When she opens her eyes again, she is already in bed, surrounded by a pool of white silk. She looks out the window in front of the bed; it's still dark outside, reminding her that she fell unconscious rather than asleep.

As she gets out of bed, she pushes the heavy duvet from above her, pacing around and thinking. She has no idea what happened this evening, but nothing good came of it. She wonders if anyone has noticed her absence; she doesn't have anyone waiting for her to return home. Someone who would be concerned about her.

The thought made her bitter because loneliness filled her every pore, but she didn't have time for self-pity. She tried to concentrate her thoughts on the present situation.

She refuses to believe anything the king has told her, questioning whether there is even a remote possibility that it is true. She then felt the onset of another migraine, which she was not prepared for. Pushing herself forward, she made her way to what she assumed was the bathroom.

Turning on the lights, she discovers nothing, except for a toothbrush and toothpaste. She wants to be out of this place as soon as possible but she doesn't know how.

She shifts to elegant moves, gold-plated claws at her feet. A bundle of bath products was neatly arranged in a glass tray next to it. She returns to the room, feeling defeated. Her head throbs once more as she blames herself for being in this spot, trapped and unsure of what will happen next.

Her feet can no longer support her weight, and she lets go of everything, collapsing on the cream carpet. She wrapped her arms around herself and cried softly.

She didn't know how long she sat there; the sun had probably come up an hour before, her eyes were dry, and she probably looked in shambles. Her head cocked up as soon as she heard the door open.

The king entered with the most serene expression. His silver eyes followed her, then to the bed.

"Let's go, it's breakfast time," he says curtly, but Angel does not comply.

"I'm not hungry," she says, surprised by how angry she sounds.

His eyes widen in awe as well, but he manages to conceal it quickly. "I didn't ask you to come with me it is a command from your king. You're coming with me; get up." He didn't have to raise his voice to assert his authority; it came naturally to him. She was almost certain he got his way every time, but not with her. She wasn't going to let him win so easily. "No," that one word triggered his emotions.

"What did you say?" he inquires as if giving her another chance. "F*ck him!" she yelled, and with newfound strength, she pushed herself up, hands balled at her sides, ready to punch him. "I said I wasn't going to get out of here," she yells so he hears her.

He doesn't say anything as he walks toward her, his face filled with pure rage and frustration. "I don't like hurting you, especially since you're my mate, but you are so damn difficult." He grabs her by the throat again, and his fingers open a gate that brings back pain.

For a brief moment, she was relieved; perhaps if she passed out again, he'd leave her alone, but she was convinced that this time he wasn't going to stop there.

Her eyes blinked quickly as she struggled to breathe, and she tapped him on the arm weakly. He immediately let go, but his arms wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling. He took advantage of the opportunity to trail his cool fingers along her neck while she was distracted trying to redeem herself. His touch was cold as if he was admiring the red marks he had left behind.

"You're an asshole," she mutters beneath his grip. She quickly regretted it, though, because she saw the rage in his eyes and expected him to hit her, but he managed to dismiss the thought.

"I will be nice to you if you cooperate," he said with a malicious grin on his face, and she couldn't hate him anymore.

"Who in their right mind would cooperate with their kidnapper?" she wonders.

"Fair point, but if you value your life, you'd cooperate; now go get dressed." He abruptly leaves her to fend for herself.

She sighed and went to the bathroom as quickly as anyone could to freshen up and roughly fix her hair with her fingers.

As she walks out, the King examines her from head to toe. The knitted brows indicate that he is about to remark.

"Doesn't the clothing I arranged fit you?" He crosses his arms in front of him, and she looks over to the pile of clothing on the chair behind him. "No, I just don't want them," she grumbled.

"You're not coming in those torn stockings," he sighs exasperatedly as if he's nearing his breaking point.

Without saying anything, she slid her hands beneath her skirt and pulled down the pantyhose, leaving the king's mouth open as he watched her shimmy out of the flimsy material.

She yanked off her cashmere sweater, which had water stains on it, just to make sure he didn't say anything else. She could almost immediately walk over to the stunned man in front of her, his eyes glazed with Iust, as she left in her white button-down shirt and black skirt. "You have to make everything f*cking difficult," he groans, checking his wrist for the time before grabbing her elbow and dragging her out.

They descend the spiral staircase; the castle is entirely covered in white marble, and the ceiling features a dome with a sunroof. The warm morning light comforts her, so she lets the king drag her around while she bathes in it. Unlike yesterday, the brightness today feels good.

They arrive at a pair of double doors made of oak wood painted black and etched with gold artwork. The king takes a moment to rest his hand on the doorknob before turning to face her.

"Fighting back isn't always the best thing to do," he says as he leans down and brushes his fingers across her cheek, the sting of yesterday's slap still burning her.

She lingers in his gentle touch as she mulls over his words. Their gazes are locked for a few seconds before he breaks contact and moves to the door, holding it open for her to enter first.

The smell of bacon, pork chops, and eggs greets her, and she realizes she hasn't eaten since yesterday's lunch. She's hungry, but she also doesn't want to obey these people. She tries to divert her attention by studying the surroundings. In the center of the rectangular room, a long piece of teak wood is placed, surrounded by suede-upholstered dining chairs.

On the far end of the room, there is a wall of French windows that opens onto lush greenery. The king pushes her shoulder, causing her to take a few steps back. He departs from her side to join his brothers, his mother, and his father. They all stare at her as if she's out of the ordinary.

"Good morning, dear," the king's father says, motioning her to the empty seat between him and his brother. She grimaces because she does not want to sit near them.

As the king walks over and pulls out the chair for her, she raises her brow at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Have a seat, I'm sure you're hungry," the king's father says, setting down the newspaper he's been reading.

"No, you have to explain what's going on here first; I'm not the person you want; you have to let me go," she says emphatically. As he shifts his gaze from her to his father, the king takes a deep breath.