FOUR

    The world spun. He shook his head, trying to quell the rising panic. He had to calm down.

    He swallowed, thinking of all the insolent things he’d said to the most feared man in the kingdom. He swallowed again, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had to get out.

    But how? Why the hell was he even here?

    The scene that just happened was from the third chapter- Charlotte pleading to His Highness. The Grandmasters' event was the fourth, a pivotal moment where Charlotte, through her own machinations, would finally persuade a reluctant Keith to take her, setting her scheme for the crown into motion.

    "What are you thinking so deeply about, hmm?"

    Mars jumped. Keith was now standing directly in front of him, his towering height casting a long shadow. He leaned over, caging Mars in the chair. "N-nothing..." Mars cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact.

    A strong, calloused hand shot out, grabbing his chin with bruising force. Mars winced, his own hands flying up to grip the wrist that held him captive, forcing him to look up. Keith’s impossibly bright eyes held a glint of mischief that made Mars shudder. What was this mad demon plotting?

    "Nothing?" the prince repeated, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He seemed conflicted, and to Mars's shock, he let go.

    "Aren't you going to kill me?" Mars blurted out without thinking. He hiccuped immediately after, wishing he could vanish. Why did I say that?!

    "What?" Keith questioned, a single red brow arching.

    "Er... just hunger-induced thoughts!" Mars scrambled to his feet, grabbing Keith's arm in a panic. "We-we should find something to eat! I'm starving! I haven't had anything to eat all day!" he moaned, over-dramatizing his plight.

    "But you had two plates of honeyed rice and figs an hour ago, no?" the bigger man pointed out, yet he allowed himself to be dragged from the office.

    "That was an hour ago! Back home, I was always eating something. Thank heavens for my fast metabolism, or I would have been one fat kid," Mars rambled on, falling into the familiar, chatty patter he used with his friends back home, a desperate attempt to normalize the utterly insane situation he was in.

    The servants in the palace kitchens were frozen in a tableau of stunned terror. The stranger who had slept in their quarters that morning had just stumbled into their domain, and he was not alone. He was dragging none other than Prince Keith by the arm, chattering incessantly.

    "... and everyone should eat at least six square meals a day, to be honest. Why stop at three? Isn't three so little? There are poor people who eat only once a day, and that's sad. That was me yesterday, and I do not like that... I would like to have my third and fourth meal of the day," Mars rambled on, oblivious to the panic he was causing.

    He offered a cheerful, "Hey there!" to a scullery maid who stood frozen, a clay pot of yogurt trembling in her hands. As if the spell was broken, every servant in the room dropped into a deep, simultaneous bow, their voices a ragged chorus. "Your Highness!"

    Only then did Mars remember who was attached to the end of his arm. He looked down at his own hand, still tightly gripping the prince's muscular forearm, and let go as if burned by a brand, pressing his hand to his chest. Keith merely smirked, not even deigning to acknowledge the prostrate forms around him, his sharp green eyes fixed on the flustered young man.

    Then, without a word, he turned and left, the heavy scent of sandalwood and power lingering in his wake.

    "Er... I'm hungry?" Mars said, turning back to the servants, who were slowly rising, their faces a mixture of fear and confusion.

    They didn't question him. Though he was dressed like them, he didn't speak like them, and he seemed to possess a bizarre familiarity with the one man in the palace even the king struggled to control. He had to be important, in his own strange way. It reminded them of the haughty girl, Charlotte, who had also once slept in their quarters but, through a combination of sly tricks and whispered promises, had secured a room in the guest wing. No one knew how she did it, but they had their suspicions. She had the air of a courtesan. And they wondered if this pretty, pale boy with the feminine curves and mass of black curls was the same- a plaything for the prince's infamous and cruel appetites. It was an open secret that their master's tastes were eclectic and his affairs often ended in broken bodies or silent, shrouded figures being carried away.

    Mars waited innocently until a heaping plate of flatbread, spiced goat stew, and honeyed dates was pressed into his hands. He thanked them with a genuine smile and retreated to the relative safety of the servants' quarters, deciding it was far less suffocating than the prince's unnerving presence.

    He still couldn't believe it. He was inside A LIGHT THAT CHANGES FATE! Was any of this actually possible? If he ever got out, who would believe him? He wouldn't believe it himself. He finished the meal, set the plate aside, and fell into a fitful sleep on the thin, scratchy mat.

    When he woke, it was late evening, and a small crowd of servants was staring at him as if he were a rare exotic animal captured for the royal menagerie. "Uh.... good evening?" Mars greeted shyly, getting up and quickly checking his chin for drool.

    A young girl, the bravest of the bunch, stepped forward. "Who are you?"

    Mars laughed awkwardly. "Uh, no one, actually. I'm just a foreigner with no place to go," he replied, semi-honestly.

    The others exchanged glances, their expressions hardening. He was just like them, then. Yet he had done no work all day and was on familiar terms with the prince. So he really is a whore, just like that Charlotte girl, the thought ran through their minds. Only the young girl, whose name was Anya, remained innocent of the suspicion. She was simply glad to have a friend her own age.

    "We're friends, then!" she squealed, extending her hand for a handshake. Mars beamed, shaking it firmly. It was good to have at least one ally.

    He tried to sleep on the thin mat again, but by midnight, the soreness from the unyielding floor had him groaning quietly. He got up as stealthily as he could and slipped out of the stuffy room, seeking solace in the empty halls.

    He wandered through the sleeping palace, his bare feet silent on the cool stone. He passed numerous rooms with closed doors, and being curious, he tried one of the doors but of course they were locked. He peeked into a sunken garden courtyard, where moonlight filtered through the fronds of date palms and reflected off a central pool, making the lotus flowers glow. The air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. He found a library, its shelves overflowing with papyrus scrolls stored in ornate alabaster jars, a world of knowledge locked away. The grandeur was breathtaking, but it was a gilded cage, every corridor a reminder that he did not belong here but did not know how to go back home.

    Eventually, he found himself before a familiar door of ebony inlaid with a golden sun-disc. Keith's chambers. He gulped, remembering the sounds he had heard from within. A sudden, heavy thud from inside made him jump. The door creaked open inwards, and as a foot stepped out, Mars made to flee. But a hand shot out, catching his arm in an unbreakable grip, and he was unceremoniously dragged into the darkness within.

    "Oh, I thought that was the last one, no?" It was Keith's unmistakable voice. The old attendant shuffled past, supporting the limp, lifeless form of a young man, his eyes vacant.

    Mars gulped, his gaze swinging to the large, canopied bed. Keith lay on his side, one knee bent upwards, his head propped on a fist. The room was dark, lit only by a single oil lamp shaped like a coiled asp, but his eyes seemed to glow, piercing right through Mars.

    "Oh, that definitely was the last one. I'm not supposed to be here," Mars waved his arms in a frantic 'X' and scrambled for the exit. But in an instant, he was swept up into strong arms and deposited onto the impossibly soft mattress. "Ah!" Mars yelped, but the protest died in his throat.

    "Oh... oh my," he murmured, his body betraying him. The mattress was a cloud, the pillows stuffed with the softest down. His eyes grew heavy, and he found a perfect position, hugging a pillow tightly to his chest, and fell into a deep, instant sleep.

    Keith watched the entire display in stunned silence. The strange man from the streets had just claimed his bed and fallen asleep as if it were his birthright. A low chuckle escaped him. What was this feeling brewing inside? It wasn't the immediate, violent urge to kill he usually felt when his space was violated. It was… curiosity.