[Lior's POV—Later—The Dining Hall]
The doors opened without ceremony.
Warmth spilled out first—thick, heavy, almost suffocating after the corridors. Firelight glowed against stone walls carved with old sigils, shadows bending and stretching across vaulted ceilings like things that preferred not to be seen.
The smell hit me next.
Bread, meat, and something rich and simmering. My stomach betrayed me immediately, twisting hard enough to make me gasp. I swallowed and pressed my lips together, humiliated by how fast my body reacted.
Alaric set me down only when we crossed the threshold.
My feet touched stone again—still cold, but not as biting—and I swayed slightly before catching myself. He did not offer balance. He didn't need to. If I fell, it would be my fault.
"Sit," he said.
Not there. Not please.
Just sit.
A long table stretched through the hall, dark wood scarred by age and use. At its center, a single place had been set. One chair.
Only one.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat before obeying.
Servants appeared as if summoned by the sound of his voice alone. They moved silently, eyes downcast, efficient. No one looked at me—not directly—but I felt their awareness like pressure on my skin.
Food was placed before me.
Too much of it.
Steam curled upward from a bowl of thick stew, dark and fragrant. Fresh bread rested beside it, torn open slightly, butter melting into its surface. A cup of something warm—broth or tea—was set close enough that my fingers brushed it accidentally.
The heat made me flinch.
Alaric did not sit; he remained standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, watching me with the same expression one might use to observe an unfamiliar animal.
"Eat," he said.
I stared at the bowl.
Steam curled lazily upward, warm and fragrant, mocking the way my hands hovered midair—trembling, uncertain. Part of me waited for it. A condition. A rule. A hidden cost that would snap shut the moment I touched the spoon.
But the louder truth was simpler.
I was starving.
'Who knows when I'll be allowed to eat again,' I thought bleakly. 'It's better to live every minute like it's my last.'
I scooped a spoonful of rice and brought it to my mouth.
The hall was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet you find in horror stories right before something jumps out screaming—
SLAM—! THUD—!
"ALARIC MORVAEL!!!"
I flinched so violently I nearly choked on the rice.
"—KHK—!"
I slapped my chest hard, coughing, eyes watering as footsteps thundered past me. A woman with long, wild, furious black hair stormed across the hall like a force of nature and—YANK—!
She grabbed Alaric by the collar and hauled him down to her eye level. I gulped the rice, grabbed the cup, and drank like my life depended on it—because it very well might.
When I dared to look again, I saw her clearly.
She wasn't old, not really. Sharp eyes, proud posture, and features that mirrored Alaric's so closely it was almost unsettling. She hissed, voice vibrating with pure rage.
"YOU—YOU—! I heard you decided to shame our house by marrying some stupid man?!"
Silence, absolute. The kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. I broke out in a cold sweat so fast I was fairly certain a river could form beneath my chair.
'That stupid man is me,' my mind supplied helpfully.
I froze, didn't chew, and didn't swallow.
'Please,' I prayed silently, 'can she explode after I finish eating? I haven't even touched the meat—'
Alaric sighed.
Actually sighed.
The sound of a man who had already lived through this argument several times in his head.
"Could you let go of my collar?" he said flatly. "I cannot take you seriously when you're—"
"DO YOU THINK THAT'S IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW?!"
The volume alone made me flinch again. He sighed harder this time.
"Mother," he said calmly, "I was about to come speak to you."
My brain short-circuited.
Mother?
Oh.
That explains the audacity.
She narrowed her eyes. "Then speak. How dare you marry a man? Why a Man? Have all the women in this world died? And where is this—this stupid man?"
I sat perfectly still, rigid. Attempting, with every fiber of my being, to become a decorative vase. Unfortunately, vases do not sweat.
Alaric didn't hesitate.
"I fell in love."
The spoon slipped from my fingers and clattered softly against the bowl. My jaw nearly hit the table.
…What.
W. T. F.
Did—did this monster—this demon-worshipping tyrant—just say he fell in love? Who lies like that openly?!
