~ANYA’S POV~

Everyone has a dream. I have one, too. Since I was a little girl, I had dreamed of seeing myself in the Grand capital city, surrounded by towering glass buildings. Even though I was living in a poor, muddy village, the dream always felt real.

Ever since I told my adoptive family about my dream of the Grand Capital, everything changed.

The sun had not yet risen over the cold, mist-covered village, but I was already awake. My small room at the back of the cottage was freezing. I rubbed my arms, watching how the morning chill brought goosebumps to my warm, caramel-colored skin.

I slept on a thin foam mattress on the floor. My tiny body–only 5’2” tall–ached terribly from yesterday's hard labor, but I had to get up. If I did not finish my morning chores before the family woke up, I would be beaten.

My name is Anya. I am eighteen years old, but I am not free. My real parents died in a tragic car crash when I was just two years old. Silas and Martha Griggs found the crushed vehicle on the edge of the woods. They told me that as my biological mother lay dying in the wreckage, she used her very last breath to look at me and whisper my name. “Anya." That is the only reason they knew who I was.

For a short time, they took me in and treated me kindly. But that all ended when I was six years old.

I innocently shared my nighttime vision with them over breakfast the next morning, and their kindness vanished from that day. They hated that I dared to have such grand hope. From that day on, they mocked my dreams, called me a delusional fool, and turned me into their personal servant.

Martha's biological children always came first. Every morning, they are sent off to school with fresh clothes, while I am forbidden from stepping foot inside a classroom. Her oldest daughter, Clara, is sixteen, but she already towers over me at 5’8”.

Compared to Clara's tall, healthy figure and expensive clothes, l looked like a starving child.

Silas and Martha pretend to be charitable people to the villagers. But inside this cottage, they are cruel. I take care of the livestock, scrub the floors, and carry heavy plastic buckets of water from the town well every single day.

The village well lay two miles from our cottage, a journey I made multiple times every day with heavy buckets cutting into my hands.

Before the sun even rose over our mist-covered village, I was awake, shivering on my thin mattress. I tied my dark hair back and hurried out to the drafty barn to feed the animals.

While my hands worked, my mind wandered back to my dream. I pulled a crumpled piece of notebook paper and a stubby pencil from my apron, quickly sketching the skyline I had dreamed about.

“Daydreaming again, you lazy girl?" a sharp voice snapped.

I jumped and glanced back. Martha stood at the barn door holding a thin wooden stick. Behind her was Clara, wearing a designer coat bought with the cash I made selling vegetables at the market. Clara smiled cruelly, snatched the paper from my hands, and tore it to pieces, grinding them into the mud with her leather boot.

Martha hit my back hard. I bit my bruised lip to stop myself from crying out.

“You are a nobody, Anya!" Martha yelled. “Stop filling your head with these sleeping fantasies. Now get the bucket and go to the well. If you do not bring back fresh water in one hour, you will not eat a single crumb today.”

I did not let my tears fall. I sucked it in as I grabbed the bucket and ran out into the cold. I have to fetch the water we'll use in the morning to prepare the meal, before I continue in the afternoon.

~~~

Later that day, my youngest adoptive sister, Lily, walked with me to the well to get water for the livestock. She carried nothing, only complaining about the mud on her boots while I carried all the weight.

Near the edge of the dark woods, the wind shifted. Then, a low, heavy groan of pain came from the thorny bushes.

Lily jumped back, her eyes huge. “Is it a wild animal? A bear?"

“Stay here," I whispered. My hands shook as I pushed the green bushes aside. I gasped in shock.

A huge man lay on the ground, bleeding badly. He had to be 6’4” tall, and his broad shoulders made me feel even smaller. His skin was so pale that the dark red blood on his black suit and shirt stood out even more. Even covered in blood, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen. His face was sharp and he wore a serious expression, even as he lay there.

“Lily, help me!" I shouted, dropping to my knees. “We have to take him to Father!"

“He is dying! Leave him, or the police will arrest us for murder!" she screamed.

“We cannot just leave him here to bleed to death!”

The stranger was so heavy. I spotted a farmer's handcart nearby and used it to transport him. It took every ounce of our strength to drag him out of the woods, back to the cottage. I pushed while Lily pulled.

When we arrived, we were exhausted and breathless. Lily complained all the way to the cottage. I don't blame her, It was all my fault. I could not just ignore the man, when there was still life in him.

“Why did you bring a dead man into my home?" Silas yelled, storming out of the kitchen and raising a hand to strike me.

But then he froze. His greedy eyes fell on the man's torn designer suit and the heavy, solid gold luxury watch on his wrist. A wicked smile slowly grew on Silas's face.

“This man is wealthy," Silas muttered, his eyes shining. “If I save his life, his rich family will owe me a big cash reward."

Silas shoved me out of the way. He grabbed his first-aid kit, poured strong rubbing alcohol directly into the man's deep wound, and packed it with a thick herbal paste to stop the bleeding. He wrapped the man's waist in medical gauze and locked the front door.

“Leave him on the rug," Silas said. “If he survives the night, we will be rich."

