Chapter 1: Blood on the Throne

The year before the King died, I was promoted to his personal attendant—always at his side, always in his shadow. It wasn’t until later that I learned what that really meant. At first, I was just another servant, or so I tried to tell myself.

I remember the first time he pulled me onto that enormous four-poster bed, velvet canopy draped heavy overhead, my heart pounding so loud I thought he’d hear it. Even with the closeness, I never forgot my place. The scent of lavender drifted through the air, mingling with the mustiness of old wood. Every time I glanced at the walls, those stern portraits seemed to watch me, reminding me I didn’t belong.

I ducked my head and tried to refuse. “Your Grace, I’m not... I’m not like the others.” My voice shook, and I could barely get the words out. I couldn’t look him in the eye.

He grabbed my neck, his grip cold and sharp. “Are you disgusted with yourself, or with me?” His fingers dug into my skin, icy and rough. I flinched, my whole body tense—fear, shame, both tangled up. The question hung in the air, stinging like a slap.

Later, the Regent pinned him to the bed and humiliated him in front of everyone. The King’s Hall felt thick, like the air itself was choking on the humiliation. Afterward, the silence pressed in so hard I could barely breathe.

When I went in to tidy up, he had his face buried in the quilt, shoulders shaking as he sobbed. I hovered by the door, torn between wanting to help and wanting to vanish. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. His muffled crying hit me right in the chest.

“Jamie, I really feel like I’m falling apart.” His voice was so tiny, nothing like the man everyone feared. I wanted to reach out, but I just stood there, fists clenched, not sure if I was even allowed to touch him.

When the new king took the throne, I went with him to the royal mausoleum, scooped up a handful of cold earth, and rode south by his side. Outside, the air was sharp and crisp. I let the earth sit in my palm—it was freezing, gritty, a reminder that nothing lasts. We left the city behind, carriage wheels crunching over gravel, the world stretching out in front of us, wide and full of unknowns.

We drank in the springtime, watched lilies bloom in the summer, huddled together through an autumn rainstorm, and stuck together all the way to the end. Sometimes, when the wind shifted just right, I almost believed we were just two ordinary guys. No titles, no past, just us.

When I was twelve, my parents sold me to a broker for what felt like a fortune—five hundred dollars. I still remember my mom’s hands shaking as she counted the bills, my dad’s eyes darting anywhere but at me. The broker smelled like mothballs and old cigarettes, his suit stiff and scratchy. As we drove away, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to memorize every detail of home.

Right before I left, they both broke down. “Jimmy, remember to send money home,” my mom sobbed, her voice ragged. My dad just cleared his throat and looked away. I tried to burn their faces into my mind, scared I’d lose them for good.

I waved at them through my tears, yelling for them to take care. As the truck rumbled off, I pressed my face to the window, watching them get smaller and smaller until they were swallowed up by the dust.

Back then, I didn’t know what I was being sent off for. I thought I’d be peeling potatoes in the kitchen or mucking out stalls—anything but what actually happened.

After five or six days crammed in a pickup, bouncing over potholes, I barely had time to catch my breath before they operated on me. The world blurred with pain and confusion. The stench of antiseptic burned my nose. I tried to be tough, but I was just a scared kid, a million miles from home.

They put me on a heated mattress, and I cried for two days straight. The nurses didn’t care. The other boys just stared at me with empty eyes. I grabbed the edge of the mattress like it was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

I kept telling myself, If I make it through this, I’ll become somebody. I said it over and over, trying to drown out the pain, trying to believe I could still be whole somehow.

But I hadn’t even settled in for two months when the old king died. The news hit the estate like a slap of cold water—sudden, shocking, and everyone scrambling to keep up.

During the national mourning, they stuck me on night duty in the Abandoned Wing. The halls were draped in black, every step echoing. I felt invisible—just another lost soul in a place full of them. The cold, the dust, the silence—it all pressed in, and I was just another shadow.

That’s where I stayed for four years. My world shrank to a handful of rooms, the same chamber pots, the same bitter tea, the same faces, day after day.

Night shifts, dumping out chamber pots at dawn. Sometimes I’d catch my reflection in a window—skinny, pale, haunted—and wonder, would anyone back home even know me now? Would I even know myself?

A servant’s a servant—kneeling is kneeling, no matter where you do it. Didn’t matter if it was the Abandoned Wing or the grandest hall; I was always on my knees, always at someone’s mercy. Always. I couldn’t help but wonder, Will it ever be different?

