From Maid To The King's Beloved

~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.