Hunger

"Your Grace, have you called for me?"

I step into the room, my hands trembling slightly, though my face remains composed. I can't help but wonder why he's summoned me again. Perhaps it's because I treated Elara badly—maybe now he wants to reward me for following his orders so diligently.

He rises from his desk, his presence commanding, and begins walking toward me. My anticipation grows.

"Don't you think Elara seemed strange today?" he asks, his tone calm but sharp, every word laced with an underlying weight.

"Yes!" I respond quickly, eager to prove my worth. "She didn't scream or throw anything when I slapped her across the cheek in her sleep."

The room falls silent for a moment, the air growing colder.

"You hit her?" His voice slices through the quiet like a blade, sending a chill down my spine.

"Y-yes, Your Grace—" I stammer, suddenly unsure of myself.

'Huh? Why is he looking at me like this?'

"I told you to treat her poorly," he says, his voice icy, "but I never told you to hit her."

His gaze pierces through me, and my confidence shatters. "I-I-I th-thought th-that it would m-make you h-happy, Your Grace!" I stammer, my voice trembling.

"Recard," he calls, his tone steady and calm, but the name feels like a death sentence.

I watch in confusion as the knight steps forward.

'Why?'

Panic sets in. I drop to my knees, tears streaming down my face. "I-I'm so sorry, Your Grace! P-please have mercy! I'll do anything you want—please, I beg you!"

My mind races as I sob uncontrollably. Why is he doing this? All this—for that ungrateful wretch Elara?

I'll do whatever you want! Please!" Tears blur my vision as I beg for my life.Why is he going to such lengths for someone like Elara?

She's nothing but-

The thought dies as the blade flashes.Pain is fleeting, and then there's nothing.My world ends in a spray of crimson, my head rolling to the cold floor. My final moments are filled with confusion.

Recard wipes the blood from his sword,his face expressionless despite the blood that stains his armor.

"Send a new maid to Elara," the Duke orders, turning back toward his desk as if nothing had happened.

"Yes, Your Grace."

---

After recalling that memory of Elara, a deep, gnawing hunger clawed at my stomach. It was almost unbearable, like an ache that refused to be ignored.

I let out a bitter laugh, my voice echoing in the cold, empty room. 'That bitch must be dead by now.'

No one would bring me food anymore. Not that it mattered much—Lina, the ever-loyal servant, always brought me spoiled scraps anyway. But even those pitiful leftovers were better than this emptiness gnawing at me now.

There was even a time when Lina promised she would bring me food. Her voice had been kind, sweet even, as though I could trust her. But after that, she didn't come for a whole week.

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't even cry.Trapped in a state of helplessness and despair. The hunger gnawed at me, the pain sharp and constant, but I was a side character.

Day after day, I sat there on the bed, alone in the darkness. I had no way of knowing whether it was day or night, no way of telling how much time had passed. The only thing that grounded me in reality was the small window. I would look outside, hoping for any sign of life, any glimpse of the world beyond my prison. But all I saw was emptiness.

I burst into the grand dining room, my steps unsteady but driven by desperation. The maids were busy serving the Young Duke his breakfast, their movements practiced and precise. At the head of the table, sitting like a figure of unyielding grace, was an angel-like snake—a perfect picture of calm and poise. The Young Duke, with his flawless appearance, seemed untouchable, almost divine in his stillness.

"Lady Elara, you can't come inside!" one of the maids exclaimed, rushing to block my path. Her voice was filled with authority, but it did little to stop me.

Before they could stop me, a calm voice rang out from the Duke.

"Let her inside."

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension as all eyes turned to me. Despite the exhaustion that clung to my every step, I stood tall, my eyes locking with his. I had no intention of backing down now.

I sat down in one of the chairs, my hands shaking as I reached for a leg of chicken from the tray. There was no plate in front of me, but I didn't care.

I tore into the meat, biting and chewing it like a beggar who hadn't eaten in a hundred years. The taste, rich and savory, filled my senses, but it also made my hunger feel even more unbearable.

'It's delicious,how long has it been since I've had something like this?'

The Young Duke's cold voice cut through the silence. "Are you an animal? Watching you eat like that is enough to make anyone sick."

This had never happened in my past life, so I wasn't sure how to respond. I wondered if I could even answer him.

But then, to my own surprise, the words escaped my lips.

"Then don't look."

'Huh? I said that?' I muttered, surprised at my own boldness.

He flinched, his face hardening with contempt. "You're impossible. Why can't you just disappear?"

But his words didn't matter. I didn't care what he said or what I had said. Right now, I had one purpose—to eat. That was all that mattered.

I noticed the maids staring at me, their judgmental gazes burning into my skin. But I ignored them. Their opinions didn't concern me.

"Why does Father want me to attend the royal ball with a piece of trash like you, someone who doesn't even know basic table manners?"

His voice was rising, dripping with disdain. He slammed his hand on the table, his golden eyes flashing.

"Answer me!"

But I didn't look at him. I didn't acknowledge his outburst. Just because I answered once didn't mean I could again. I focused on my food, chewing slowly, deliberately.

He grew angrier, his face darkening with rage, and without warning, he grabbed a tray of hot food and hurled it at me.

The scalding contents splattered across me, burning my skin and soaking my tattered dress.

'Bingo, I thought, biting back a twisted smile beneath the pain. I never thought my provoking would actually work.'

But I screamed anyway, the sound echoing through the grand dining room.

"Aaaaaaaaa!"

It was sharp, piercing, exactly what I needed it to be.

The scalding food seared my neck, shoulder, and left hand, the pain sharp and unbearable. My body gave out, and I fell from the chair, hitting the cold floor.

He looked panicked, his eyes wide as if he hadn't meant to go that far. But in my mind, I laughed bitterly. Perfect. Healing from this will take months, and now I won't have to go to the royal ball.

That memory of the ball hit me like a violent storm—the humiliation, the torment, the way they laughed as they treated me like nothing more than a toy to be used because of tyrian. The nobles' cruel words, their leering glances, their hands that roamed where they shouldn't have. They reveled in my suffering, enjoying every moment of my degradation.

And now, this pain—the raw, searing burn—was worth it. Because it meant I didn't have to face that hell again. I didn't have to endure their taunts, their harassment, their endless cruelty. Even if it meant months of recovery, this was a small price to pay to escape that nightmare.

I kept screaming, my voice raw with agony, but no one came to help me. I knew they wouldn't.

Suddenly, the Duke burst into the room. His sharp gaze swept over the scene—my burned, crumpled figure on the floor—and without hesitation, he raised his hand and

slapped Tyrian across the face.

"Father?"

Tyrian's voice wavered as he clutched his cheek, his wide, golden eyes filled with disbelief.

It shocked me too. How could the Duke,who had always cherished his son, strike him? It had never happened before.

Everything started to blur in front of my eyes, the searing pain from the burn spreading through my body like wildfire. My vision swam, and my ears rang, drowning out most of the noise around me. But one voice stood out—sharp, commanding:

"Seize him and lock him in the underground dungeon!"

'What?'

The words barely registered as I swayed, my body trembling. I struggled to stay conscious, my mind reeling from both the agony and confusion.

Then, I felt strong arms lifting me.

"Get the physician, now!" he shouted, his voice laced with urgency.

'No...Don't touch me... Not with the same hands that caused this.'