A Royal Obligation
Chapter 211: Locked in with Prince Carl

Chapter 211: Locked in with Prince Carl

In the dim light filtering through the heavy drapes of Carl’s chamber, Amelia lay tangled in the bed linens, her face flushed, her body completely drained.

Clothes lay strewn across the floor, scattered like the aftermath of a storm, while the bed itself bore signs of a relentless onslaught, sheets twisted, pillows crushed, the once-pristine bedding now a rumpled mess. It had been days since she’d seen anything beyond these four walls, days of being called back and forth to serve Prince Carl’s every whim.

Amelia’s body ached with an exhaustion she could scarcely articulate, every muscle heavy and leaden, her skin sensitive even to the brush of the linen sheets.

She tried to open her eyes, but they resisted, weighed down with fatigue.

Though fully awake, she felt a numbness that prevented her from moving. This was not the sweet exhaustion she’d sometimes felt before after their encounters, this was something deeper, a weariness that seeped into her bones.

Carl rose beside her, his gaze steely, his face set in a mask of bitterness and determination.

He had vented his frustration on her, using these days to drown his anger in her body, hoping it would ease his mind. But even now, despite the hours and days of distraction, his thoughts only sharpened, growing colder and darker.

He thought back to the council’s suggestion, the image of his father, actually considering offering him up as some kind of peace token, stirred a fresh wave of anger within him. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening.

To think, the king would even consider subjecting him to public disgrace, to plead for forgiveness before those other kingdoms like some groveling servant. And those council members, those traitorous vipers, they were all too eager to sacrifice him, to save their own skins.

He cast a glance down at Amelia, sprawled and unmoving, her breath coming in slow, shallow draws. He sighed, knowing she was too exhausted to keep up with his need to vent, to drown himself. He looked over her tired form, a mixture of annoyance and mild frustration creeping into his mind.

She would need time to recover, but he needed a distraction now. He wasn’t about to sit idle while anger and frustration bubbled over inside him.

He began to pull on his clothes, each item clinging to his skin with the faint sheen of sweat that still lingered. His body felt taut, ready for action, but without an outlet. He approached the door, already contemplating who else he could summon to take Amelia’s place for now.

But when he reached for the handle and pulled, it didn’t budge. His brow furrowed as he tried again, pulling with more force, yet the door remained firmly shut.

"Open the door," he called out, his tone sharp and commanding.

From the other side, a guard replied stiffly, "By order of the king, Prince Carl, you are to remain in your chambers."

Carl’s eyes narrowed, and he shook the door in frustration, feeling the tension in his body coil tighter with every second. "Are you refusing me?" he growled. "Open the door, now."

But the guard’s voice remained steady, unmoved. "Your father’s orders were clear, Your Highness. You are not to leave."

A surge of fury shot through him, igniting every raw nerve in his body. He began to slam his fists against the door, each strike echoing in the room, reverberating like a thunderstorm trapped within.

The anger inside him roared, fed by the indignity, by the knowledge that his own father had imprisoned him here like a disobedient child.

"Do you hear me?" he bellowed, slamming his fists against the wood, his voice tinged with both fury and desperation. "You’re all going to regret this! Every one of you!" He grabbed a goblet from a nearby table and hurled it at the door, the metallic clang echoing through the chambers.

Amelia, still lying in bed, watched him through half-lidded eyes, too weak to move yet acutely aware of his every movement. She could feel the tension radiating from him, a storm waiting to break.

Though she’d spent days at his mercy, she’d learned enough to know when he was in a particularly foul mood, and now... now was one of those times. Part of her wished she could slip away unnoticed, vanish before he noticed her lingering gaze, but her body refused to obey.

Outside the chamber, the guards exchanged uneasy glances, listening to the chaos unfolding on the other side. One of them shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at the thick wooden door as the sound of Carl’s fury continued to hammer against it.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been assigned to watch him, but this confinement was different. The prince seemed to be at the edge of something dangerous, something volatile, and they both wondered if it was only a matter of time before he broke.

Inside, Carl paced back and forth like a caged animal, his breath coming in quick, sharp gasps as his mind raced through his options.

How could his own father do this to him? He was his blood, the crown prince, the next king. Yet they dared to treat him like a mere pawn, disposable and weak.

He paused, eyes narrowing, his thoughts coalescing into a darker resolve. If his father thought he could toss him aside like this, they would soon realize the consequences. He would make sure of it.

No one, no one, would get away with this insult. He would make them all pay, each of those cowards on the council who had dared to suggest sacrificing him, who had the gall to betray their prince, who participated in the idea of locking him up.

A low groan drew his attention back to Amelia, who had managed to shift slightly, her hand reaching up to touch her face, as if trying to rouse herself from her exhaustion. Carl watched her for a moment, a faint flicker of something like sympathy crossing his face, quickly replaced by indifference.

"Rest," he muttered, his voice low but sharp. "You’ll need it. I’ll likely be needing you again sooner than we expect."

Amelia’s eyes met his, her expression wavering between fear and fatigue. She opened her mouth to respond, but her words failed her. She knew better than to question him, to protest. In her heart, she felt the faint stirrings of dread, knowing that his anger, his frustration, would only grow now that he was trapped within these walls.

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