Chapter 31 Chapter 31

Chapter 31 Chapter 31
Ashley

Ethonian’s hands were already trembling when the king turned his full attention on her. “I… I only followed the instructions of the kitchen head,” she said, her voice barely holding together. “I was told to come serve Miss Ashley her meal, Your Majesty. That’s all.”

The king didn’t even blink. “It doesn’t matter who told you,” he said, his tone flat and final. “I want you to taste what you brought.”

The color drained from Ethonian’s face. She looked like she was about to be sick. Panic flashed in her eyes, but she didn’t dare disobey him. Did she poison my meal, does she hate me that much to do that?

Slowly, she walked toward the food and stopped in front of the tray, staring down at the plate like it might bite her. I couldn’t stay quiet. “Stop this,” I said, pushing myself up straighter despite the ache in my side. “Let her take it away. I will eat something else, I don’t want this.”

I wasn’t doing this for her, I just don’t want more enemies if she dies and it spreads around the palace, I do not want more enemies right now.

The king didn’t even look at me. “She will taste the food,” he said, and the calmness in his voice was worse than if he’d shouted. “Now, maid.”

Ethonian’s fingers shook so badly that the fork rattled against the plate when she picked it up. She took a small bite, chewing slowly, her eyes darting between me and the king like she was waiting for something terrible to happen. Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“More,” the king ordered, not raising his voice but making it clear it wasn’t a request.

She took another bite, then another. Each one seemed harder than the last. Her breathing was shallow, and sweat had started to bead along her hairline. She kept eating until the king finally lifted his hand. “Stop.”

She froze instantly, the fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully, as if any sudden movement might set him off.

“Take it away,” the king said, his gaze still pinned on her. “And tell the kitchen head to send my food here instead. Now.”

Ethonian didn’t waste a second. She grabbed the tray with both hands, but they were shaking so violently that the plates clattered against each other. She didn’t bow, didn’t speak, she just turned and ran out of the room in a panic, the door shutting behind her.

Slowly turned my eyes back to the king, he was watching me now, his expression unreadable, like he was waiting to see what I would do next.

I swallowed hard and looked at him. “I hope you don’t have plans of eating in my room?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even though my nerves were still shot from what just happened with Ethonian.

He raised an eyebrow at me. “Do you want to starve to death if they don’t bring my food?” he said, his tone dry. “Because I know you don’t trust anyone in this palace right now. And you are right not to.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. He was right, and I hated that he was. Without another word, he bent down and helped me up from the floor. His grip was careful, avoiding my injured side, and he led me over to the bed. I sat down on the edge, and for a long moment, we just stared at each other. I couldn’t read his expression — it wasn’t anger, wasn’t softness either. It was something in between that made my chest feel tight.

A knock at the door broke the silence. “Enter,” the king said without taking his eyes off me.

The door opened and an elderly woman stepped in, pushing a trolley filled with covered dishes. The smell of real food hit me immediately, and my stomach twisted, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until that second. She bowed deeply to the king, then wheeled the trolley over and set it in front of us before stepping back with her head lowered.

The king glanced at her. “Henceforth, Ashley’s meals will be served and brought by you alone,” he said. “No one else touches her food. Understood?”

The woman nodded once, firmly. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She bowed again and left the room immediately, closing the door quietly behind her.

I waited until her footsteps faded before speaking. “Do you trust her?” I asked, watching his face.

“With my life,” he answered without hesitation. “She has been feeding me for decades. She would never think of poisoning you, because she knows if she did, she would lose her life. Slowly.”

The way he said it made me shiver. He reached for the trolley and lifted two of the silver covers. He served me a normal meal — roasted meat, vegetables, bread, all of it warm and untouched. Then he uncovered his own plate. Raw meat. Thick, bloody cuts that were barely seared. He picked up a piece with his fingers and ate it without flinching.

“Eat,” he said, nodding toward my plate. “You need to eat well because of the baby.”

I stared at him. Why was he being like this? One minute he was threatening to rip people’s heads off for touching me, the next he was making sure I ate, reminding me about my baby — a baby he already had plans for. Plans I didn’t want to think about. I didn’t understand him. Every time I thought I had him figured out, he did something that made me question everything. No wonder they called him abnormal. He was, in every way.

I opened my mouth, about to ask him why he was showing care toward a pup he intended to use, when his eyes suddenly flashed. That faint, distant look people got when they were being mind-linked. His whole body went rigid.

He stood up so abruptly the chair scraped against the floor. “I have to go. Right away,” he said, his voice already shifting back into that cold, commanding tone.

And then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a rush of air, leaving me alone with a trolley full of food, a hundred unanswered questions, and the lingering scent of blood in the air.