Still, the ladies in the Abandoned Wing sometimes slipped me little treats—a sweet roll here, a piece of fruit there. Once in a while, a scarf or socks when winter drafts crept in, my toes numb, my breath fogging in the air.

Compared to the famine days before, this was a hundred times better. There was always food, even if it was plain, and the manor stayed warm. No use whining, not when I knew what real hunger felt like.

I started to just go with it. I mean, there were so many servants, and hardly any ever made it out of the crowd. I watched the older boys come and go—some getting promoted, most just vanishing, their beds empty and no one asking why.

One freezing March night, just as I was heading to my shift, Mr. Leonard from House Staff yanked me over to the front of the King’s Hall. The air was biting, and every breath came out in white puffs. Mr. Leonard’s grip was tight, his eyes shining with something I couldn’t read—was it a secret, or just a joke at my expense?

He gave me this sly, lopsided grin. “Good kid, you’ll be on watch here from now on. Keep your wits about you, or you won’t even know how you lost your head.” His words made my skin crawl. I tried to force a smile, thinking, Well, at least he noticed me, right?

I just stood there, mouth hanging open, nodding like an idiot. My brain raced—was this a real promotion, or was I about to get in trouble? I couldn’t decide if I should be excited or terrified.

Once Mr. Leonard left,

I exhaled, trying to steady myself.

I glanced around, nerves buzzing. Another servant was kneeling next to me, looking like he wanted to disappear. The torchlight flickered across his face, making him look even paler—like he hadn’t slept in days.

He really had no clue how lucky he was. I wanted to elbow him, tell him to snap out of it—this was the big leagues, even if it came with danger.

Standing watch at the King’s Hall was a whole new world compared to the Abandoned Wing. The doors were thick, the carpets plush, and even the air felt different—incense and old books, not just cold dust.

Right then, I saw my shot at moving up. I pictured new clothes, better food, maybe even my own room someday. It felt close enough to touch.

Finally, a little luck! I could almost taste it—like the world was about to open up for me.

Kneeling in the March wind, I felt a jittery kind of energy. I was so afraid of missing the King’s summons that I pinched my arm just to stay awake, my knees already numb, but I didn’t dare move.

But I hadn’t been there long when something crashed inside the hall. It was sharp and sudden—like a bottle shattering on the kitchen floor. I jerked at the sound.

The servant beside me didn’t even flinch, just kept his head down. My heart pounded. I kept my eyes locked on the door, not daring to move.

Then came hurried, ragged breathing and a desperate shout—“Help!”—the King himself, unmistakable, real fear in his voice.

My nerves snapped tight. The servant next to me still didn’t move, just ducked his head even lower. I stared at him, wide-eyed, but he stared at the floor, jaw clenched.

I started to get up, but he yanked me back down by my robe. The jolt made me gasp.

He shot me a look—part warning, part panic. “Mind your own business!” His voice was sharp, but his eyes flicked nervously at the door.

“The King’s calling for help! We have to go in!” I hissed, barely louder than a breath, but it came out urgent, almost frantic.

I got up again, ready to push through the door. My hands shook, but I couldn’t just sit there while the King screamed.

He yanked me back, glaring with a mix of contempt and fear. “Are you stupid? Don’t you get it? If you mess up the Regent’s fun, you’ll die before you even know what happened. Just kneel.” His words hit like a slap, but I couldn’t just let it go.

“We’re the King’s servants, not the Regent’s. If the King calls, we answer.” I tried to sound tough, but my voice wobbled.

I stood and shoved the door open. I barely made it two steps before a whiskey bottle smashed into my forehead. Pain exploded, blood streaming down. My legs gave out. I hit the floor hard, tasting copper.

A deep, gruff voice thundered from behind the curtains. “Who told you to come in? Get out, now!” The command made me flinch, my body curling in on itself.

That had to be the Regent. All those horror stories I’d heard suddenly felt way too real.

Swallowing hard, I tried to keep my cool. “Your servant heard the King calling and came to check on his health.” The words tumbled out, desperate, and I pressed my forehead to the floor, praying for a miracle.

I sprawled out, sneaking a glance as the curtains flew up. A barefoot man, sword drawn, stalked toward me. His eyes were ice, the blade catching the dim light.