Even she froze.
"What…?" his mother said, blinking.
Then Alaric turned his head and looked directly at me.
"And that stupid man," he said evenly, "is sitting right over there."
Oh.
Oh no.
SHIT. THE. FUCK.
Her head snapped toward me. Her stare was intense. Too intense, like a possessed doll in a horror film that had just found its next victim. I sat there, frozen, sweating from head to toe, hands clenched painfully around my knees.
'Smile,' my mind suggested weakly.
I did not smile.
I think I forgot how.
The woman took one slow step toward me, then another, and in that moment, I understood something far more terrifying than demons, monsters, or Morvael Castle itself.
I had to survive being sold.I had to survive being kidnapped.I had to survive being claimed by a monster.
But I was not at all prepared to survive his mother.
SLAM—!
Her palm struck the table so hard the dishes rattled violently. The sound cracked through the hall like a gunshot.
"You," she snarled, her glare pinning me in place. "How dare you seduce my son?"
I flinched.
"Aren't you ashamed?" she continued, voice sharp as broken glass. "Being a man, how dare you seduce another man? How dare—"
I trembled, my gaze fixed stubbornly on the table, hands clenched so tightly my fingers ached. I couldn't look at her. I didn't trust myself not to crumble if I did.
Then Alaric spoke.
"He didn't fall in love with me." Her tirade cut off mid-breath as he said calmly, "Only I did, and...I kidnapped him."
Silence.
Thick and suffocating.
Her eyes widened.
"W-what?" she stammered. "You… kidnapped him?"
'Yes,' I wanted to say. 'Congratulations. The real victim is sitting right here, trying not to faint.'
But my mouth refused to work. I stayed frozen, like prey playing dead. Her expression twisted—shock, fury, and something wounded and dangerous flickering beneath it.
Then she hissed, every word bitten off with surgical precision, "In. My. Chamber. Right. Now."
She turned sharply and stormed out, skirts snapping behind her like a war banner. Alaric watched her go, shoulders stiffening only after she disappeared down the hall.
He sighed, not frustrated, but tired.
Then he turned to me.
"After you finish eating," he said evenly, stepping closer, "I want you back in your chamber."
I nodded immediately, reflexively, automatically.
"…Yes, sir," I whispered.
He stared at me for a long second. Too long. My skin prickled under his gaze. Then he turned to leave.
My shoulders loosened—until he stopped. I stiffened again as he closed the distance, heart slamming painfully against my ribs.
He crouched.
Silently.
Then—without a word—he removed his shoes and placed them carefully beneath my feet.
"Don't walk barefoot," he said quietly.
I looked down, then up at him as he was already turning away. The doors closed behind him, and only then—only then—did I realize I'd been holding my breath.
I exhaled shakily, shoulders collapsing inward as the tension finally drained from my body. My stomach twisted violently—not just from hunger, but from everything else tangled inside me.
I looked down at the food.
And then—I ate, not politely, not slowly, not like a guest. I ate like a starving dog in the street who didn't know when the next handout would come.
The spoon shook as I shoveled food into my mouth, barely chewing, afraid that if I slowed down someone would take it away. My throat burned as I swallowed too fast, chest hitching with half-sobs I refused to let out.
Tears blurred my vision and dropped silently into the bowl.
I didn't wipe them away.
I didn't care.
The food was hot, rich, and overwhelming—and it hurt. It hurt to eat after being empty for so long. My stomach cramped, protesting, but I forced myself to keep going.
Eat now. Survive now.
My hands trembled as I tore bread apart, stuffing it into my mouth like proof that I still existed. Butter smeared my fingers. Broth sloshed dangerously as I drank too quickly and choked, coughing softly before forcing more down.
No one stopped me.
No one watched.
I ate because I didn't know when I would be allowed to again.
Because I didn't know what his mother would decide, because I didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
All I knew was this: Whatever was coming next—I would need strength and endurance. So I ate, even when it hurt.