The door finally opened, and he came in. I saw his shadow looming forward as he walked slowly into the room. His movements were deliberate, his presence heavy, casting a dark cloud over everyone present. All heads were down, but mine was even lower, almost as if I could hide from him. I froze where I stood, paralyzed by the fear of what his face might look like.
My thoughts ran wild. I didn't know exactly what to expect, but I was certain it wouldn't be anything pleasant. Something off—perhaps something terrifying.
I tried so hard to keep my head down as the others did, forcing my chin to stay glued to my chest. Yet, curiosity tugged at me, urging me to lift my eyes, to take even the smallest glance. My instincts screamed against it, though—the fear of the king, of his state, of his reputation, held me in place. The weight of his authority pressed on me, making me feel like I was suffocating under it.
Even with my head bowed, I could still catch glimpses of him as he moved, a figure carved out of shadow, walking slowly toward the grand chair at the center of the room. It wasn't just a chair—it was a throne, a symbol of his power and status. The table before him was a perfect reflection of his authority. It was made from rich, dark mahogany wood, polished to a mirror-like sheen that caught the dim light of the room. The legs were intricately carved with golden embellishments, curving in patterns that seemed almost regal, like vines wrapping around a royal scepter. The edges of the table gleamed faintly, bordered in gold that glittered like treasure hidden in the shadows.
The chair was no less impressive. It stood tall, its back rising high above the king's head, made from the same dark wood as the table. Deep red velvet cushioned the seat, embroidered with gold threads that wove intricate designs—a royal crest here, a symbol of power there. This was no ordinary seat; it was a throne for a ruler whose presence commanded silence and fear.
The silence that followed his entrance was suffocating. The air grew thick with tension, so much so that I could feel it pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. There was no doubt in my mind that the king was watching us, just as Marcus had earlier. But where Marcus's gaze had felt heavy and judgmental, the king's eyes seemed even more dangerous—like he could see everything, even the thoughts we tried to hide. I could sense everyone around me shifting slightly, adjusting themselves, trying to be flawless, trying to make sure that not a single thing was out of place. If the king noticed anything, it would be the end of us.
Tension rippled through the room. It hung in the air like a storm waiting to break, and I felt my heart pounding against my ribs, a frantic beat that matched my rising panic.
"Proceed," a calm, cool voice ordered.
It took me a moment to realize it had come from the king. The voice was so measured, so composed, that it startled me. It wasn't at all what I expected. Though Marcus was standing nearby, he could never have spoken with such chilling composure. The rumors I'd heard about the king described him as terrifying, always on the verge of violence. But this voice was almost gentle, and that made it even more unnerving.
At his command, the other servants began placing the various dishes they carried on the table before the king. Each servant moved in practiced precision, setting down their trays one after the other before returning to their positions. I watched from the corner of my eye, trying to time my glance when the chaos of the servants' movements might offer me cover. The randomness of their steps seemed to offer an opportunity, and I raised my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse.
But the moment was fleeting. The moving bodies of the servants blocked my view, and as I struggled to see through the flurry of activity, my eyes accidentally locked with Marcus's. His expression was one of fury, and I quickly looked down, my heart freezing in my chest. I wasn't upset with him this time, I understood his anger. I shouldn't have done that. Not here, not now, not with the king watching.
Soon, the room settled back into order. The flurry of movement ceased, and stillness returned. There was nothing but silence, broken only by the sound of the king eating. His fork clinked against the plates as he selected food from the various dishes. Each sound seemed magnified in the quiet room, reminding us of his presence, his control over everything.
I was beginning to feel weary. My neck ached from keeping my head down, and my legs throbbed from standing still for so long. The others seemed comfortable, their readiness for service evident in their stillness. But I was losing my posture, struggling to hold myself upright.
"I'm tired," I screamed silently in my head, shifting my weight slightly in an attempt to relieve the pain in my legs. But in my exhaustion, I miscalculated. My foot came down harder than I intended, and the thud echoed through the room like a clap of thunder.
I froze, my heart sinking in fear. My blood ran cold as all eyes turned toward me. I wanted to disappear, to sink into the floor and never be seen again. In that moment, I felt utterly exposed, vulnerable under the weight of so many stares. Quickly, I corrected my stance, snapping my eyes shut and bowing my head even lower, as if that would somehow erase the mistake.
The seconds stretched into eternity as I stood there, waiting, praying that the king wouldn't take notice of me. After what felt like an eternity, I sensed that the eyes had finally moved away from me. I let out a soft breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Relief washed over me, but I remained still, too afraid to move.
I was still recovering from my near-disaster when the king's voice broke the silence once again.
"What's her name?"
"Mara," Marcus answered quickly.
My stomach dropped at the sound of my name. The king had noticed me. He knew I was here. My head spun with panic. What would have happened if I hadn't been? Why did he need to know my name? Was this a punishment?
When the king finished eating, he gave a signal, and the servants swiftly cleared the table. I remained where I stood, still rooted to the spot. I hadn't brought anything to the table, so there was nothing for me to clear. I felt like an outsider, watching from a distance as the others moved with practiced grace.
As they returned to their positions, I noticed something peculiar. Their heads were no longer bowed as low as before. It was subtle, but I saw it. Even though I noticed, I kept my own head bowed low. I didn't want to risk making another mistake, not after what had just happened.
But then, I felt a gentle nudge from the person standing beside me. It was a small, barely noticeable push, but it sent a clear message. They wanted me to lift my head. Hesitant, I slowly raised my eyes.
Finally, I saw him clearly—the king.
He was a young man, probably in his late twenties. His silver hair caught the dim light, shimmering with an almost ethereal glow. It was so pale that it looked nearly white, framing his sharp features like strands of moonlight. His skin was light, smooth, but there was an unmistakable weariness in his appearance. Though he was sitting, it was clear from his build that he was tall, his posture regal and composed.
But it was his eyes that captured me. His brown eyes, striking and intense, bore into me with a quiet strength. Yet there was something else beneath the surface—a shadow, a hint of exhaustion. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes, like bruises left by sleepless nights. They made him look almost haunted, like someone who had not rested in days, someone who carried the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders.
He was handsome, yes, but there was a sadness to him, a longing that made me pity him.
He looked like a man who wasn't hungry for food, but for peace, for comfort, for something he could never quite grasp.
As he looked at us all, he gave a slight bow of his head, a gesture of acknowledgment. We all returned the bow, our movements synchronized, each of us feeling the weight of his gaze.
The procession to leave began just as it had when we entered. One by one, the servants filed out of the room in perfect formation. I waited patiently, knowing I was the last in line. My heart pounded, eager to escape the tension of the room.
Just as I was about to turn and join the others, ready to leave the king's presence, I heard his voice once again.
"You."
The word froze me in place, my body locking up in shock. The relief I'd felt just moments before vanished, replaced by a cold dread.
"Wait," he added, his voice calm but commanding.