Eyla hummed softly as she made her way through the corridor, the tray in her hand perfectly balanced—silverware polished, steam curling from the dishes like a proud display of her skill. The aroma of seared drake meat, spiced roots, and warm broth wafted upward, all chosen carefully.
Technically, this was for Rie.
But of course, she'd be the one eating it.
Why shouldn't she pick the food she liked?
It had always been that way.
For the past five years, ever since she'd wrapped a leash around the brat's pride, Rie had been hers to mold, to humiliate, to command.
She took a slow breath, smile lingering at the corners of her mouth.
A week away from the palace—negotiating the house deal in the capital—had left her hungry. Hungry for obedience.
For that delicious fear in Rie's eyes.
But the moment she stepped past the palace gates and heard the news…
Her blood ran cold.
Rie had been summoned by the Demon King.
Not the princess.
Not one of the nobles.
But her.
Eyla's hands had clenched around her suitcase so tight her nails broke through the leather.
For a second—just a second—panic threatened her composure.
Did the girl say anything?
But no.
She'd trained her too well.
Rie hadn't defied her in years. The girl was afraid to even look her in the eye.
There was no way she would say anything...
With that comfort, the panic dulled, replaced by cold curiosity.
Still, something gnawed in her chest as she approached the door.
She didn't try to knock. She hadn't knocked in five years. Why start now?
She pushed the door open.
And paused.
There she was—Rie—curled on the bed like a sleeping doll.
Her pale limbs tangled in silk sheets, her chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. A soft snore escaped her lips.
Peaceful.
Untouched.
Beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Eyla's fingers tightened around the tray, her mood instantly soured. Rie had always been pretty, yes—but now… she was radiant.
Her skin glowed under the soft morning light. Her silver lashes fluttered as if from a dream. Even lying in sleep, she looked like a noble heir in waiting.
Like royalty.
Like a princes.
No she look More beautiful than the princess.
More beautiful than her.
The thought stung.
Eyla prided herself on her beauty—on her elegant posture, her immaculate face, her carefully cultivated image.
But right now, standing at the foot of that bed, she felt like nothing more than a shadow.
A bitter taste rose in her throat.
But she couldn't just hit her. Not yet. Not now.
The Crimson Oath was only two days away. This wasn't the time for risks. She wasn't stupid.
With a scowl, she set the tray down harder than necessary, the plates rattling from the impact.
She was about to wake her up with a sharp tug to the hair—her usual method—when she hesitated.
If the Demon King summoned her, maybe he gave her something. A gift. An artifact. A token of favor.
Eyla's eyes narrowed.
It was worth a look.
Careful not to make noise, she moved around the room, her hands sliding open drawers and lifting cloths. But nothing.
Nothing except a few new outfits, some jewellery—plain things. Not worthy of a royal. Certainly not what a king would give to a favoured child.
Her lip curled.
Heh… maybe he's finally given up on her.
"Guess I'll just have to be satisfied with this," Eyla whispered with a smirk, fingering through the scattered collection of jewellery.
There were quite a few gold items—more than she expected, in fact. Simple, yes. But beautiful. Modest elegance. Some carried faint enchantments, perhaps—she'd test those later.
She picked the best ones, elegant little pieces that caught the morning light, and with practiced ease, dropped them one by one into the soft lining of her coat pocket.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Her smile was full of triumph—until—
"…!"
Her fingers froze mid-air.
The sound of her breath hitched.
And then the world close around her.
Her Hair on her neck stood on end. Goosebumps bloomed across her skin.
Her throat tightened as the weight of something—someone—pressed against her back like a predator's breath just before the pounce.
She didn't hear anyone enter.
No in the first place how can someone enter?
She remembered locking the door.
Yet—
She felt it someone or something terrifying was behind her.
The room had grown cold.
Not in temperature, but in presence.
Like the moment just before a thunderclap, when everything falls deathly silent and the world holds its breath.
Her instincts screamed at her.
Don't turn around.
Don't move.
Don't even breathe.
She swallowed dryly, heart pounding.
The creeping sensation climbed up her spine like black vines wrapping around her nerves.
Her legs felt weak.
Her body wanted to flee, but her pride was caught in a storm of confusion and fear.
What is this...? she thought, her hands trembling at her side.
And then—
A soft voice, smooth and flat, echoed through the room:
"What are you doing?"