Chapter 5 - Aria

The expression on the coordinator’s face—a mix of shameful apologies and a certain fear—only increases the suffocating feeling in my chest. His hunched posture before Queen Seraphina and King Caelum, as if he were trying to atone for a grave mistake, makes me feel small, insignificant, like an insect about to be crushed. His words, as soft as they are desperate, seem to echo through the hall, each one heavier than the last, and the sense that I am being watched by everyone becomes unbearable. The weight of silent judgment presses down on my shoulders, a pressure that threatens to crush me right there.

As I replay every moment in my mind, every detail of what I did, the sounds of laughter and conversation around me turn into a distant hum, as if I’m submerged in an ocean of uncertainties. The walls of the grand hall seem to close in on me, transforming what was once a majestic space into something oppressive.

The gazes of the guests become invisible barbs piercing my skin, even though most of them aren’t paying attention to me. Shame eats away at me from within, making me wish to disappear, evaporate, be swallowed by any dark corner of the hall where the lamplight couldn’t find me. I make a swift, silent retreat to the kitchen, Malik following closely behind.

When we finally cross into the kitchen, the warmer air, filled with the scent of spices and freshly prepared foods, greets me, bringing a brief relief. But the despair quickly overtakes me again. Unable to help it, words spill out in a rush, pleading for understanding, for a chance to redeem myself. My voice trembles, laced with fear, as my eyes seek Malik’s, hoping to find some glimmer of mercy.

“I beg you, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I did wrong! Please don’t take it out of my pay—I desperately need the money!” I say, my voice full of desperation.

He firmly places his hands on my shoulders, a simple gesture, yet one that holds authority and calm. His touch feels like an anchor, grounding me, keeping me from being swept away by the tide of panic that threatens to drown me. His words, though stern, carry an unexpected comfort.

“This is your first warning; don’t worry. The queen must be in a foul mood and needed someone to blame. Go serve the other guests, and stay far, very far from the king and queen’s table, understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you so much! I won’t disappoint you, I promise!” I respond, filled with gratitude and anxiety.

I set down the tray, which now feels twice as heavy, and quickly pick up another with lighter canapés, as if that could somehow ease the burden in my heart. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and once again, I straighten my posture. 

I focus my mind on the task at hand—I have to make it through this night without another incident. The fear of being dismissed, of losing the livelihood I provide for Thorne and Elowen, my two little treasures, outweighs any wounded pride. I cannot fail—not for myself, but for them.

I pass through the kitchen door and stride down the wide corridor connecting to the hall, tray in hand. Just a few steps before reentering the hall, a large figure appears around the corner, and I collide head-on with the person. I fall to the floor along with the tray of canapés. The impact is strong, and I feel dizzy for a few moments.

  When I lift my eyes to see if I’ve bumped into another waiter or guest, I’m shocked to find King Caelum himself standing before me. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest as I take in his imposing presence towering above me.

His expression is severe, as if every muscle in his face were chiseled from stone, his lips pressed into a hard line, and his green eyes, so intense they seem to pierce my very soul, glaring at me with a silent fury.

I notice, with a sickening knot in my stomach, that some of the fallen canapés have stained his dark trousers with a thick white sauce—a sight that only amplifies the terror consuming me. The marble floor beneath me feels cold and unyielding, and the reality of what I’ve done settles in my mind like a stone sinking to the bottom of a well.

Still on the floor, the slippery tray clutched in my trembling hands, I try desperately to gather my thoughts, but it’s like trying to hold water in my palms—everything slips away. Why me, why of all people? The questions swirl through my mind, but there are no answers. All I can feel is the cold fear that envelops me like a shroud, constricting my chest with the force of an invisible chain.

I remain frozen for precious moments, paralyzed by shock, before my instincts finally take over and I begin awkwardly picking up the mess, my fingers making clumsy attempts to clean the sauce from the king’s trousers.

“Forgive me, Majesty. I didn’t see where I was walking and…” I stammer, my voice trembling.

My voice is weak, barely a whisper, and only one desperate thought echoes through my mind: Damn it, damn it, damn it! I’m doomed. I’ll be dismissed, banished from the castle. Or worse, he might send me to prison—a dark, cold place where my life will be ruined over a stained pair of trousers.

I kneel on the floor, hands smeared with sauce, gathering the canapés one by one; with each movement, I feel smaller, more insignificant. The pain in my knees pressing against the marble seems distant, almost irrelevant, compared to the fear growing inside me like an uncontrollable fire. I can’t bring myself to look at him again. I can’t. The image of his fury is burned into my mind, and I am ready to accept whatever sentence awaits me, knowing there is no forgiveness for someone like me—a mere servant who dared to make such a mistake before a king.

“You…creature…” The deep, resonant sound of King Caelum’s voice makes every muscle in my body tense in pure terror. The anger in his words is palpable, each syllable carrying the weight of a death sentence. Yet, he stops mid-sentence, and the sudden silence surprises me as much as the sound of his voice had. For a moment, I remain motionless, my heart pounding so fast it feels like it might burst.

Out of reflex, my eyes slowly rise, despite the fear rooting me to the ground. I need to understand, to know why he stopped. When our eyes meet, what I see shocks me as much as the most dreadful nightmare. King Caelum’s stern, scowling expression, which minutes earlier seemed carved from stone, is now transformed. He looks bewildered, stunned, as though he’s seen something that shouldn’t be there.

He stares at me, catatonic, his green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that leaves me breathless, as if there’s something on my face, something that has rendered him speechless.

At this moment of embarrassment and tension, my heart still racing, I allow myself a longer look at his face. With each detail I take in, my mind momentarily distracts itself from the terror of the situation. If it weren’t for all this, I might simply sigh in awe at Caelum’s imposing beauty. The contours of his face, so finely sculpted, the firmness of his jaw, the green eyes that seem to have been painted by the hand of a divine artist—everything about him exudes an aura of power and royalty that is almost impossible to ignore.

“You…” Caelum says, but this time his voice is a whisper, almost inaudible, but enough to send a chill down my spine. There’s something in his tone, something that makes me feel a cold sensation at the base of my spine, as though a frigid wind has swept through the hall. His eyes remain fixed on me, but the rage that once burned in them has gone. In its place is something different, something I can’t quite identify. For a brief moment, Caelum’s gaze is as if he’s seeing a ghost, or an old memory that has come back to haunt him.