spot a rat scurrying across the room.

Instinctively, I leap into the air and grab onto Beatrice for dear life, clinging to her. She meets my gaze from across the room, her expression still stern despite the chaos unfolding around us. But wait, why did I say "across the room"? I realize with a jolt that my feet aren't even touching the ground.

In that moment of realization, I feel a strong pair of arms wrapping around me, holding me securely against a familiar warmth. I glance down and catch a glimpse of my mate's chest, two buttons undone, before quickly averting my gaze, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Swallowing hard, I force myself to meet his eyes, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down my spine.

"Please put me down," I request.

"Sure," Nickolas responds casually, his arms retracting from beneath me. Before I can react, I find myself plummeting to the floor with a startled scream, landing unceremoniously on my backside. Pain shoots through me, both physical and emotional, as I struggle to comprehend why he would drop me so callously.

Grimacing, I glare up at him from the ground, expecting some acknowledgment or apology. But Nickolas simply ignores me, his attention already diverted to Beatrice as he engages her in conversation. Frustration bubbles inside me as I push myself up from the floor, brushing off the dust and debris clinging to my clothes.

As I rise, a repulsive sensation catches my attention, and I instinctively reach behind me, my fingers closing around something slimy and repugnant. With a gag of disgust, I pluck it from my backside, recoiling at the sight of a used condom. Horrified, I fling it away from me and notice it's the same brand I saw in Ember's room. It seems this particular brand of condom is common in the vampire kingdom.

I glance toward Beatrice and Nickolas, my attention momentarily caught by his attire. Once again, he's clad in the same shirt. I realize that black must indeed be his favorite color.

"Your majesty, would you spend the night at your uncle's again?" Beatrice inquires.

"No, I slept so well I almost missed court this morning," Nickolas replies with a hint of satisfaction.

"Alright, Your Majesty and Lady Ember have been looking for you all day. Should I let her know you have returned to the castle?" Beatrice continues.

"We've met," Nickolas responds curtly, his tone suggesting a desire to avoid any further interaction with Ember.

A furrow creases my brow as I process their exchange. If Nickolas hadn't spent the night at the castle and Ember had been searching for him all day, When the hell did they have sex?

"Amelia," Beatrice's voice interrupts my reverie, pulling me back to the present.

"Yes," I reply, meeting her gaze.

"Follow me," Beatrice instructs. I comply, trailing after her as Nickolas strides past us, exiting the maid's quarters without a backward glance.

Beatrice leads me into the another room and informs me we'll be sharing. I take in the simple yet functional setup. Two single beds, adorned with cream sheets and pristine white covers, occupy the corners. A brown cupboard with a pair of lamps rests between them, providing a modest centerpiece. The cream curtains are drawn closed, casting the room in a soft, muted light. An ancient brown wardrobe stands sentinel opposite the bed on the right, while a door marks the opposite corner.

I express my gratitude to Beatrice before hastily making my way to the bathroom, driven by the urgent need to rid myself of the lingering traces of blood and the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon. The stench of decay seems to cling to my skin, a haunting reminder of the horrors I've witnessed.

As I sink into the warm embrace of the tub, the hot water provides a welcome respite, soothing my aching muscles and washing away the physical and emotional remnants of the day. But my brief moment of solace is shattered when Beatrice barges into the room without so much as a knock.

Her blatant disregard for my privacy leaves me feeling exposed and vulnerable, a knot of uneasy coiling in the pit of my stomach. I watch in silence as she approaches the tub, her movements fluid and practiced as she begins to cast spells into the water.

"Thank you," I murmur, acknowledging her help even as I bristle at the invasion of my privacy.

"I'm just doing as I was ordered," she replies coolly, her tone betraying no hint of warmth or sympathy. With that, she turns and exits the room, leaving me to ponder the implications of her actions.

I recline in the tub, and my mind wanders back to the conversation between Beatrice and Nickolas before I begin to eavesdrop. I can't help but wonder if their discussion revolved around me and if the spells she cast into the water were somehow connected to their exchange.

But even as I ponder the possible implications of their conversation, a wave of bitterness washes over me. The realization that Nickolas may have expressed concern for my well-being, even if only out of self-interest, fills me with a sense of disillusionment. His wishes for my wounds to heal don't necessarily signify genuine care; rather, they may simply be a pragmatic acknowledgment of my role as a means to an end—a tool to be utilized in his quest to locate my family.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, a stark reminder of the precarious position I find myself in. With a heavy sigh, I sink deeper into the water, allowing its soothing embrace to warm me as I steel myself for the challenges that lie ahead.