Y/N is just a normal, peasant girl, so how did she end up in this place, serving under the King's cruel command? Well, it's simple, really. She just wants her family to be safe even if it means putting up with his insane personality, but how long wi...
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My black flats tap softly against the floor as I make my way through the halls after having finished sweeping the dining room, on my way to my next task. I stop, however, when I spot the King up ahead standing in the middle of the long hallway, glare fixated on one of the portraits hanging on the wall. Sleeping at his feet is Weston, whose giant head rests upon his massive paws. I imagine he's been standing there awhile if the white beast is taking a nap, and he seems to be out of it too. He didn't appear to notice me, so I try to step lightly behind him, keeping close to the wall to avoid him. I don't want to interrupt whatever he's thinking about; it might make him angry.
"Halt," he orders in a firm voice without looking away from the artwork surrounded by a golden frame. Heart thumping nervously, I stop, while Weston peeks his eyes open after hearing his master's voice before yawning. After spotting me, the lion gets to his feet excitedly before approaching to rub against my body. With a slight smile, I pat his head to show I acknowledge his presence, and he sits beside me. I go back to my neutral expression when I catch the King staring at me from over his shoulder with an unreadable look, his olive orbs glazed with tears as though he had cried earlier. This made me worry, but I said nothing about it.
"I see that Weston has taken quite a liking to you," he notes in a quiet voice. He didn't sound upset about that, though, not thrilled either. Still, it was better than him being mad.
"I suppose so," I respond in an equally soft voice.
"I find it so strange. Up until you arrived, I've been the only person Weston ever got along with, the only person he'd ever listen to," he mentions whilst facing me fully. I grow tense as his majesty comes closer at a sluggish pace to take my chin into his black, gloves hand, forcing me to keep eye contact. My bottom lip quivers as he leans in close enough for his warm, minty breath to fan on my face, and by a bit, his grip tightens. "What is it that makes you so different, farm girl?"
"I-I don't know, y-your majesty," I mutter in a pained voice, which makes the man ease up on the pressure. "I-I've spent my whole life caring for farm animals, so that might have something to do with it," I answer, truthfully, doing my best not to stutter too much. He hums, knowing that made sense, before releasing me. I had no idea I was holding my breath until he stepped away. I lightly rub where he held my face as he turns back around to face the painting.
"You know, when I became king, I ordered that every picture of my father in this castle was to be destroyed. What do you see in this picture?" I gaze up at the amazingly detailed portrait of the King's late father, Midas, who had been named after that old tale of the king who turned anything to gold with a single touch, and the late Queen Leah. Between them stood King Noah, back when he was just a prince of about fourteen. No smiles adorn their faces, but beautiful crowns sit atop their heads and expensive clothes drape their figures. I note that the crown on King Midas' head is the same Noah wore now, while in the picture, the blue-haired boy had worn a more simplistic and smaller crown made only of gold with no jewels. I bring my attention back to the King, who patiently awaits my answer, though, I hesitate to speak.