“Looking to die, are you!” His voice was low, dangerous. Whatever courage I had shrank away. I was shaking so hard I thought my teeth would chatter.

He raised his sword. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the end. If this was it, at least I’d die serving the King. That counted for something, right?

The blade touched my neck, but then—

A lazy, almost bored voice floated from the bed. “If you kill anyone else, Uncle, there’ll be nobody left to pour water in this place.” The words were casual, but they froze everyone in place.

The sword left my throat, only to smack me on the head. Pain flared, but I stayed still as a stone.

The man spat, “Get out before I take your head!” His breath was hot and sour. I scrambled back, knees slipping on the stone, desperate to get away.

Before crawling out, I risked a look at the bed. The King’s face was ghostly pale, eyes rimmed red. He met my gaze for a split second, then turned away.

Once the doors slammed shut, I knelt outside. The cold stone pressed into my bones, but all I felt was the adrenaline buzzing in my veins.

The other servant sneered under his breath, “Trying to play hero? Got put in your place, huh…” His tone was all mockery, but his hands shook.

My ears rang, a mosquito buzz. My cheeks burned. I pressed my sleeve to my forehead, trying to stop the bleeding.

The spring wind cut through my collar. All I could think about was what I’d seen on the bed. The world tilted sideways. None of it made sense.

I’d heard plenty of gossip about men together, dirty jokes and all. But this? This was real, and it was terrifying. My thoughts spun out. Was this really my life now?

I couldn’t get the King’s elegant face to match the mess I’d just seen. It was like seeing a stained glass window smashed to bits on the ground.

Blood kept running down my forehead. It started to sting my left eye. Suddenly, someone shoved my head down hard from behind.

“Salute the Regent!” The other servant forced my head to the floor. I gritted my teeth, humiliated and furious.

He got up to close the doors. I straightened, staring after the cloaked figure walking away, anger simmering in my chest. I wanted to yell, demand answers, but all I did was bite my tongue.

Soon, a hoarse voice called from inside, “Attend me!”

The other servant stood. His eyes lit up—then went dark. “Not you.”

He slumped back down, shoulders caving in. For a second, I almost felt bad for him.

I wiped my face, then after a few tries, bowed my head and stepped inside. My heart hammered, but I forced myself to walk steady.

I knelt in front of the King, waiting for whatever came next. The air was thick, pressing down on me. I barely dared to breathe.

His voice floated above me—magnetic, commanding. “Raise your head.”

I did, but kept my eyes down. Suddenly, a damp handkerchief pressed against my face. The cool fabric soothed the sting of my wound.

It smelled faintly of expensive cologne and tea, damp and comforting. For a second, I almost forgot where I was.

“Wipe it off.” His tone was gentle, almost soft. Was he feeling sorry for me? Or was this just another test?

I dabbed at my wound, then as I lowered the handkerchief, I snuck a glance at him—then looked away. His gaze was sharp, tracking every move.

This was only the second time I’d seen him in four years. The memory of our first meeting flickered in my mind, sharp and bittersweet.

Back then, I didn’t know who he was—just thought he was some upright noble. I’d been so naive. So stupidly hopeful.

Now, he sat in gold-trimmed robes, black hair falling over his shoulders, lips red as a fresh wound, eyebrows arched with authority. Every move was pure king. Untouchable.

“Are you brave?” The question caught me off guard. My stomach dropped.

I pressed my forehead to the floor. “Your servant wouldn’t dare—just worried for Your Grace’s safety.” My voice trembled, but I tried to sound honest.

He let out a low chuckle. “I’m not blaming you. What’s your name? Why haven’t I seen you before?” There was a teasing edge to his voice, like he was testing me.

“Jamie, Your Grace. I used to work in the Abandoned Wing. Tonight’s my first shift here.” My hands shook as I spoke, but I kept my tone steady.

“Lift your head.” The command was gentle, but there was no refusing it.

He pinched my chin, studying me. I kept my eyes respectfully down. His fingers were warm, and a weird jolt shot through me.

“Let me see your eyes,” he said, voice soft. The intimacy made my face burn.

I looked up, meeting his hawk-like eyes for the first time. My breath caught. For a second, I forgot everything else.

“Not bad looking. Nice name, too. Who gave it to you?” His voice was playful, almost mocking.

