FOUR

MEANDRA’S POV

The guard's grip on my arm was unyielding, his face contorted with disdain as he propelled me through the dimly lit corridors. My mind was a whirlpool of confusion. First, the Lord had me dressed and refrained from touching me, a stark contrast to what I had known. Then, he had summoned me to inquire about the First Lord. And now, I was being escorted to an unknown destination. I was confused and quite anxious.

We arrived at a grand dining hall, one of such overwhelming luxury. The guard gestured tersely toward a chair.

"Sit!" he commanded, his voice dripping with contempt.

Before I could ask questions, a maid approached me, her demeanour polite yet cold. "What would you like to eat?" she inquired.

I blinked in surprise. Eating was a luxury I seldom experienced, especially not before completing my assigned tasks. The drum of water remained unfinished, and the thought of punishment instantly materialized in my head.

"I'm not hungry," I replied cautiously. "Please, I should return before any trouble arises."

The maid's expression remained neutral. "The Lord has instructed that you must eat."

His orders? For me? The very thought of that was baffling. Reluctantly, I nodded. "Anything will suffice."

Moments later, a stunning array of dishes was carefully arranged before me on the table. On the platter lay an assortment of meats, freshly baked breads, and an assortment of fruits, their vibrant colours almost dazzling in their richness. Fruits. The sight of them made my heart race—fruits were something I had never been offered before.

In the other parts of the kingdom, food was scarce, a rare commodity, often only provided once a day, and sometimes not even at all. My days had always been consumed by gruelling labour and the endless, degrading duties expected of me.

Food had been little more than an afterthought, a mere necessity to keep my body alive, to sustain me long enough for whatever purposes they had in mind. It was simply a means to an end—feeding me only enough to keep me usable for their desires.

But now, before me, lay an abundance of food, lavishly arranged, so much more than I could have ever imagined. It was almost too much, too perfect to be real. The sheer excess felt almost surreal, like a dream I couldn’t quite wake up from. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the situation, but I couldn’t find any rational explanation that fit. Why such extravagance now? What was their true motive behind all of this?

Tentatively, I spoke, my voice tinged with disbelief. "Is all this... for me?" I asked, unable to grasp what was going on.

The maid, who had been silently standing nearby, gave a small nod, her expression neutral. "Yes, it’s all yours," she replied simply.

For a moment, I hesitated. Could this be real? Was it wise to eat, knowing so little of their intentions? But then, the painful growl of my stomach which was so loud, it seemed almost to echo in the room—convinced me otherwise. It was a hunger that I could no longer ignore. Slowly, I began to eat. The rich, decadent flavours overwhelmed my senses, filling my mouth in a way I had never experienced before. I found myself devouring the food with increasing urgency, as though I feared this privilege might be taken from me just as quickly as it had appeared.

As I finished my meal, still in a daze from the unexpected abundance, another woman entered the room. Her presence was calm, and she carried herself with a quiet confidence that made the air seem dense.

"Hello, Meandra," she said, her voice smooth and professional. "I’m Doctor Shantel. I’m here to conduct a medical examination."

A chill ran down my spine at her words. I knew exactly what this meant. This was it. The final step in ensuring that I was... clean. Untainted. Unmarked by the many hands that had used me in the past. Of course. It made perfect sense. He—the man who had provided this feast, this strange kindness—was simply protecting himself. Ensuring that I was still pure, still fit for whatever purpose he had in mind. All those fleeting thoughts of kindness and compassion that had flitted through my mind now seemed laughable, naive. I was just a commodity to them, nothing more.

"Please, follow me," Doctor Shantel instructed.

I complied, not like I had any choice. We entered a sterile room with a simple examination table in the centre and a small bed by the corner.

"Lie down, please," she said gently, pointing to the table.

I hesitated. Past experiences with doctors had been anything but gentle. They had taken advantage, using their position to exploit me further.

Sensing my reluctance, Doctor Shantel spoke softly, "May I proceed with the examination?"

Her request for permission was unexpected. I searched her eyes, finding no hint of malice. Slowly, I nodded.

She conducted the examination with care, her touch professional and non-invasive. "When was the last time you had sexual intercourse, and under what circumstances?" she asked, her tone clinical.

I clenched my jaw, the painful memories flooding back. "Why do you need to know?" I asked in a challenging manner.

Doctor Shantel met my gaze with empathy. "Understanding your history helps me provide the best care. But you are not obligated to share anything you're uncomfortable with."

Her kindness was disarming. After a moment, I whispered, "A few days ago. It wasn't by choice."

She gave a thoughtful nod, her expression a mix of concern and understanding.

"I appreciate you sharing that with me," she said softly. "I'll apply a soothing balm to alleviate any discomfort you're feeling, but it's important that you continue to use it consistently every day for the best results."

I nodded once more, allowing her to carefully apply the cool ointment to my skin. After a moment, she reached for a small vial on the counter and handed it to me.

"This is a sedative," she explained gently. "It will help you rest more easily.

I know you've been through a lot lately, and your body and mind need time to recover.

"I swallowed the pill, and not too long after, a wave of drowsiness washed over me. As my eyelids grew heavy, a nagging thought surfaced: Why this sudden change in treatment? What were they preparing me for? The questions lingered as darkness claimed me.