The steam from the bath thickened the air, curling into the corners of the chamber and clinging to my skin like a second, suffocating layer. I knelt by the marble basin, careful to keep my fingers steady as I adjusted the taps. The water shimmered with faint magic, glowing softly as it reached the perfect temperature, the scent of crushed herbs wafting up from beneath the surface—some luxurious blend of lavender and something darker. Like earth after rain. Like old blood.
Behind me, the Prince watched.
I could feel his gaze, heavy and deliberate, lingering far too long. It took everything in me not to flinch, not to tense, not to snap around and throw the boiling water in his face. But I didn't. Because this was the game. This was the part where I pretended.
"You're very quiet," he said at last, his voice low and thoughtful. "Most girls would be trembling by now. Or simpering."
I didn't respond. Not because I didn't want to, but because I knew whatever I said would only serve to amuse him. And that felt worse than silence. I checked the water once more. Perfect. I wiped my hands on the towel folded at my side and stood, keeping my eyes respectfully low.
"Your bath is ready, my lord," I said.
"So it is."
He didn't move.
I stood still, waiting for a dismissal. A command. Something. Instead, he stepped closer. My breath hitched without permission, caught somewhere between instinct and revulsion.
"You don't smell like the other servants," he murmured, as if the observation mattered. As if it were something to be dissected.
I said nothing. What was there to say?
He circled me slowly again, and I felt the familiar prickle at the base of my neck—the predator's orbit. I wanted to run. To scream. To punch him so hard that smug expression shattered across the marble floor.
But I remained still. Because that was survival.
"I could make you stay while I bathe," he said. "Strip you of your pride a layer at a time until all that's left is the truth."
My fingers curled tightly into my skirts. Still, I didn't move. Didn't speak. Because if I did, he would win.
A long moment passed. Then he laughed—a soft, bitter thing.
"But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?" he murmured. "You'd rather suffer in silence than break out loud."
Finally, he stepped past me. "Go," he said. "Wait in the corner until I'm finished. You'll clean up afterward."
I moved without a word, slipping into the far corner of the room, facing the stone wall. It was cool against my back. Solid. Real. I listened to the sound of water shifting as he stepped into the bath. The gentle slosh. The faint hiss of steam. And still, my thoughts spun like blades.
What does he want from me?
He was too clever to be taunting me out of boredom. Too calculating to waste time on games unless he thought he would gain something from them.
He wanted to see me squirm. Wanted to see me slip. He knew I was hiding something. But he didn't know what. Yet.
So I held the silence like a shield, clung to it like armor. I let it settle between us until the sound of the water was the only thing anchoring the moment.
Minutes dragged. I counted breaths.
When I heard him shift from the bath, I didn't look. A towel snapped. Feet padded softly over marble. Then his voice again, closer this time. "Tell me something," he said.
I turned, slowly. He stood before me, dressed in a loose tunic of midnight blue that clung to his still-damp skin. His black hair clung to his temples, the tips brushing his shoulder blades. His eyes locked on mine. "If I gave you a dagger right now," he said softly, "would you try to kill me?"
My breath caught. My mouth opened. Closed.
He smiled. "Ah," he whispered, "there it is. That little flicker. Rage wrapped in velvet. I've been waiting to see it again."
I said nothing. But my silence spoke volumes.
He stepped even closer, and my heart pounded so hard I thought he might hear it. "You think yourself dangerous," he said. "But you're not. Not yet. Not while you still think silence will save you." He leaned in, his voice a breath against my ear. "I will find your secrets, little maid. One by one. And when I do... you'll wish you'd chosen to be broken early." Then he stepped back, his expression unreadable again. "Clean the floor. Then return to your quarters. You start earlier tomorrow."
I bowed my head. "Yes, my lord."
He left without another word.
And I let myself breathe. Not because I was safe. But because I knew now that he saw me. Not just a servant. Not just a girl. A threat. And I would become one.
I knelt by the marble, scrubbing at the floor with trembling hands. But inside? Inside, I was fire. And fire waits for no king.