“It was Lady Julia, the old king’s favorite. I was young then. She said I looked like a piece of jade—” I stopped, realizing too late what I’d said.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d screwed up. The air went cold. My heart hammered. Idiot, I thought. How could you forget?

Lady Julia was a landmine in the manor. I braced myself for the fallout, stomach clenched.

His grip tightened just a little. “Definitely looks like something worth playing with.” The words made goosebumps crawl up my arms.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together. “I need a close attendant. From now on, you’ll serve me personally.” His voice was easy, but his eyes never left mine.

Serve him personally? My head spun. Was this a blessing or a curse?

Excitement burst inside me. I tried to keep a straight face, but my lips twitched anyway.

Wasn’t this my shot? Maybe, finally, things were turning around for me. Or was I just fooling myself?

That night, after our shift, I half-expected the other servant to come cozy up to me, maybe try to get on my good side now that I was at the King’s side. I pictured him offering advice, maybe a sly smile.

But he just patted his coat, stretched, and walked off like nothing happened. I blinked after him, confused.

I jogged to catch up. “I didn’t catch your name, sir. Thanks for saving me tonight—I’d be dead without your warning.” My nerves were shot, but I meant it.

He waved me off. “Name’s Samuel. Sam for short. Wasn’t much, just figured you were new, so I looked out for you.” His voice was rough, but there was a sliver of warmth there.

“Thanks, Mr. Sam. I’m Jamie—first time working for someone this important, so I don’t know all the rules. Please look out for me.” I slipped him a twenty, hoping it’d buy me some goodwill.

Sam weighed it in his palm, then cracked a smile. “You’ve got guts. If the King hadn’t spoken up, you’d be headless. Funny thing is, he usually can’t wait to kill people, but today he spared you and even made you his close attendant. Don’t get cocky. Plenty of close attendants have died before you. Why do you think Mr. Leonard dug you out of the Abandoned Wing? And when you mentioned Lady Julia, I nearly lost it. That’s a sore spot for His Grace. You even called her ‘Lady’—he didn’t punish you now, but he’s probably planning to keep you close and torture you slowly.” He was blunt, but I could tell he was looking out for me.

His words froze me in place. Just like that, my big dreams popped. I was still just a pawn, no matter how close I got.

I’d heard rumors about the King in the Abandoned Wing, but I always thought they were just stories. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

After all, four years ago, I’d met him and he hadn’t seemed cruel at all. I tried to hang on to that memory, but it felt like it belonged to someone else.

But seeing him now, he really did seem different. Harder, colder—his eyes were flat, his voice sharp, like someone who’d forgotten how to laugh.

“Mr. Sam, what do I do? Please, give me some advice.” My voice was tiny, almost pleading.

I slipped him another twenty. I needed answers. Any answers.

Sam puffed up, full of swagger. “In this manor, remember: the Regent’s number one.” He gave a thumbs-up. “The King’s number two.” He held up his index and middle fingers. I had to bite back a laugh—the gestures were so goofy, but his face was dead serious.

“If the King wants to kill you, cry. Say you’ve got a sick mom and a little sister at home. If the Regent wants to kill you, just hold out your neck.” He said it like he was reading off a grocery list.

“Why?” I blurted, honestly confused.

He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Why? To save yourself some pain. With your luck, just survive one day at a time.” His words hit me like a sack of bricks.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Every warning, every look, every word spun around in my head.

I thought my luck had finally changed. Turns out, luck’s just another word for trouble.

The next morning, hands shaking, I reported to Mr. Leonard. I changed into new clothes—the fabric scratchy, stiff, and strange against my skin.

After changing, I hurried to the King’s Hall. My heart pounded with every step. Was this good luck, or just the beginning of the end?

Before dawn, the hall was already glowing with light. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the air buzzed with anticipation.

Maids swept in with ceremonial robes, crowns, tea—one after another. It was like a parade, everything perfectly in place.

I slipped in with the crowd, following the King to the Grand Hall for morning court. Guards lined the corridors, faces blank and unreadable.

I stood below the dais, sneaking glances at the King slouched on the throne. He looked bored out of his mind, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

As the councilmen started their reports, he yawned—twice, in a row, not even bothering to hide it. The room was stifling. My eyelids drooped.

He looked every bit like a lazy monarch. Was it an act, or did he just not care?

I hadn’t had much schooling, so most of what they said went over my head. Their endless chatter made me drowsy. I shifted, fighting off sleep.

