Chapter 3: The Viper's Banquet

Nikos froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The King’s breath was a warm, steady pressure against the sensitive skin of his throat, and the word 'fond' felt less like a compliment and more like a death sentence. For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the only sound the crackle of the hearth and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of Nikos’s own blood in his ears. Andreas let go of his wrist, the heat of the King’s palm lingering on his skin as if branded there.

"Finish," Andreas commanded, his voice returning to that low, tectonic rumble. "Then get some sleep. Tomorrow, the court celebrates the unification. You will be there to witness the new era you helped usher in with your family’s silence."

The dismissal was abrupt, leaving Nikos to fumble with the remaining buttons with trembling fingers. He didn't look back as he retreated to the small, cold servant’s alcove he had been assigned. He spent the night staring at the stone ceiling, the King’s observation about his scent looping in his mind. He wasn't just a servant; he was a specimen under a microscope.

Morning brought no relief. Eleni Markos arrived before the sun had fully cleared the horizon, two other servants in tow. They didn't bring the rough wool of a footman’s uniform. Instead, they draped a shimmering length of cerulean silk over the chair. It was thin—dangerously thin—designed to cling to every line of the body, with a deep, draped neckline that left most of his chest exposed and sleeves that fastened with gold chains at the wrists.

"Put it on," Eleni said, her face a mask of professional indifference. "The King wants his prize looking the part. Don't even try to catch an attitude, Nikos. Today is going to be a lot, and if you trip, you're the one who’s going to get bodied."

Nikos looked at the silk, a bitter taste rising in his throat. "This isn't a uniform. This is a costume. He’s trying to make me a joke."

"He’s making you a statement," Eleni corrected sharply. "Now move. The Great Hall is already filling up with every high-clout vulture in the kingdom. You’re the main event."

By the time Nikos was led into the Great Hall, the feast was in full swing. The atmosphere was a mosh pit of high-society excess. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, exotic fruits, and bottomless carafes of vintage wine. The air was thick with the smell of charred fat and the sharp, floral notes of expensive perfume. As Nikos moved through the aisles, silver tray in hand, the music—a frantic, modern orchestral blend—seemed to pulse in time with the mocking whispers that followed him.

"Is that actually him?" a young noblewoman whispered, not bothering to hide her smirk. "The Stavros heir? He looks absolutely cooked."

"Major L for the bloodline," her companion replied, eyeing Nikos’s revealing silks with a predatory glint. "But you can't deny the King’s got taste. He looks better in chains than he ever did in a suit."

Nikos kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his knuckles white as he gripped the wine decanter. He felt like a ghost haunting his own life. These were people he had gone to school with, people who had begged for invites to his father’s galas. Now, he was just the help, a living trophy of their new King’s conquest.

"Watch it, servant," a voice hissed. Nikos looked up to see Dimitri Kalos leaning back in his chair, a glass of dark red wine held loosely in his hand. Dimitri was the son of one of the families that had defected to Andreas’s side early. He was leaning into the 'new money' aesthetic, draped in heavy furs and gold, looking every bit the smug victor.

"My bad, Lord Kalos," Nikos muttered, his voice flat. He stepped forward to refill Dimitri’s glass, but the man caught the rim of the decanter with his thumb, stopping the pour.

"You’re looking real mid today, Stavros," Dimitri said, his voice low enough that only Nikos could hear. He leaned in, his breath smelling of fermented grapes and malice. "But I get it. Andreas is doing the most to keep you under his thumb. It’s a lot, isn't it? Being the King’s favorite little pet?"

Nikos didn't flinch. "I’m just here to serve the wine, Dimitri. Don't overthink it."

"Oh, I’m thinking just enough," Dimitri countered, a sharp, calculating look entering his eyes. "Look, let’s be real. Andreas is a beast. He’s going to break you eventually, and when he’s bored, you’re straight-up deleted. I can offer you a different path. A little info on the King’s private schedule, a few names of who’s visiting the West Wing... and I can make sure you have a way out of this palace before the year is up. No cap, Nikos. I can protect you."

Nikos felt a surge of cold fury. Dimitri didn't want to help; he wanted his own leverage against the crown. He was just another scavenger picking at the bones of the Stavros name. "You think I’d trust you? You’re tripping if you think I’m that desperate."

"Give it time," Dimitri smirked, letting go of the decanter. "When the King starts getting bored of that pretty face, you’ll be begging for a lifeline."

Nikos moved to pull away, but the crowd suddenly parted. A heavy, suffocating silence swept through the hall as Andreas approached. The King looked regal and terrifying in a black military tunic, his presence commanding the room with effortless gravity. His eyes locked onto Nikos and Dimitri, his expression darkening into something jagged and dangerous.

"Is there a problem here, Lord Kalos?" Andreas asked, his voice a low, warning vibration.

Dimitri stood up quickly, his smugness replaced by a practiced, submissive grin. "Not at all, Your Majesty. Just commenting on the... excellent service. Your new acquisition is quite efficient."

Andreas didn't look at Dimitri. His eyes remained fixed on Nikos, tracing the way the blue silk clung to his chest, noting the proximity of Dimitri’s hand to Nikos’s arm. The jealousy in the room was a physical weight, thick and suffocating.

"Is that so?" Andreas said softly. He stepped into Nikos’s personal space, the sheer size of him making Nikos feel small and fragile. "He’s more than efficient, Dimitri. He’s essential. But perhaps he’s been a bit too social this evening. He’s forgotten his place."

Before Nikos could react, Andreas reached out and took a full glass of deep purple wine from a passing tray. With a slow, deliberate movement, he tilted his hand.

The wine poured out in a steady stream, splashing directly onto the center of Nikos’s cerulean silk tunic. The cold liquid soaked through the thin fabric instantly, staining the pale blue a dark, bruised violet and making the silk transparent, clinging to the skin of Nikos’s chest and stomach in a way that left nothing to the imagination.

The hall gasped, followed by a wave of cruel, stifled laughter. Nikos stood frozen, the cold wine dripping down his skin, his face burning with a shame so hot it felt like a physical fever. He looked up at Andreas, his eyes stinging with unshed tears of rage.

Andreas didn't look away. He looked down at the mess he’d made, his eyes dark with a possessive, territorial heat. He leaned in close to Nikos’s ear, his voice a lethal whisper that carried to those closest to them.

"You’re messy, Nikos. Look at what you’ve done to your fine clothes." Andreas pulled a silk kerchief from his pocket and dropped it onto the floor at Nikos’s feet. "Clean it up. Right here. Let everyone see how well you serve your King."