~~~

By midnight, the cottage was pitch black and silent. But I was wide awake. My mind raced with thoughts of the stranger. Was he in pain? Was he running a fever?

I slipped out of my freezing room and crept down the hallway.

Moonlight washed over his striking face. I knelt quietly beside him. Beneath the scent of blood on him, he smelled incredible, I caught the scent of cedarwood, and expensive leather. I reached my hand out, my fingers brushing his pale cheek to check his temperature.

Instantly, his hand shot up.

I gasped as his large, strong fingers locked around my small wrist like a vice. My heart hammered wildly. His eyelids fluttered, revealing a flash of piercing, icy blue, but then fluttered shut again. He was trapped in a deep, feverish sleep.

Slowly, the painful grip on my wrist softened. With a heavy sigh, he guided my hand down, pressing my small palm flat against the center of his broad chest, right over his heart. His large hand rested heavily on top of mine, keeping me there.

I did not dare breathe. Under my palm, his heartbeat was powerful, slow, and steady. An overwhelming sense of peace filled the room. We stayed exactly like that for what felt like forever. I had no idea how much time had passed, besides the mysterious man.

Finally, I slipped my fingers free and crept back to my room. As I lay in the dark, his scent still clung to my skin, my mind completely consumed by the stranger in the living room.

~ANYA’S POV

The next morning, a piercing, terrible scream woke me up.

“He is not breathing! The man is dead!"

It was Clara's voice. I jumped out of my bed. My heart beat so fast it hurt my chest. I ran down the hall to the main room of the cottage. My adoptive parents, Silas and Martha, were already rushing out of their room, too.

We all stopped and looked at the woven rug. The tall stranger was not moving. His pale skin looked even whiter than before, almost like a ghost. His lips had turned a faint blue. The slow, steady breathing I had felt under my hand the night before was gone. The strong herbal poultice Silas had packed into his deep wound must have caused that.

“You stupid, useless girl!” Silas roared. His face was red with rage. His dream of getting a huge reward had just been destroyed.

He marched up to me, raised his hand, and slapped me so hard across the face. I fell to the hard floor from the impact. The side of my face burned like fire. I tasted warm blood in my mouth.

“Why did you bring a dead man into my home?" Silas screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. Like he had forgotten that he was the one who locked the door and wanted to keep the man for money. “The police will come! They will arrest us for murder! You have ruined our lives!"

"I just wanted to help him,” I cried, holding my burning cheek.

It was as if my words stirred the rage in him. Before Silas could strike me again, the ground beneath our feet began to shake. A deep rumble rolled in from outside. It sounded like thunder, but the morning sky was clear. Then I realized what it was.

The powerful roar of engines was getting closer.

Lily ran to the window and pulled back the curtain. She gasped, her face draining of color.

“Father… look!”

We all looked out the window. A dozen large black SUVs had surrounded our small, muddy yard. The vehicle doors swung open at the same time. Tall, frightening men in dark uniforms stepped out. Each of them held a large rifle, aiming it straight at our little cottage.

“Who are they?" Martha cried, hiding behind Silas.

Before anyone could answer, the heavy oak door of our house was kicked open. The wood split apart as a tall man with sharp features stormed inside. He wore a dark suit, and anger was written all over his face. Heavily armed agents rushed into our cottage.

The man looked around our messy home with disgust. Then his eyes landed on the stranger lying on the floor.

“Your Majesty!" he shouted as he hurried to his side.

Martha gasped in horror, the thin wooden stick slipping from her hand. Silas stumbled backward, all the color draining from his face.

Your Majesty?

My blood ran cold.

The wounded stranger I had found in the woods… the man whose chest I had rested my hand on the night before… was the king of our entire country?

The panicked man ran over to the king lying on the rug and dropped to his knees. He pressed two fingers against the king's pale neck. The man's face instantly turned white.

“Captain Julian, sir! What is his status?" one of the guards at the door asked, his voice shaking.

“He has no pulse. He is not breathing!" Captain Julian looked up at us. His eyes were full of pure, murderous hate. “What did you do to the king?"

Captain Julian stood up. He drew a sleek handgun from his shoulder holster and pointed it right at Silas's chest. "You poisoned him. If His Majesty dies today, I swear every one of you will die for it. I will see to it myself.”

