CHAPTER 23 — NO REFUSAL
Leona's hands hovered over the warm water, her heart hammering so loudly she feared he could hear it. The King's presence filled the room, pressing down on her like a physical weight. He had not moved from where he stood, watching her, his pale eyes cold and unyielding, yet there was something deeper behind them—curiosity, expectation, a silent command she could not ignore.
"Take the soap," he said, his voice low and firm. Every word carried authority, every syllable left no room for disobedience. "Use it. Now."
Leona froze. Her throat went dry. She swallowed, trying to steady herself. "I… I cannot," she whispered, though she knew her words were useless against him.
"You will," he repeated, a slight edge sharpening the sound. "Do not make me repeat myself."
Her pulse raced. She wanted to protest, to run, to throw the soap across the room and flee—but there was no escape. Not from him, not from this place, not from the command of the Vampire King.
With trembling hands, she picked up the bar of soap. It felt heavy, almost unbearably so, as though it carried the weight of every wrong choice she could make. Her fingers shook, and the soap almost slipped from her grasp, but she caught it.
He stepped closer, silently, like a shadow melting into the room. She could feel the cold of him radiating through the air, chilling her skin even above the steam.
"Do not delay," he said softly, yet every word was sharper than a blade. "Or there will be consequences you cannot survive."
Leona's chest tightened. She bent slightly, her hands trembling as she lifted the soap, the warm water rushing around her fingers. Her mind raced, every instinct screaming that this was wrong, that she should refuse—but the power in his presence was undeniable. He was not asking. He was commanding.
She began. Slowly. Carefully. Every motion deliberate, every brush of soap over his skin filled her with terror she could barely contain. She did not look at him. She kept her eyes lowered to the water, focusing on the task, on anything but the danger radiating from him.
The room was silent except for the gentle splashing of water and the faint scent of oils she had added. He remained still, watching her, his eyes following every movement without blinking. There was no expression on his face, no hint of emotion—only control, power, and a quiet, unspoken assessment.
Leona's hands were trembling, her muscles tight, her breath shallow. She felt exposed, small, vulnerable in a way that no one had ever made her feel. And yet, despite the fear, a strange awareness prickled at her—he noticed her, remembered her, measured her.
She finished, setting the soap aside, barely daring to breathe. Her body ached with tension, and her heart raced so violently she thought it might burst.
The King's voice came again, soft, controlled, almost a whisper, but it carried weight that made her shiver. "Leave it. You may go."
Leona stepped back, her knees weak, her hands shaking, and hurried from the chamber. Behind her, the presence lingered, cold, silent, and impossibly powerful, and she knew with terrifying certainty that nothing in this castle—or beyond—would ever allow her to forget that moment.