The king's obsession

ALITTLE ROMANCE

CHAPTER

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall stained-glass windows of the great dining hall, casting patterns of gold and crimson across the long table. Silver dishes gleamed beneath the light, filled with roasted meats, sugared fruit, and steaming bread. Yet, despite the luxury, Emily could hardly breathe.

The king sat at the head of the table, elegant and composed, his expression unreadable. Victoria and her mother were on one side, whispering behind their napkins. Emily sat across from them, feeling like a trespasser in a world not meant for her.

The king’s voice broke the quiet hum of cutlery.

“So, Emily,” he said, swirling the wine in his goblet, “tell me about your family.”

She froze for a heartbeat, aware of Victoria’s sharp, curious stare. “My father,” she said finally, “is a woodcutter. And a farmer, when the season allows. He works the land near our village.”

The king tilted his head, his tone deceptively gentle. “Ah, an honest man of the soil.”

He looked faintly amused, as though the words tasted strange on his tongue. “And your mother?”

“She weaves,” Emily replied softly. “Cloths and shawls mostly. She sells them in the market.”

He smiled faintly — a small curve of the lips that made her heart flutter with unease. “A simple life,” he mused. “But humble roots can sometimes produce… unexpected fruit.”

Victoria snorted delicately, failing to hide her disdain. “How quaint,” she murmured, just loud enough for Emily to hear. “I suppose your father trades firewood for silver when he’s not tilling dirt?”

The king’s eyes flicked toward Victoria, calm but dangerous. “Careful, cousin,” he said smoothly. “You mock the very earth that feeds you.”

Victoria’s face paled slightly, and she lowered her gaze, muttering an apology.

The king turned back to Emily. “Does your father manage well enough? Or does he require assistance?”

Emily shook her head quickly. “No, Your Majesty. He’d never accept charity.”

“Charity?” the king echoed, leaning forward slightly. “No. I offer recognition. A man who shapes the forest and harvests the land deserves respect — and reward.”

Victoria’s jaw tightened, and her mother gave a small, nervous laugh. “Your Majesty is most generous,” she said.

The king ignored her, his attention still fixed on Emily. “Would you like that?” he asked quietly. “To see your father live easier?”

Emily hesitated. “Of course… but not through me. He’d want to earn it himself.”

The king’s lips twitched, half amusement, half admiration. “A daughter’s pride,” he murmured. “Touching.”

Then, without warning, he picked up a small piece of fruit from his plate and held it toward her. “Taste this.”

Emily blinked, startled. “Your Majesty—”

“Indulge me,” he said softly, his eyes glinting.

Her pulse quickened as she leaned forward. The fruit brushed her lips — sweet, cool, and sticky with honey. He smiled faintly as she swallowed, her face flushed pink.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’ve delicate manners. Something your sister Sophia must have taught you.”

The mention of her sister caught Emily off guard. “You… know Sophia?”

He chuckled quietly. “You spoke of her once, did you not? The radiant one — admired, adored, the jewel of your family.”

Emily’s gaze dropped. “Everyone loves Sophia. She’s kind, beautiful… and stronger than I’ve ever been.”

The king raised a brow. “And yet, here you sit — and she does not. Tell me, Emily… does that make you proud? Or guilty?”

She stiffened. “Neither,” she said quickly. “I didn’t choose this.”

“No one chooses their fate,” he replied, his tone turning darker. “But they can learn to live with it — or die fighting it.”

Victoria gave a brittle laugh. “You’ll have to forgive her, cousin. Village girls don’t understand royal manners.”

“Enough,” the king said coldly, his voice slicing through the air. “She understands more than you ever will.”

The hall went silent. Victoria’s smile faltered, and even her mother lowered her gaze.

Emily, flustered, looked down at her plate. “I meant no offense—”

“I know,” he said, his tone softening again. “You rarely do. That’s what makes your defiance so… fascinating.”

Her head snapped up. “Defiance?”

He smiled — a sharp, knowing smile that made her blood run cold. “Yesterday, when you lied to me about the boy. Do you remember? You were trembling, yet your voice was steady. It takes courage to deceive a king.”

Her breath caught. “I— I was afraid.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes glowing faintly red beneath the light. “Good. Fear keeps you honest.”

