Playing With Fire

"I had to make sure you weren't an assassin," he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he spoke in Götter. "I needed to see for myself."

Her eyes widened in shock. "Y-You went inside my head?" she stammered, catching her off guard.

He didn't respond immediately, but his silence spoke volumes.

"What did you see?" she pressed, her voice tinged with desperation. 

The thought that he might have glimpsed fragments of her past filled her with both fear and a strange, yearning hope. She leaned forward slightly, her heart pounding as she awaited his reply.

After a long pause, he finally spoke, tone as detached as ever. "Nothing."

Her breath hitched as confusion flooded her mind.

"It was as if you've never lived," he added flatly, the weight of his words were enough to shatter her. "But it's not something that cannot be fixed."

Her heart jolted at his final remark, a flicker of hope breaking through her. "You know how I can get my memories back?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I might know someone who can help you," he replied, leaning back in his chair as though this revelation was of little consequence.

Her eyes lit up with urgency. "Where can I find that person?" she pressed.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You won't," he said simply. "Not unless she looks for you."

His response only fueled her frustration. Of course, it wouldn't be easy. He seemed like the type of man who never gave anything away for free—not unless he got something in return.

She knew asking for his help was like stepping into a trap, one that might ultimately lead to her downfall. But she was desperate. Lost and directionless, she had no other options.

Swallowing her pride, she forced herself to speak. "Can you help me?"

His smirk deepened, amusement flickering in his golden eyes. "I thought you wouldn't ask," he said smoothly, his tone laced with a faint mockery, as though her desperation was a source of entertainment for him. "I can help you—but on one condition."

Before she could reply, her stomach betrayed her, letting out an embarrassingly loud growl that echoed in the quiet room. She froze, mortified, her face flushing crimson. "I—I'm sorry," she stammered, unable to meet his gaze.

The king raised a single eyebrow, but there was no trace of ridicule in his expression. Instead, he regarded her with a cool indifference. "That couldn't be helped," he said flatly. "Considering how much energy you lost last night."

His words sent a confusing warmth rushing to her cheeks. She didn't understand why she felt so flustered. This was the same man who had nearly killed her less than a day ago, yet here he was, calm and composed, as though none of it had ever happened. His collected demeanor now felt like an entirely different person from the ruthless figure she had encountered the night before.

He reached for the communication device, speaking into it. "Bring her breakfast to my chamber," he ordered curtly before setting it aside.

Barely five minutes later, the door opened, and a man entered. His silver hair caught the light, giving him an almost ethereal appearance, but it was his warm and composed demeanor that immediately stood out.

"Good morning, my lady," he greeted politely. "My name is Selvaris Wolfhart, the Chamberlain of this manor." He moved gracefully as he carried a tray of food to the table and set it down. "I'll be the one serving your breakfast."

Her eyes widened at the sight of the meal. The tray was laden with an array of delicious dishes—warm bread, fresh fruits, creamy porridge, and steaming tea. Her mouth watered involuntarily, her stomach reminding her just how empty it was.

Yesterday, she had barely eaten a thing. Her discomfort with the maids made it impossible for her to relax. But now, the enticing aroma of the food is making it hard for her to resist.

Selvaris left after placing all the food on the table, but not after he told her to enjoy her meal.

"Eat first," the king's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Then we'll discuss afterward."

She glanced toward him. He hadn't moved from his spot. His attention still fixed on the documents before him, his pen gliding effortlessly across the parchment. 

Hesitating for only a moment, she turned her gaze back to the table, the enticing aroma of the food was impossible to ignore. Slowly, she moved toward it, sat down, and began to eat.

The first bite was hesitant, but the rich flavors quickly overwhelmed her caution. Hunger took over, and soon she was eating heartily, savoring every morsel as though it were the best meal she'd ever had. 

The room seemed to melt away as she focused solely on the food, the satisfying warmth of the meal easing the tension in her body.

But what she didn't notice was the pair of sharp, golden eyes watching her every move—intently, his gaze unwavering as she devoured the meal with unrestrained enthusiasm.

 ❛ ━━━━━━･❪ 🎕 ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

After finishing her breakfast, the conversation resumed, as she felt the air between them was quite heavy with unspoken tension.

The king leaned back slightly on his chair, his golden eyes sharp and unyielding as they fixed coldly on her. "I need something in return," he began, his tone as cutting as his gaze.

She felt a chill crawl down her spine. She swallowed hard before softly asking, "What is it?"

"Your ability to heal," he stated plainly, his voice devoid of emotion. "In exchange, I'll help you recover your memory."

She frowned at his strange request. "I don't think I can do what you're asking," she replied nervously, her voice slightly wavering. "I… I don't even know if I can use healing magic. I've never done it before… well, as far as I remember."

The king's golden eyes remained fixed on her, his expression as cold and indifferent as ever. "Of course, you can," he said matter-of-factly, his tone laced with an unsettling certainty. "It's in your blood."

Leaning forward slightly, he added with a cruel edge, "And let's not forget—you don't really have much of a choice. Either you do as I say, or you remain a slave prisoner forever here in Wolfstadt."

The weight of his words was merciless, each one cutting deeper than the last. The way he spoke, so calm and detached, made it clear that neither option would truly benefit her. It was a game, and no matter how she played, the odds were stacked firmly in his favor.

She didn't want to go back to that prison. The mere thought of it—the cold, damp walls, the suffocating silence, and the constant sense of danger—made her chest tighten. She knew she wouldn't survive there.

With a trembling sigh, her shoulders slumped, and unshed tears pooled in her eyes. Deep down, she knew the choice she was about to make might lead to regret, but she had no other option.

"Fine," she whispered after a long, agonizing pause.

"Atta girl," the king said with a smirk that dripped with mockery, his golden eyes glinting with satisfaction. "That wasn't so hard to say, was it?" His tone was casual, almost taunting, as though her surrender had been inevitable.

She ignored his condescension, clenching her fists to steady herself. Forcing herself to focus, she asked directly, "What do I need to do?"

The king straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves as he stood. He cast a final glance her way before delivering his answer with unnerving nonchalance.

"Well, to start," he said coolly, "you have to become my wife."

Before she could react, he turned and strode out of the room, his robes trailing behind him, leaving her stunned into silence.

It took her a full minute to process his words, the weight of what he'd just said sinking in like a stone in water. By the time she fully grasped it, the room was silent, and she was alone.