~ANYA’S POV
The next morning, a piercing, terrible scream woke me up.
“He is not breathing! The man is dead!"
It was Clara's voice. I jumped out of my bed. My heart beat so fast it hurt my chest. I ran down the hall to the main room of the cottage. My adoptive parents, Silas and Martha, were already rushing out of their room, too.
We all stopped and looked at the woven rug. The tall stranger was not moving. His pale skin looked even whiter than before, almost like a ghost. His lips had turned a faint blue. The slow, steady breathing I had felt under my hand the night before was gone. The strong herbal poultice Silas had packed into his deep wound must have caused that.
“You stupid, useless girl!” Silas roared. His face was red with rage. His dream of getting a huge reward had just been destroyed.
He marched up to me, raised his hand, and slapped me so hard across the face. I fell to the hard floor from the impact. The side of my face burned like fire. I tasted warm blood in my mouth.
“Why did you bring a dead man into my home?" Silas screamed, pointing a shaking finger at me. Like he had forgotten that he was the one who locked the door and wanted to keep the man for money. “The police will come! They will arrest us for murder! You have ruined our lives!"
"I just wanted to help him,” I cried, holding my burning cheek.
It was as if my words stirred the rage in him. Before Silas could strike me again, the ground beneath our feet began to shake. A deep rumble rolled in from outside. It sounded like thunder, but the morning sky was clear. Then I realized what it was.
The powerful roar of engines was getting closer.
Lily ran to the window and pulled back the curtain. She gasped, her face draining of color.
“Father… look!”
We all looked out the window. A dozen large black SUVs had surrounded our small, muddy yard. The vehicle doors swung open at the same time. Tall, frightening men in dark uniforms stepped out. Each of them held a large rifle, aiming it straight at our little cottage.
“Who are they?" Martha cried, hiding behind Silas.
Before anyone could answer, the heavy oak door of our house was kicked open. The wood split apart as a tall man with sharp features stormed inside. He wore a dark suit, and anger was written all over his face. Heavily armed agents rushed into our cottage.
The man looked around our messy home with disgust. Then his eyes landed on the stranger lying on the floor.
“Your Majesty!" he shouted as he hurried to his side.
Martha gasped in horror, the thin wooden stick slipping from her hand. Silas stumbled backward, all the color draining from his face.
Your Majesty?
My blood ran cold.
The wounded stranger I had found in the woods… the man whose chest I had rested my hand on the night before… was the king of our entire country?
The panicked man ran over to the king lying on the rug and dropped to his knees. He pressed two fingers against the king's pale neck. The man's face instantly turned white.
“Captain Julian, sir! What is his status?" one of the guards at the door asked, his voice shaking.
“He has no pulse. He is not breathing!" Captain Julian looked up at us. His eyes were full of pure, murderous hate. “What did you do to the king?"
Captain Julian stood up. He drew a sleek handgun from his shoulder holster and pointed it right at Silas's chest. "You poisoned him. If His Majesty dies today, I swear every one of you will die for it. I will see to it myself.”
Silas fell to his knees. He was so terrified he started to cry, and his hands were shaking. “No, please, sir, it was not us!"
Silas quickly looked around. Then, he pointed his finger directly at me.
“It was her!" Silas shouted. “She is just a stray orphan we took in out of pity. Her name is Anya. She found him in the woods. She brought him here. She put the poisonous herbs into his wound!"
Martha also dropped to her knees beside her husband, nodding desperately to protect her own skin. “Yes! We tried to stop her, but the wicked girl would not listen!” Martha cried, her eyes wild with panic. “She is the one who did this to His Majesty, not us!"
"Father, mother, no!” I cried out, my eyes wide with surprise and betrayal. "That is a lie!”
Then, Clara stepped forward. She wanted to make sure the guards took me. She never liked me anyway. Even though we had grown up together for sixteen years, we have never shared anything like a sisterly bond.
"Wait, captain, my parents are telling the truth!” Clara yelled, pointing at me. "She was the one that hurt the king! I woke up at midnight to get a cup of water, and I saw her. I saw Anya sitting on the floor beside His Majesty in the dark. She had her hand pressed flat against his chest! She must have done something to him!”
I gasped in horror. Clara was twisting the truth to make me look like an assassin. I was there at midnight, but I did not hurt him. I… I only wanted to feel his heartbeat. I had been mesmerized by his warmth and the rich scent of cedarwood and leather. But I knew this furious Captain would never believe me.
“Shut your mouth!" Silas yelled at me. He looked back at Captain Julian, rubbing his hands together in desperate fear. “Please, take her! Take her as collateral. If the king dies, take her head. Just leave my real family alone. We give her to you.”
The Captain looked at Silas with cold, hard eyes, then shifted his terrifying gaze to me. Clara's sick lie made me look completely guilty.
“I will take the girl as collateral," Captain Julian hissed, his voice like ice. He leaned closer to Silas, his hand still gripping his handgun. “But mark my words, peasant. If His Majesty dies, I will not just take her head. I will bring it back to this miserable cottage, drop it at your feet, and then I will slaughter your entire family."
Silas let out a pathetic whimper, his face draining of whatever color it had. He nodded repeatedly, too terrified to speak.
“Take her!" Captain Julian ordered his men.
Two huge guards in black uniforms grabbed my small arms. They hoisted me up from the floor as if I weighed nothing. I kicked and cried. I looked at Martha, Clara, and Lily, begging them to tell the truth. But they just smiled wickedly, relieved smiles, and looked away. They were willing to trade my life to the royal guards to save themselves.
“Move!" a guard barked.
They dragged me roughly out of the cottage. Other security agents carefully lifted the King and carried him into a large, state-of-the-art white medical van. The king's personal trauma doctors were already inside, desperately working to restart his heart.
The guards threw me into the back of a dark, reinforced black transport van and locked the doors shut.
We drove for hours. I sat in the dark, cold van, crying and holding my bruised cheek. My family had traded my life away like a piece of trash. If the King died today, these men would kill me.
Finally, the van stopped. The doors swung open, and bright sunlight blinded me.
When my eyes adjusted, I gasped. I saw high-rise glass skyscrapers, grand paved streets, and beautiful manicured gardens. We were in the capital city. Behind the wrought-iron gates stood the biggest and most beautiful palace I had ever seen in my life. It was the royal palace. It looked exactly like the charcoal drawing I had made so many times.
For a heartbreaking second, I thought my dream was coming true. I was finally in the capital. I was finally at the palace.
But I was not a guest. I was a prisoner.
