Chapter 160: Little longer
The king is playing dress-up with me again. He picked out every detail of my clothing, as if I’m some kind of doll he can mold and manipulate to his liking. Today, it’s a high-neckline shirt designed to hide the collar marking me as Thorne’s omega.The outfit feels suffocating, each button fastened like a shackle. My hair is twisted into an elaborate, undeniably feminine style, one that makes my scalp ache from the effort to keep it all in place. I am an omega, not a woman, but the king doesn’t seem to care about that distinction. I grit my teeth and hold it in, fighting the resentment rising in my chest. Thorne might be there today. I have to endure.
The maids flit around me, dabbing makeup onto my tired face, desperately trying to conceal the dark smudges beneath my eyes. No amount of powder or pigment can hide my exhaustion, though. When they finally finish, I’m forced to confront the image in the mirror. I barely recognize myself. The person staring back at me looks more like Mirelle than Noelle, and the sight makes me feel like something is being stripped away piece by piece.
My mother’s face stares back at me, the same delicate features, the same slender frame. The only differences are my flat chest and the Adam’s apple that bobs in my throat when I swallow back my anger. How dare he twist me into this? How dare he desecrate my mother’s memory by forcing me into this grotesque imitation of her? The fury simmers beneath my skin, boiling hotter with every second.
I hate the king even more than I already do now. I despise him with a deep, burning loathing that feels like it could swallow me whole. His actions are twisting the one thing I hold sacred—the memory of my mother, Mirelle. I try to empty my mind, to think of nothing, as I leave the dressing room. But the moment I step out, he’s there, waiting, his eyes roving over me with a gleam that makes my stomach turn. I visibly recoil, and I can’t hide the disgust that twists my features.
He notices. His expression shifts, and a coldness washes over his eyes, but only for a brief moment. Then he regains his composure, and a sickening smile stretches across his lips. "How fascinating, you see," he says, gesturing for me to come closer. My feet feel leaden, but I force myself to walk forward, every step a battle against my instincts screaming at me to run. I can’t mess this up today, not when there’s a chance I might see Thorne. Not when hope still clings to the edges of my resolve.
The king studies me, his gaze hungry, and it makes my skin crawl. "Mirelle, my sweet little sister, always gave me that look too," he says, almost wistful.
"You see, it wasn’t always like that. She used to look at me with such warmth, such trust. But she got corrupted by the world." His voice drips with something twisted, a disgusting mockery of sorrow. "Those books she would read, the commoners she insisted on mingling with... I was only trying to keep her safe. Next to me. But she left me."
His hand closes around mine, and I have to fight the overwhelming urge to yank it away. I want to rip my hand from his grasp and scream, but I keep my expression as blank as I can, knowing any outburst would cost me.