Then, just as suddenly, his tone shifted — calm again, almost lazy. “Sophia would have fainted, I think. Or perhaps wept. You, however…” He paused, studying her face. “You surprise me, Emily.”

Emily’s hands fidgeted in her lap. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop apologizing,” he said gently, cutting her off. “If I wanted your remorse, I’d take it from you.”

Victoria and her mother exchanged uneasy glances. The king smiled faintly as though he relished their discomfort.

At last, he rose, his dark cloak whispering against the marble floor. “Breakfast was enlightening,” he said. “I trust the rest of your day will be equally… instructive. " " "”

As he left the hall, his laughter echoed faintly behind him — low, smooth, and chilling.

Victoria leaned across the table, her eyes venomous. “You think he favors you now,” she hissed. “But men like him don’t favor girls like you. They consume them.”

Emily said nothing. Her hands trembled slightly, but her eyes stayed fixed on the doorway where the king had gone.

He frightened her. He unsettled her.

And yet… something about him drew her still.

The morning air was still painted gold by the rising sun. Emily wandered the long, arched corridor in silence, her thoughts tangled between fear and confusion.

The king had spoken to her kindly at breakfast — too kindly. He’d asked about her family, her father’s trade, even offered aid, as though the cruel, unreadable man from yesterday had never existed. Yet beneath every word had been something darker — something that made her heart pound.

She meant to walk off the unease, but then she saw him.

He stood on the balcony ahead, framed by pillars of white marble, the light falling over him like a divine spotlight. For a moment, he looked carved from flame and shadow — a figure the sun itself seemed to serve.

Then he turned toward her.

Emily froze.

His face… she had never truly seen it before.

The king’s features were breathtaking — sharp yet refined, every line precise as if shaped by some patient sculptor. His dark hair fell in soft waves that caught the sunlight, reflecting a faint copper sheen. But it was his eyes that stole her breath — crimson, deep and burning like liquid fire.

They were not the red of sickness or rage, but the color of embers beneath ash — alive, ancient, and terrifyingly beautiful. They glowed faintly in the morning light as though they drew power even from the day.

He watched her silently, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half-smile that was not entirely kind.

“Good morning, Emily,” he said. His voice was low, a dangerous melody that carried easily across the balcony.

She curtsied, trying to find her voice. “Your Majesty.”

He stepped closer, each movement smooth, deliberate — a predator in human skin. “You look pale,” he said. “Did the meal not suit you? Or perhaps… my company didn’t?”

Emily shook her head quickly. “No, Your Majesty, I—”

“—was staring,” he finished for her, amusement flickering in those red eyes. “You’re not the first to do so, but you are the first to look afraid of what you see.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as though she were a riddle. The light caught in his eyes again, and she realized they weren’t merely red — they shifted, flickering with gold and black, alive like flame.

“It’s just…” she began softly, “you look different in the light.”

He gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Different?” he echoed. “You mean less monstrous?”

“No—”

“Don’t lie,” he said gently, but his voice cut sharp. “Everyone sees it eventually. The eyes. The blood. The things that whisper I’m not quite like the rest of you.”

Emily hesitated. “They’re not frightening.”

That startled him — a flicker, barely visible, but real. “No?”

“They’re…” She searched for words. “They’re alive. Like they’ve seen too much and still burn.”

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. The smirk faded, replaced by a strange look she couldn’t name — something between pain and fascination.

“Careful, Emily,” he murmured finally, stepping closer until she could feel his warmth. “You might start to think there’s a heart behind these eyes.”

“There is,” she whispered.

He smiled — slow, wicked, beautiful. “And how would you know that?”

“I can just tell,” she said, her voice trembling.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear, the air between them charged and unsteady. “You see too much,” he said quietly. “That will either save you… or destroy you.”

Emily swallowed hard, her pulse fluttering in her throat.

He tilted his head, those crimson eyes gleaming like molten gems. “Be careful, Emily,” he whispered, his tone softer now, almost intimate. “You might fall for me. And that would be… "unfortunate.”

Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Because you’re dangerous?”

His smile deepened, dark and amused. “No,” he said, turning away. “Because I wouldn’t stop you.”

The words lingered in the air long after he left, his cloak trailing behind him like smoke.

Emily stood frozen, her heart pounding, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t know what frightened her more — the king’s warning…

or how much she wanted to leave.