They walked out of the corridor and moved toward the outside. The torchlight on the stone walls faded behind them as they advanced.
As they emerged through the main gate, the cold night air struck Elena's face. The sky was dark and deep, with a faint glimmer of water visible in the distance. Ahead lay a wide path leading straight down to the river. Guards stood along both sides of the road, eyes scanning the surroundings, keeping watch over the entire area.
On the river floated a large, magnificently decorated royal barge. It was no ordinary boat, but a sturdy and imposing vessel. The craft was long and broad, its frame made of dark colored wood intricately carved with ornate patterns. Metal trims along the edges caught the torchlight, giving off a soft, shimmering glow.
Guards were posted all around the boat. Without pausing, the Duke strode forward and stepped aboard, then signaled for Elena to follow. Once she set foot on the wooden deck, a slight jolt ran through her body as the boat swayed gently with the movement of the water. Instinctively, she shifted her weight, planting her feet more firmly to steady herself, then placed a hand against the hull's railing so she would not lose her balance.
While climbing onto the barge, Elena's foot slipped. Her thigh suddenly slammed down onto a rusted, jagged nail jutting from the hull's edge. Her soft skin tore instantly, leaving a deep, three‑inch‑long gash through which flesh itself had split open.
Thick, bright red blood began gushing from the wound. "Aahh!" His voice came out trembling, filled with pain.
Sweat broke out on her face, her eyes welled up, and her hands shot instinctively toward her thigh to press down yet they shook from the burning pain. She staggered, clutching the edge of the boat, but the blood refused to stop flowing.
At that moment, a guard gestured for Elena to move forward. His face was stern, his expression unreadable as he stood motionless. Hearing the order, Elena forced another step ahead. The guard walked barely a pace behind her, close enough to prevent any attempt to retreat. His gaze remained sharp, scanning both the surroundings and her at once.
Once they entered the interior, they were led toward a separate, enclosed cabin. This was no ordinary chamber; it was the Duke's private royal quarters. As the door swung open, the opulence of the room became immediately evident. The walls were paneled with dark‑toned wood, and the floor was covered with a soft, thick black carpet.
On one side stood a large, comfortable bed layered with velvet covers and plump cushions. On the other side, an ornate wooden table held neatly arranged parchments and documents. Sturdy chairs were placed in the center of the cabin, and heavy curtains covered the windows, muffling the outside light. The space felt both secure and unsettlingly comfortable.
The guard gestured for Elena to step inside, but she halted at the threshold. She did not move forward. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her dress, knuckles whitening. Elena did not want to enter alone with the Duke. Inside her, fear swelled with every heartbeat. The stories from her village rushed back to her mind tales of powerful, rich men who bought girls and treated them cruelly, sparing no mercy. At the thought of that, panic tightened around her chest. Her face paled, eyes wide, and she simply could not bring herself to cross the doorway.
When the Duke saw Elena lingering at the door, he did not react at once. Then his expression turned even more severe. "Come inside," he commanded.
But Elena remained rooted to the same spot, still standing in the entrance. Faced with his unheeded order, anger flickered in the Duke's eyes. He strode toward her in quick, heavy steps, seized her up roughly into his arms, and carried her across the cabin.
Taken by surprise, Elena gasped. Her eyes widened and, for an instant, she could not process what had happened.
She was now pressed tightly against the Duke's chest, her soft body crushed against his broad, hard frame. Their breaths mingled between them, warm and close. The Duke carried her swiftly to the bed, sat down, and placed her beside him.
Only then did he notice the injury on her thigh. The wound had already turned alarming: dark red blood was spreading rapidly, still pouring from the cut and soaking her clothes. The fabric of her dress was drenched, and even his hands now bore smeared streaks of blood up to his wrists. He lowered his hands, shifting his focus entirely to her condition.
He immediately ordered the guard to bring water and clean cloth. Within moments, a servant appeared with a bowl of warm water, fresh cloths, and bandages. The Duke leaned down and gently lifted the blood soaked hem of Elena's dress. Carefully, he wiped away the clotted blood from her thigh, cleaning around the wound with slow, deliberate strokes. After treating the cut, he took the ointment the servant had brought, applied it gently, then lifted a clean bandage, placed it over the wound, and tied it firmly in place.
The Duke was calm and serious throughout. He appeared worried about her injury and handled her care with measured attention. Seeing his focus and gentleness, Elena felt a confusing conflict within herself. Her fear did not vanish, but she began to wonder if he was perhaps not as cruel as she had feared.
Suddenly, the Duke leaned down again and began pulling off her bloodstained clothes. Shocked and deeply unsettled, Elena's eyes widened with dread and discomfort. She lifted her hands, trembling, and placed them over his to stop him.
"What… what are you doing?!" she asked, her voice shaking.
The Duke firmly pushed her hands aside. His eyes and his face made it clear he would not back down from what he had decided. He started removing her garments himself. Weakened as she was, Elena had no strength left to resist.
Her clothes fell away completely. She sat on the bed, exposed and defenseless, her eyes lowered. Turning her head slightly, she tried to avoid his gaze, tense and uneasy under his scrutiny.
The Duke soaked a clean cloth in the bowl of water, then began wiping the blood off her chest. His fingers moved lightly over her skin, the cool droplets trickling down, yet the touch unsettled her. A strange mix of shyness and dread rippled through her body at the sensation of his hands gliding over her bare flesh.
Every time the Duke's hand slid over Elena's naked skin, she trembled slightly. She had no idea what would happen next, after this touching and cleaning was over.
The Duke's face was serious. After a moment, he set the bowl of water aside, then carefully adjusted the bandage on her thigh so that the blood would stop and the wound would not be pressed.
Then he leaned a little closer and looked at her, right into her eyes. "Don't be afraid," he said softly.
Elena didn't reply; she kept her mouth shut. Her thighs, her whole body… were now in someone else's sight, someone who was looking at her, touching her, and asserting his power over her.