| Chapter 14: A Bedroom Slave

“A… bedroom slave?”

The words from Sergei’s lips were so unexpected that Natasha’s mind went blank.

“You may not know, but it seems that wretched slave has feelings for you…”

Sergei swayed toward Natasha, waving the wine bottle in his hand.

“If he becomes your bedroom slave, it would be an honor for him.”

He reached out, twirling a strand of Natasha’s hair between his fingers as he spoke in a low voice.

“Even if it’s only for one night.”
“How could you…”

Natasha’s pupils quivered uncontrollably.

She knew what a bedroom slave was. Some noblewomen in the Duchy of Ivanov secretly kept them. It was a scandalous arrangement tolerated by husbands who wished to indulge in their own affairs with multiple mistresses. The noblewomen were allowed only one night with their bedroom slaves, and by dawn, the slaves were killed for having laid eyes on their mistress in such a way.

The justification for this was to “protect the noblewoman’s honor,” though the real reason lay in the men’s fear of their wives forming genuine attachments to their slaves. It was a hypocritical double standard: men could indulge with mistresses, but their wives could not.

For some noblewomen, whose husbands had abandoned them for their mistresses, fleeting encounters with bedroom slaves became their way of coping.

But for an unmarried noblewoman like Natasha to have a bedroom slave? It was unheard of. Such a scandal would ruin her reputation forever. Her social standing, her prospects for marriage—everything would be destroyed.

Of course, Natasha had long abandoned the hope of a normal marriage after Sergei’s proposal to make her his mistress. He would never allow her to be with another man.

But Alexei… a bedroom slave? Why would Sergei suggest such a thing when he could barely stand seeing her exchange even a glance with him?

Is this to humiliate me? Or to destroy my reputation completely, so I’ll never be anyone’s wife?

Natasha froze under Sergei’s bloodshot gaze and suddenly realized the truth.

No, that’s not it.

Sergei wasn’t serious about his proposal. He would never allow someone like Alexei to touch what he considered his own prize, not even for a single night.

Natasha straightened her back, her expression hardening.

* * *

“Yawn. Why is the new guy so late?”

The guard at the entrance to the underground prison let out yet another yawn. His shift had ended ten minutes ago, but his replacement, the new recruit, Mikhail, hadn’t arrived. His irritation was growing.

“Sorry! I’m late. The chamberlain called for me…”

A disheveled man with messy brown hair and tired eyes came running toward him. The guard was about to scold him, but hearing “chamberlain,” he bit his tongue. This new recruit seemed to have some influential backing. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to stay on his good side, the guard handed him a piece of bread he had brought for a snack.

“Here. Eat this while you work. But don’t be late next time.”

“Th-thank you!”

Patting Mikhail on the shoulder, the guard handed over the keyring and whistled as he climbed the stairs out of the prison. He paused midway.

“Oh, one more thing. Don’t give food or water to the new prisoner. He’s under the Grand Duke’s special orders. Be careful.”

“Understood! Have a good night!”

As the guard’s footsteps faded into the distance, Mikhail fastened the keys to his belt and began his rounds. The damp, moldy air of the underground prison was heavy with the groans of prisoners too weak from starvation or torture to move.

“Water… please, just some water…”

Mikhail frowned at one prisoner crawling toward the bars, begging.

“Shut it!”

With a clang, he kicked the cell bars and moved toward the solitary cell at the far end.

“Seventy-seven… seventy-eight…”

Inside the isolated cell was a man unlike the others. While most prisoners lay weak and motionless, he was doing push-ups, his muscles rippling under the dim torchlight.

Thud. Roll.

As Mikhail approached, a piece of bread slipped from his grasp and rolled into the cell. It came to a stop just in front of the man’s hands.

“What’s this?”

Alexei, drenched in sweat, scowled at the bread. Its savory aroma wafted into his nostrils, making his stomach churn with hunger. It had been nearly a day since he’d had any food. To distract himself from the hunger, he had been pushing his body to its limits.

But now, here was this bread, sitting before him.

Alexei picked it up with one hand and stood, his sharp gaze fixed on the small, frail-looking guard outside the cell. This man wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

But Alexei hesitated. Could he trust this? Was it poisoned? Was this man sent by Sergei?

“Eat it.”

The guard’s voice was barely above a whisper. Alexei’s suspicion deepened. Was this a trick?

The guard mouthed a single word, almost too quietly to hear.

“Okrovavlennyy.” (Окровавленный)

Alexei froze, his grip tightening on the bread. The word meant “bloodied.” It was a code—a sign. Someone had sent him help.

The word ‘Okrovavlennyy’, meaning “bloodied” in the common tongue of the Venia continent, held a deeper meaning within the Knulu tribe. It originated from the goddess Ades, the primordial deity of the Knulu. According to legend, when Ades gazed upon the crimson eyes of a newborn Knulu child, she declared, “Bloodied indeed.”

Since then, the term became a symbol of pride for the Knulu people. It was used to describe themselves with honor and reverence. It was also invoked as a sacred chant, inspired by the goddess’s proclamation:

“Child of blood, let those who seek to harm you be drowned in it.”

However, as the once-mighty Knulu tribe dwindled, reduced to scavengers and slaves, the word fell into obscurity. Among the oppressed Knulu, its usage became almost nonexistent. The ruling classes, indifferent to the language of slaves, were oblivious to its deeper connotations.

Hearing the word unexpectedly from the guard’s lips sent a ripple through Alexei’s heart. For a moment, he wondered if the goddess Ades herself was delivering her divine will through this man.

Alexei scrutinized the guard with sharp eyes before leaning closer, his voice low to avoid being overheard.

“Are you ‘Metis’?” (Метис)

The word’Metis’—meaning “mixed blood” or “half-breed” in Venian—was a derogatory term often used to refer to those with partial Knulu ancestry.

Though the Knulu’s crimson eyes were a distinctive trait, they were also a vulnerability, making it nearly impossible to conceal their heritage. Paradoxically, this trait could also serve as a means of hiding. The red eyes were recessive; even a small mix of non-Knulu blood would result in children without them, allowing those of mixed heritage to blend in.

While the Duchy of Ivanov refused to recognize full-blooded Knulu as citizens, treating them as slaves and outcasts, ‘Metis’ individuals often managed to conceal their lineage. Many even infiltrated Ivanov society, with some secretly holding positions within the duchy’s castle.

“Yes, I am. So you can trust the food.”

The guard whispered.

“Seven winters ago, my grandfather, Sminov, was the old man you saved. I may not be able to do much, but I can bring you food and share what I’ve overheard.”

“Sminov’s grandson… you’ve grown.”

Alexei replied, taking a bite of the bread.

He remembered it now. Many winters ago, he had saved a street vendor named Sminov from being beaten to death by vagrants.

“There’s something I overheard about your fate,” Mikhail said hesitantly.

Alexei paused mid-bite, his sharp gaze locking onto the guard.

“The Grand Duke has decreed that you should become the Lady’s bedroom slave.”

Mikhail’s voice was laced with outrage. “For the greatest gladiator to suffer such dishonor—it’s unthinkable!”

To be a bedroom slave, used as a noblewoman’s plaything for a single night before being executed, was the lowest fate even among slaves. For a renowned gladiator like Alexei, it was the ultimate humiliation.

But Alexei’s reaction was unexpected.

“The Lady’s bedroom slave…”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, lowering his eyes in contemplation.

“Well, that would be an honorable death. A night to remember.”