Silas fell to his knees. He was so terrified he started to cry, and his hands were shaking. “No, please, sir, it was not us!"

Silas quickly looked around. Then, he pointed his finger directly at me.

“It was her!" Silas shouted. “She is just a stray orphan we took in out of pity. Her name is Anya. She found him in the woods. She brought him here. She put the poisonous herbs into his wound!"

Martha also dropped to her knees beside her husband, nodding desperately to protect her own skin. “Yes! We tried to stop her, but the wicked girl would not listen!” Martha cried, her eyes wild with panic. “She is the one who did this to His Majesty, not us!"

"Father, mother, no!” I cried out, my eyes wide with surprise and betrayal. "That is a lie!”

Then, Clara stepped forward. She wanted to make sure the guards took me. She never liked me anyway. Even though we had grown up together for sixteen years, we have never shared anything like a sisterly bond.

"Wait, captain, my parents are telling the truth!” Clara yelled, pointing at me. "She was the one that hurt the king! I woke up at midnight to get a cup of water, and I saw her. I saw Anya sitting on the floor beside His Majesty in the dark. She had her hand pressed flat against his chest! She must have done something to him!”

I gasped in horror. Clara was twisting the truth to make me look like an assassin. I was there at midnight, but I did not hurt him. I… I only wanted to feel his heartbeat. I had been mesmerized by his warmth and the rich scent of cedarwood and leather. But I knew this furious Captain would never believe me.

“Shut your mouth!" Silas yelled at me. He looked back at Captain Julian, rubbing his hands together in desperate fear. “Please, take her! Take her as collateral. If the king dies, take her head. Just leave my real family alone. We give her to you.”

The Captain looked at Silas with cold, hard eyes, then shifted his terrifying gaze to me. Clara's sick lie made me look completely guilty.

“I will take the girl as collateral," Captain Julian hissed, his voice like ice. He leaned closer to Silas, his hand still gripping his handgun. “But mark my words, peasant. If His Majesty dies, I will not just take her head. I will bring it back to this miserable cottage, drop it at your feet, and then I will slaughter your entire family."

Silas let out a pathetic whimper, his face draining of whatever color it had. He nodded repeatedly, too terrified to speak.

“Take her!" Captain Julian ordered his men.

Two huge guards in black uniforms grabbed my small arms. They hoisted me up from the floor as if I weighed nothing. I kicked and cried. I looked at Martha, Clara, and Lily, begging them to tell the truth. But they just smiled wickedly, relieved smiles, and looked away. They were willing to trade my life to the royal guards to save themselves.

“Move!" a guard barked.

They dragged me roughly out of the cottage. Other security agents carefully lifted the King and carried him into a large, state-of-the-art white medical van. The king's personal trauma doctors were already inside, desperately working to restart his heart.

The guards threw me into the back of a dark, reinforced black transport van and locked the doors shut.

We drove for hours. I sat in the dark, cold van, crying and holding my bruised cheek. My family had traded my life away like a piece of trash. If the King died today, these men would kill me.

Finally, the van stopped. The doors swung open, and bright sunlight blinded me.

When my eyes adjusted, I gasped. I saw high-rise glass skyscrapers, grand paved streets, and beautiful manicured gardens. We were in the capital city. Behind the wrought-iron gates stood the biggest and most beautiful palace I had ever seen in my life. It was the royal palace. It looked exactly like the charcoal drawing I had made so many times.

For a heartbreaking second, I thought my dream was coming true. I was finally in the capital. I was finally at the palace.

But I was not a guest. I was a prisoner.

~ANYA’S POV~

The guards pulled me out of the van. They did not take me through the Grand front doors. Instead, they dragged me around to the shadows at the back of the building. We went down a set of dark, freezing concrete stairs, deep underground into the high-security holding block.

The air was bitterly cold and smelled like wet cement and bleach. We walked down a long, brightly lit corridor. The guard swiped a key card, and the heavy steel door beeped open. Inside was a small cell with barren concrete walls and a reinforced door.

They pushed me inside. I stumbled and fell onto the cold concrete floor. The guard slammed the heavy door shut, and the electronic lock engaged with a loud, echoing sound.

“Wait in here," the guard said in a cruel, mocking voice through the barrier window. “When we get news from the trauma team, we will know what to do with you. Pray to the heavens that the king wakes up, little girl. Because if his heart stops for good, yours will too."

The guard walked away, his heavy boots fading into the eerie quiet of the cell block.

