A Royal Obligation
Chapter 231: Pitiful Amelia

Chapter 231: Pitiful Amelia

Carl stood by the window, his face a mask of cold determination. The soft glow of the dying sun painted the chamber in hues of gold and red, but he felt none of its warmth. Shadows crept across the walls, mirroring the dark resolve hardening within him.

He wouldn’t waste another ounce of energy on futile rage. If his father wanted him caged, so be it, for now. But no lock, no guard, and certainly no decree could contain what he was planning.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze drifting to the horizon. He would find a way to escape, but not in a fit of blind fury. That approach had gotten him nowhere in the past few days.

No, this time, he would be smarter, more calculating. He needed allies, people who could recognize his potential, his vision for the kingdom. Carl clenched his fists and forced a slow, deliberate breath. His father and the council had humiliated him, but they hadn’t broken him.

His lips twisted into a humorless smile. Did they really believe a locked door and silent guards could contain him?

"Fools," he muttered, his voice low but venomous. His fingers trailed along the frosted glass. "Every second they keep me here, they only make my retaliation more certain."

His gaze flicked to the figure sprawled on the bed behind him. Amelia, pale and fragile, stirred slightly, her labored breathing loud in the oppressive silence of the chamber. She looked pitiful, her frail body a shadow of the vibrant servant she had once been.

For days, Carl had pushed her beyond her limits, using her to channel his frustrations. She had endured him with remarkable resilience, but now, even her body had failed her.

For a fleeting moment, a pang of something human brushed against the cold edges of Carl’s mind. Guilt? Pity? He shoved it aside with practiced ease. Compassion was a weakness, a crack in the armor he could not afford. He turned away from her, his expression hardening once more.

His father’s words from the day before came roaring back, each syllable like a lash against his pride.

"The kingdom cannot suffer for your bad decisions. If worst comes to worst, you will face the consequences."

The memory sent a fresh wave of rage surging through him, so fierce it made his chest tighten. His father, his own blood, had looked him in the eye and declared him expendable. The council’s puppet, the king’s scapegoat, offered up like a lamb to the slaughter to pacify Valeidio and Zephyros.

Carl clenched his fists again, the faint sting of his nails biting into the raw skin grounding him. His father thought him defeated. He thought Carl would cower and submit, but Carl would show them all.

Behind him, Amelia stirred, her lips parted, a faint whisper escaping them. "Your Highness..." she began, but her voice faltered.

She swallowed hard and tried again, her words trembling. "perhaps... you should speak with the king? Explain yourself, Maybe he will..."

Carl whirled around, his dark eyes blazing. "Explain myself?" he snarled, cutting her off.

"You think my father cares for my explanations? He’s already made his choice. He’d rather sacrifice me than tarnish his precious throne!

I’m nothing more than a scapegoat to him, a pawn to appease Zephyros and Valeidio."

Amelia winced at the sharpness of his tone. She tried to push herself up on trembling arms, but her strength gave out, and she collapsed back onto the bed.

Her voice was barely audible as she pleaded, "Maybe If you showed remorse... if you apologized... they might listen..."

"Remorse?" Carl laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and grating. He moved toward her, his shadow falling over her like a looming storm.

"They want me groveling at their feet. Me, the prince, their future king! I will not debase myself for the sake of their petty politics.

And they will pay for treating me like a dog on a leash."

Amelia flinched, tears welling in her eyes. She had endured his wrath before, but this version of Carl,this cold, calculated fury, terrified her more than his rage ever had.

She had seen him like this before, consumed by his own anger and ambition. It was a dangerous combination, one that often left her bruised and broken in more ways than one.

Carl stepped back, forcing himself to calm. The anger simmering beneath his skin was a weapon, but only if wielded correctly. He moved back to the window, staring out at the horizon as a dark plan began to crystallize.

He would feign repentance, play the obedient son his father wanted. He would make them all believe he was beaten, compliant. And when the time was right, he would strike. He would dismantle every piece of their fragile little game until the crown was firmly in his grasp.

The faint clang of footsteps echoed in the corridor, pulling Carl from his reverie. He smirked. The guards were switching shifts. As if a changing of the watch could make a difference.

Outside the door, the air in the corridor was heavy, tension clinging to the dimly lit walls like a suffocating fog. The muted torchlight flickered, casting unsteady shadows over the two guards stationed outside Prince Carl’s chambers.

Their expressions, normally stoic, betrayed the weariness creeping into their limbs. Hours of standing in silence, listening to Carl’s venomous threats and the occasional crash from within, had drained their patience. Yet today, the quiet unnerved them even more.

One of the guards shifted uneasily, adjusting the grip on his spear. "It’s too quiet in there," he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting to the closed door. "You think he’s plotting something?"

The other guard, older and more experienced, glanced at the door with narrowed eyes. "Of course he is. A man like Prince Carl doesn’t sit idle. Keep your wits about you. His silence is more dangerous than his outbursts."

Their conversation was interrupted by the echoing clang of footsteps approaching from the far end of the corridor.

Two figures emerged from the gloom, clad in the same polished armor but moving with a noticeable reluctance. The changing of the guard. The new pair, did not bother to hide the unease etched on their faces as they approached the door.

The taller of the two, glanced at the first pair and grimaced. "Your shift’s over. Lucky you. What’s the situation?" His tone carried a mix of resignation and dread, as if he already knew the answer.

"Quiet," the older guard replied, his voice low and grim. "Too quiet. He hasn’t made a peep all day. No threats, no shouting. Not even the sound of breaking furniture."

The shorter of the two, let out a nervous chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. "I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one."

The younger guard from the first pair snorted. "Bad. Always bad. Prince Carl’s not the type to simmer down. He’s brooding, probably plotting. Keep your eyes sharp.

I just pity the girl that was locked inside with him, she’s in worst situation than us."

As the first pair of guards stepped aside, their relief evident, they new guards exchanged apprehensive glances before positioning themselves on either side of the heavy oak door.

Once the original guards disappeared down the corridor, silence fell again. Loric the taller of the two, leaned against the wall, the faint creak of his armor breaking the oppressive quiet. He glanced at his partner, Dain, who was already fidgeting with the strap of his helmet, his brow glistening with sweat.

"You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?" Dain whispered, casting a nervous glance at the door. "About what he did to the last servant who displeased him?"

Loric nodded, his jaw tightening. "Keep your voice down. The walls have ears."

Dain swallowed hard and nodded, his fingers twitching nervously on his spear. Despite his attempt to appear calm, the growing sense of dread was ppalpable

Carl’s reputation preceded him, a man of boundless ambition, cruel in his frustrations, and merciless toward anyone he deemed expendable. Guarding him was a task no one envied.

Inside the chamber, Carl stood motionless by the window, his back to the door. The faint sound of footsteps and muted voices from the corridor reached his ears, and a faint smirk curved his lips.

New guards. He didn’t even need to see them to know they were nervous. The shift in their tone, the hesitation in their steps, it was all too telling. They feared him. And fear was a weapon he intended to wield to its fullest extent.

Carl turned his gaze back to the horizon, the last sliver of sunlight fading into the deep blue of twilight.

He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, savoring the knowledge that even from within these walls, he still held power over those who dared to guard him. He could hear their unease, taste their fear, and it fueled his resolve.

Amelia’s voice broke through his thoughts once more, weak but persistent. "Please, Your Highness... I can’t take any more. I need... I need to leave."

Carl’s gaze snapped to her, his expression cold and unyielding. "You’ll leave when I say you can," he said flatly, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Amelia swallowed hard, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear.