Chapter 2: The King's Dangerous Favor

After lunch,

I followed him to the study. Books lined the walls, the air thick with the smell of old paper and ink.

Once the servant finished sharpening pencils, it was just us. The silence pressed in, heavy as a blanket.

I always thought tyrants didn’t bother with paperwork, but even they had to deal with it. He sat at the desk, posture perfect, eyes scanning page after page.

I hovered nearby, refilling his coffee, swapping out the pot when it cooled. I moved quiet as a mouse, trying not to draw attention.

He sat there, flipping through documents, never writing a word. I wondered what he was really thinking. What secrets were in those papers?

Sunlight streamed in, making me sleepy. My eyelids drooped. I shook myself awake.

Suddenly, a splash of cold coffee hit my face. I jerked upright, wide awake.

He barked, “Sleepy?” but there was a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.

“No, no, just... thinking.” I wiped my face, cheeks burning.

He tossed a red pen at me. “You review them.”

What? My mind blanked. Was this a trick?

A servant reviewing royal documents?

“Your Grace, I can’t read.” I tried to sound sorry, hoping he’d let it slide.

“Doesn’t matter. Just draw a circle at the end.” He waved it off like it was nothing.

He stood, pushed me into the chair. His hands were steady, guiding me into place.

My hand shook as I picked up the pen. The letters on the page blurred.

He leaned over, folded my last three fingers, and moved my thumb and forefinger to draw a circle. His touch was warm, oddly grounding.

“Like that. Got it?” His breath tickled my ear. I nodded, heart thumping, trying to focus.

Only after he left did I breathe. The smell of his cologne lingered. I stared at the papers, trying to calm down.

I opened a document—black letters, a spot of red at the end. All of them looked the same.

But I hadn’t seen the King write anything. Who was actually running things?

I remembered what Sam said last night. The Regent’s shadow was everywhere.

These papers had to go through the Regent before the King ever saw them. Did the King even care?

The only thing he did was draw a circle. It felt pointless, but I did it anyway.

I drew a shaky circle with the red pen. My hands stopped trembling, but my head was full of questions.

Suddenly, he laughed. “See? Being king is this easy. Even you could do it.” The laugh was soft, but there was bitterness underneath.

I dropped to my knees, ready to beg for my life, tears stinging my eyes. The fear was back, raw and sharp.

He cut me off. “No crying. Sit up. Take the pen and get to work.” His voice was sharp, but not mean.

He gave the order, I followed. That was how things worked. I kept my head down, drawing circles.

Then he started swinging the sword from court, waving it around. The blade caught the light. I shivered.

He swung it a few times, then hopped onto the desk, reaching behind a faded family photo for a sharpening stone. The photo was so old, the faces were just smudges.

He sat there, sharpening his sword, lost in his own world. The scraping sound was steady, almost hypnotic.

Each scrape made my nerves jump. The bloody scene from court replayed in my head. My circles got messier. I tried to focus, but the memories wouldn’t let me.

That night, after helping him bathe, I was about to bow and leave when he yanked me behind the curtains. The steam and soap clung to his skin.

He grabbed my chin, his other hand sliding down to my lower belly. I froze, heart racing.

I tried to push him away, but he pinned my hands above my head, glaring. “What, weren’t you staring earlier? Didn’t you want to strip me and gawk at me in bed?” His eyes were wild, and I felt my last bit of confidence crack.

The image of him on the bed flashed in my mind. I wanted to look, but I couldn’t.

Tears pricked my eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Please forgive me.” My voice was barely there.

“Hold it in!” he snapped, and I bit my lip, swallowing the sobs.

The silence between us was thick, suffocating.

He yanked open my outer robe, reaching for my pants. My face burned. I wanted to disappear. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could just melt away.

The words tumbled out, raw and ugly. “Your Grace, I’m a eunuch.”

“I know. That’s what makes it fun.” His voice was low, almost cruel.

His hand touched what was left of me. The shame was overwhelming. “Your Grace, I’m incomplete. I’m afraid I’ll disgust you.” My voice cracked. I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He grabbed my neck, lifting my chin. “Are you disgusted with yourself, or with me?” His stare was unblinking, waiting for the answer.

“I’m the dirty one. You’re noble. I’m just filth—how could I ever taint you?” The words tasted like poison.

He let me go and kicked me to the floor, frustrated. “At least you know your place—know you’re just filth.” His voice was cold, but I heard something else, too—a kind of sadness.

I pressed my forehead to the floor, thanking him for sparing me. The words felt empty, but I said them anyway.

Putting myself down didn’t hurt, but hearing it from him stung in a way I couldn’t explain. I pressed my forehead harder to the floor, trying to keep it together.

He left his robe open, pointed at the floor. “Stand guard here. Don’t leave unless I say so.” I nodded, not even thinking of arguing.

I froze, then shuffled over. The floor was freezing, but I kept my mouth shut. Complaining wasn’t going to help.

After he blew out the candles, I curled up at the foot of the bed. The dark pressed in, but I tried to comfort myself with the routine.

The floor was warmer than outside, but sitting there all night made my butt ache. I shifted around, trying to get comfortable.

Once I thought he was asleep, I shifted again. The only sound was his breathing, steady and slow.

Suddenly, he tossed a pillow out from behind the curtains. It landed next to me, soft and inviting.

“Use this.” His voice was muffled, but I caught the hint of kindness.

A royal pillow. No way was I putting that under my butt. I hugged it to my chest instead, trying not to smile.

So I scooted closer to the bed’s leg, hugging the pillow. Its warmth seeped into me, and my eyes grew heavy.

I must’ve been more exhausted than I thought, because the second I closed my eyes, I was out. The world faded, and for a moment, I actually felt safe.

In the middle of the night, the sharp scrape of metal woke me. The King, hair loose, was grinding his sword on a flowerpot. His movements were frantic, almost wild.

My heart leapt. I didn’t dare make a sound. I watched, frozen, as he swung the sword at the air, then tossed it aside, stumbling back to hide in the shadows between a pillar and the wall.

I crawled over and saw his eyes half-lidded—like he was lost in a nightmare. His body trembled, and I felt a pang of pity.

He hugged himself tight, face blank but shaking all over. I wanted to reach out, but I hesitated, not sure if I’d just make it worse.

Was he this scared when he killed people yesterday? I didn’t ask. I just watched.

I whispered, “Eli.” The name slipped out, soft and unsure.

His body relaxed, just a bit. The tension in his shoulders eased. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“Eli, don’t be afraid.” I stroked his back until he calmed, then took his hand and led him back to bed. His fingers were like ice, but he didn’t pull away.

His legs hit the bed and he collapsed, dragging me down with him. The mattress was soft. I sank into it, feeling his weight beside me.