Chapter 4
No matter how tough things got, I had to keep moving forward because I owed him this.
The days that followed were pure hell. I was treated worse than the lowest servant in the palace.
Sheldon kept me locked up in the Hall of Regalia, not letting me step outside even once.
Every single day, he found new ways to humiliate me.
He'd make me kneel for hours, grinding ink for him.
On freezing winter days, he'd force me to stand outside in just a thin robe, shivering in the cold wind.
Or, while he was reviewing official documents, he'd make me stand by his side, forcing me to listen as he kept reminding me again and again how Selene was so loose and vain.
He'd go on and on about how Selene was fickle and materialistic, never missing a chance to rub it in.
Every time he said those things, it felt like my heart was being sliced open.
Every word he said felt like he was blaming me for everything.
But all I could do was stand there with a blank face, not letting myself react at all because right now, I was Samara.
I was just a stand-in, someone completely unrelated to Selene Ferguson.
If I ever showed any emotion I wasn't supposed to, it could get me killed.
That night, he was in the study, buried in official business as usual.
Just like every other night, I stood by his side, grinding ink for him.
It was late when a palace servant brought in a late-night snack.
It was a bowl of fruit compote.
Sheldon glanced at it and immediately frowned.
"Take it away," he said coldly, his voice icy. "Didn't I say I don't eat cherries with pits?"
The young eunuch who brought the snack dropped to his knees with a thud, bowing his head over and over in panic.
"Please forgive me, Your Majesty! It's the new guy in the kitchen. He didn't know the rules. I'll fix it right away!" he said.
I gazed at the bowl of fruit compote, and a faint ripple stirred in my heart.
He still refused to eat cherries with pits, just like he always did.
He couldn't stand the bitterness of the pits.
As far as I knew, I was the only one who remembered this little habit of his.
Back then, whenever his mother made fruit compote for him, I was the one who painstakingly removed every cherry pit, one by one, just for him.
I looked at the little eunuch, shivering in fear, and almost involuntarily, I spoke up. "Your Majesty, why don't you let me do it?"
My voice was soft, but in the quiet study, it rang out clearly.
Sheldon looked up and shot me a sharp look.
"You?" He sounded skeptical. "You know how?"
"I... I learned how to do it back home," I murmured, keeping my head down, too nervous to meet his eyes.
"The kitchen is pretty far from here. By the time they bring it back, the compote will be cold. Why not let me remove the cherry pits for you right here, Your Majesty?" I said.
Sheldon was silent for a moment.
I could feel his gaze lingering on the top of my head.
It was like he was scrutinizing me, as if searching for something.
My heart was in my throat.
Was I being too forward?
Would he think I, just a nobody, knew things I shouldn't?
Just when I thought he was about to snap, Sheldon spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. "Fine."
I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
The little eunuch looked like he'd just dodged a bullet, and hurriedly handed me the fruit compote along with the utensils for removing the pits.
I knelt down, picked up a pair of forceps, and started picking out the cherry pits one by one.
My hands moved fast and steady, like I'd done this a thousand times before.
It was muscle memory at this point. Something my body remembered even if my heart tried to forget.
The study was so quiet, the only sounds were the soft clink of the needle as I picked out the cherry pits and the gentle rustle as Sheldon turned the pages of his paperwork.
I could sense his gaze lingering on me, even as he appeared absorbed in his documents.
I didn't dare look up; I kept my head down, focusing entirely on the cherries I was working on.
In no time, I had removed every cherry pit from the bowl of fruit compote.
I placed the bowl in front of him again.
"All done, Your Majesty," I said softly.
Sheldon didn't reach for the bowl right away.
He stared at the fruit compote, then glanced at me, his expression hard to read.
"Did you used to do this often?" he asked quietly.
My heart gave a sudden jolt.
"Yes, my father loved it too, so I ended up doing it a lot," I answered.
I just came up with an excuse on the fly.
Like I'd ever admit it was all for him.
He didn't say anything else. He just picked up the bowl and tasted the compote.
But then, his hand froze mid-motion.
"You..." Sheldon began.
He looked at me, as if the words were stuck in his throat.
"Your Majesty, what's wrong? Does it taste weird?" I asked nervously.
"It's nothing," he said.
He calmed down and downed the rest of the fruit compote in a few swallows.
Then he set the bowl down on the table with a heavy thud.
"Get out," he said coldly. His tone was colder than any time before.
I froze for a moment, not understanding why he was suddenly angry again.
"Didn't you hear me?" he snapped.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I said.
I didn't dare say another word. I quickly got up and hurried out of the study.
Just as I closed the door behind me, I heard a loud crash from inside the study.