I sat alone in the freezing room. I pulled my knees tightly to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself trying to preserve what little warmth I had left. I closed my eyes and prayed. I did not pray for my grand dream of the city anymore. I only prayed the king would open his piercing, icy blue eyes again.

That evening, I sat shivering in the freezing, windowless concrete holding cell deep beneath the palace. I hugged my knees to my chest and waited. I did not know what was going to happen to me.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy combat boots echoed outside. An electronic keypad beeped loudly, and the heavy steel security door swung open.

A Royal Guard in a sleek black uniform stepped into the cell. A woman followed behind him.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. She wore an elegant crimson designer dress that hugged her slim waist. Diamonds sparkled around her neck under the harsh fluorescent lights. But her face was twisted with pure anger.

I slowly got to my feet. Standing beside her, I felt so small. Her graceful posture and tall high heels only made me feel smaller. I opened my mouth, but before I could even say a single word…

The stranger raised her hand and slapped me across the face with brutal force. She hit me so hard that my head snapped to the side. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my jaw. Warm blood instantly filled my mouth.

I was so dizzy and confused. I slowly stood up straight again, my eyes wide. I wanted to ask why she hit me, but my voice was stuck in my throat. I was too shocked to speak.

Before I could even take a breath, she slapped me a second time, much harder than the first. Her heavy diamond rings dug into my cheek. The force pushed me backward. I lost my footing and fell hard into the cold concrete floor. I held my bleeding lip, looking up at her in total terror, still unable to make a sound.

“Shut your dirty mouth!" the woman shouted, even though I had not spoken a single word. She pointed a sharp, manicured finger right at my face. "You filthy peasant rat! If anything happens to the king, I will make sure you disappear. I will throw you into the river for the crocodiles myself.

She turned around and stormed out of the cell. Her designer heels clicked sharply on the concrete floor. The guard slammed the heavy steel door shut, and the electronic lock beeped, securing me inside again.

I lay on the freezing floor and I wept silently. The caramel skin of my cheek was swollen, bruised, and throbbing. That night, I knew my fate was sealed. My life was over. I would never get to experience life in the capital, and I would never go to a real school. My story was going to end in this dark, underground box.

A little while later, a small slot at the bottom of the door slid open. A guard pushed a stainless steel tray inside. It was my dinner.

I stared at the tray in disbelief. There was a warm roast pheasant, thick crusty white bread, and a flimsy plastic cup filled with clean water. It was the richest food I had ever had -– far better than the scraps of root vegetables I ate back at the Griggs cottage. But I felt so miserable and heartbroken that my stomach felt twisted into knots. I chewed on the soft bread, but I couldn't taste anything. It felt like eating dry sand.

For two days, I stayed in that cold cell. I never saw the sun. I did not know if it was day or night. I only sat on the hard floor, waiting for the guards to come and tell me the king was dead.

Then, on the afternoon of the third day, the heavy steel door finally opened.

A tall palace guard walked in. He did not look murderous this time. “Get up," he ordered gruffly.

I stood up, my small legs shaking. I thought he was taking me to be executed. But he didn't reach for the gun strapped to his thigh. He grabbed my arm and led me out of the holding block. We rode a sleek glass elevator up from the underground, finally stepping into the beautiful, sunlit parts of the royal estate.

He led me down a wide, brightly lit corridor with floor-to-ceiling windows, modern art, and plush red carpets. We stopped in front of a warm, clean maids' quarter.

The guard handed me a pile of folded clothes. “Go inside," he instructed. “Take a hot shower. Wash the dirt off your body and put on these clean clothes."

"Why?” I asked, my voice was barely a whisper. "Am I going to die?”

The guard looked down at me. "No. His Majesty seeks your presence.”

My heart jumped into my throat. The king was alive!

I quickly went into the room. I washed my dark hair and scrubbed the dirt off my skin in a luxurious, modern marble shower, though it took me a long time to gather courage to ask the guard how to use it. He later called a young maid to show me. The hot, steaming water felt like heaven in my sore, bruised muscles. I put on clean clothes. It was a simple floral gown. It fit my small body perfectly, and it was soft and incredibly warm.

When I was ready, the guard escorted me to a massive set of carved mahogany doors. Two Royal Guards pushed them open.

I walked into the grandest room I had ever seen. It was the royal audience hall, a breathtaking blend of modern architecture, expansive glass windows overlooking the city skyline, and imposing marble pillars.

At the far end of the room, sitting upon a sleek modern throne of dark leather and polished steel, was the King.

He looked terribly pale. He wore a dark tailored shirt that was slightly open at the collar, just enough to make room for the thick white bandages wrapped tightly around his injured chest. Captain Julian stood beside him, his hands clasped professionally behind his back.

But they were not alone.