Suddenly, a scream tore through the hall, sharp as a razor.

I jolted awake, eyes darting around for the source.

The King was on his feet, sword flashing, hacking at a councilman. The blade glinted in the candlelight. My stomach dropped.

The blade got stuck in the man’s neck. The King yanked it free and struck again. The councilman’s head hit the floor with a sickening thud. I thought I might faint.

The body stayed kneeling, blood spurting from the neck, soaking the royal robes.

Sword in hand, the King turned to another councilman. His eyes were wild, almost feverish.

That councilman didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg, didn’t cry. “All my life I’ve served the people and the old king. Even if I die today, future generations will write of me. But Your Grace, bloodthirsty and cruel, listening to traitors—how will you face your ancestors after death—”

Before he finished, his head rolled too. The thud echoed in the stunned silence.

My knees buckled. I grabbed the railing to keep from falling. The world spun.

He turned, blood spattered across his face, and walked toward me, tossing the sword at my feet. It clattered on the marble. I flinched.

Peeling off his royal robes, he said, “Court dismissed.” Like nothing had happened. Like it was just another Tuesday.

Behind us, the crowd shouted their loyalty. I gingerly picked up the sword and followed him, hands slick with sweat, eyes glued to the floor.

By the time we reached the King’s Hall, he’d already ditched the ceremonial robes and crown. The room was quiet, peaceful even, like the violence had never happened.

A maid brought in a basin. He looked at it, then at me. I got the hint and hurried over.

I set down the sword and grabbed a towel to wipe his face. My hands shook, but I tried to be gentle.

The blood had already dried in the cold March air, so I had to scrub harder. He winced once, but didn’t complain.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. “Jamie, Lady Julia really did pick a good name.” His voice was softer than before, almost sad.

I put down the towel and dropped to my knees. “Your Grace, please spare me. I came to the manor at twelve. Lady Julia liked my looks and kept me close, but I only served her two months before she was executed. I spent four years in the Abandoned Wing to atone for those two months. Your Grace, my father is sick, and my little brother’s just a kid. If you have to kill me, let me send this month’s wages home first.” The words spilled out, broken and pleading.

He lifted my chin with his foot, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Why are you crying? I never said I’d kill you.” There was something almost gentle in his eyes.

He nudged my shoulder with his foot, then turned to wash his hands himself. The water swirled pink around his fingers, little whirlpools of blood and soap.

He pointed to the floor by the bed. “I’m going to nap. Guard me here.” No room for argument.

I crawled to the bedside, curled up on the floor, and wiped my tears. The carpet was soft under my cheek, but my heart felt like a rock in my chest.

So this was what it meant to serve a wolf. I was stuck with a tyrant, and all I could do was survive, one day at a time.

The King woke up at noon. Sunlight poured through the windows, painting messy golden patterns across the floor. I squinted at the brightness.

The servants brought in food, piling the table high. The smells made my stomach growl.

Once everything was set, he dismissed everyone but me. The room suddenly felt way too big, the silence almost deafening.

He pointed at the seat across from him. “Sit.” His eyes dared me to say no. My stomach flipped.

I hesitated, then slid into the chair, hands fidgeting in my lap.

“Eat.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” My voice was barely a squeak.

“I said eat.” No room for argument in that tone.

“Yes, sir.” I picked up my fork, hands shaking.

“Try everything.”

I stood and sampled every dish. Each bite was a surprise—rich, salty, sweet, spicy—nothing like what I’d ever tasted. My mouth watered, and I tried not to look too amazed.

Honestly, being king must be wild—one bite of each dish and I was stuffed. Every flavor was new. I tried to keep my face neutral, but it was tough.

“Is it good?”

I swallowed fast. “Delicious! I’ve never had food this good. Your Grace, the cornbread-stuffed pork is the best.” I meant every word, and hoped he could tell.

He narrowed his eyes, smiling that sly, dangerous smile. I hugged my bowl tighter.

I scooted back to my seat, clutching the bowl. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy.

He watched me for a while, then picked up his own fork. The tension eased—just a little.

I sat there, barely breathing, eating slow, pretending to savor it, but nerves made it hard to swallow.

Was I the food taster? The thought hit me, and my stomach twisted. I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.

The food suddenly tasted like sawdust, but I forced myself to keep eating. No way was I going to insult him.