SERVE ME,

Lord Khyronis’s POV

Steam curled around me, heavy with the scent of lavender and rosemary. The servants’ fingers were light, their movements practiced and reverent, as if they were polishing an antique rather than washing a man.

Against my will, the knots in my shoulders began to unravel. I fought the sensation. Warmth was a lure; comfort was a silk-lined cage.

They stepped back, eyes lowered as they offered a silk robe. "Wear this," one whispered, her voice trembling a bit.

"We have your clothes ready. Please... do not fight us."

I followed them into the bedchamber, where the other two held up the garments they had chosen I guess.

I stared at the fabric. A navy blue shirt exploded with bright hibiscus blossoms, paired with matching shorts.

I slipped them on, the soft fabric feeling like a mockery against my skin.

"Master’s taste is... unique," one maid chirped, stifling a giggle.

"Tell me, dear god, don't you look quite cute?"

My jaw tightened. The word cute felt like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to silence her, but the head maid cut me off.

"Master Caelum is waiting. Follow us." The mansion was a monument to mortal greed. Polished marble reflected my ridiculous floral attire, and the painted eyes of long-dead kings seemed to sneer from the walls.

We reached a set of towering oak doors. They groaned open.

A feast lay spread across a table long enough to host a small army.

Steam rose from fresh bread; wine shimmered like cooling blood in crystal decanters.

At the head of the table sat the man who had purchased me.

His mask lay discarded on the lace tablecloth, revealing a face carved from pale marble and elegant cruelty. But it was his eyes that stopped the breath in my lungs.

They were not the dull, flat colors of humanity; they were twin shards of polished emerald, glowing with a primordial light that seemed to reach back to the dawn of the first sun.

As they locked onto mine, I felt a familiar shiver, not of fear, but of recognition. Those eyes didn't just look at me; they stripped away my floral disguise and weighed my very soul.

They possessed a depth that suggested he had watched empires rise and crumble into dust. The air around him hummed, heavy and thick with an aura that shouldn't belong to a creature of clay and breath.

It was a golden, predatory weight that pressed against my skin, demanding acknowledgment. No mortal should possess such magnificent radiance.

"I heard you didn't want to have breakfast with me," he said.

His voice was smooth as silk, yet it carried a chill that seemed to frost the air between us. It wasn't a question; it was an observation that demanded an answer.

I froze. My feet felt heavy against the polished floor as I continued to study him. Every instinct I possessed, every memory of the heavens, screamed that something was wrong.

This man was no mere mortal, yet here he sat, playing the part of a master. I remained silent. I refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply while I searched for the truth behind those emerald eyes.

The head maid’s face went pale. She stepped forward, her voice a frantic whisper in my ear. "Do not do this. Answer him! You do not want to see the Master angry."

I didn't move. My gaze stayed locked on the insolent man at the head of the table. Their master didn't lose his temper. He didn't even look at her.

He simply raised one hand, a slow and graceful motion that carried the weight of a king's decree. The room went silent instantly.

"Out," he commanded, his eyes never left mind. "All of you."

The maids didn't hesitate. They bowed low and hurried from the room, the heavy oak doors clicking shut behind them. The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace.

The lowly mortal finally looked at me, his emerald eyes glinting. He gestured to the spread of food, the steaming meats, the golden bread, and the crystal carafes.

"Before you take your seat," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr, "serve me. Then, you may serve yourself."

My blood boiled. I am a god, a ruler of the deep dark, yet he expected me to fetch his bread like a common footman.

He didn't just want a guest; he wanted a broken spirit.

I stood like a statue, the air crackling between us in a silent war of wills.

I was determined to outlast him, to stare him down until the sun died. But then, my own body betrayed me.

‘GGRRRRRRROWL.’

The sound was deep and hollow, echoing off the marble walls like the cry of a starving beast.

The silence shattered.

The mortal’s lips curled, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. He didn’t need to say a word.

The victory was written in his emerald eyes. He knew that no matter how high my pride soared, I was currently tethered to a stomach that demanded to be fed.

He held the leash, and my hunger had just handed him the collar.

Gritting my teeth, I moved. Every step toward the table felt like a descent into deeper humiliation.

I reached for the silver serving spoon, my knuckles white as I gripped the handle.

I scooped a tiny, insulting portion of eggs and a single thin slice of bread onto the mortal’s plate, barely enough to feed a bird.

Then, I turned to my own golden-rimmed plate. With a defiant flourish, I piled it high.

I took heaps of the roasted meat, several thick wedges of bread, and a mountain of fruit until the porcelain nearly groaned under the weight.

If I was to be a servant, I would be a well-fed one. I pulled out the chair and sat, the floral fabric of my shirt rustling as I prepared to eat, ignoring the lowly mortal gaze that watched my every move.

A soft, melodic chuckle escaped his throat, immediately.

"A god with a mortal appetite," he mused, tapping a long finger against the table. "And a petty streak to match."

He gestured to the tiny scrap of bread on his plate with a mock sigh. "Tell me, Khyronis. Do you plan to starve your master, or is this your way of telling me you don't know how to share?"

His smirk widened, showing a his perfect flash of white teeth.

He didn't look offended; he looked like a man watching a particularly entertaining play.

"Eat," he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, commanding silk again. "I find and prefer my prizes with a bit of fire in them. It makes the breaking process so much more... rewarding."

I stopped chewing, the sweetness of the fruit turning to ash in my mouth. I opened my mouth to snap back, but he spoke first, his voice cutting through my defiance like a blade.

"Enjoy your meal, angry bird," the lowly mortal said, his eyes never leaving mine. "When you are finished, follow the maids to the dressing room. You are to remain there."

He reached out and tapped a small silver bell I hadn't noticed on the table. The chime was high and sharp.

Immediately, two servants stepped into the room. They whisked away the pathetic, empty plate I had served him and replaced it with a fresh one, piling it high with steaming food.

I scowled, shoving a meatball into my mouth to keep from cursing him. As I chewed, I watched him.

He was focused on his breakfast now, his movements graceful and precise. Why the dressing room? Had the floral shirt not been enough of a joke?

I swallowed hard and finally spoke, my voice dripping with suspicion. "Are you saying you aren't done 'dolling me up' yet? Do you intend to dress me like a court jester next?"

The lowly mortal didn't look up, but a ghost of a smile played on his lips. "A jester? No. But a king should at least look the part before he is humbled. Eat, Khyronis. You'll need your strength for what comes next."

What comes next? The words sat heavy in my gut, more unsettling than the hunger had been.

Was he planning a spectacle?

A public display of his new "toy"? My mind raced, searching for a way out. If he intended to break me, I had to find a crack in these walls first. I needed a path, a key or a moment to slip through his fingers.

I stole a quick glance at him, trying to read the intent behind that calm, elegant mask. But the lowly mortal was faster.

His green eyes shifted upward, catching mine mid-stare. The intensity of his gaze was like a physical heat, pinning me to my seat.

Heat rushed to my face, a stinging, mortal flush of embarrassment.

I jerked my head down, my eyes fixed firmly on my plate as if the half-eaten fruit was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

I felt like a child caught stealing a glance at a sun she wasn't supposed to look at. A god, reduced to acting like a shy, flustered girl.

"Curiosity is a dangerous trait for a captive," I heard him murmur, the amusement in his voice thick enough to choke on.