THREE | PETTY REVENGE

[POV: Sera]

The lingering phantom strokes of Milian's tongue still burned on my skin when my mother shrieked my name.

"Sera! You're late for the kitchen!"

I scrambled out of bed, my mind a mess of conflicting lust and dread. Helping the head chef was usually my sanctuary, but today involved serving the royal dinner. Milian, the man who had just devoured me less than an hour ago, would be sitting at that table.

The dining hall was suffocatingly opulent. I purposely positioned myself behind Bianca—Milian's feather-brained girlfriend who always treated the staff like rotting vermin. Better her than him.

"Pass the stew," Bianca snapped, not even looking up.

As I leaned over to place the heavy cast-iron pot, Milian shifted. His knuckles deliberately dragged along the exposed sliver of skin at my waist. A shockwave shot up my spine. My grip slipped. The thick, scalding stew cascaded directly onto Bianca's expensive silk lap.

"You blind witch!" Bianca shrieked, hurling her ruffled napkin at my face. "You ruined it!"

Martha, the head servant, rushed in to grovel, banishing me back to the kitchen. Through the chaos, my eyes darted to Milian. I wanted to see apologies, an accident. Instead, his lips were curved into a dark, sadistic smirk. He was enjoying my public humiliation.

It wasn't an isolated incident.

The next afternoon, while serving trays of water to the weary warriors, he waited until the crowd thinned. As I stood two steps above him on the stairs, trying to balance twenty-two glasses, his fingers suddenly pinched the soft skin near my navel. I gasped and nearly dropped the entire metal tray, but his hand shot underneath to steady it. He didn't mock me; he just leveled a predatory gaze at me, smirked, and walked away.

The grand finale of his petty revenge happened during the charity art auction banquet. The entire royal family was present. I was tasked with distributing wrapped keepsakes to the attendees. Naturally, I bypassed Milian's seat.

But as I walked past, a heavy boot shot out. My ankle caught perfectly. I pitched forward, a sickening gasp leaving my throat as the tray of delicate items flew into the air, shattering across the marble floor.

Before I could hit the ground, thick arms wrapped around my waist, hauling me forcefully into a warm, muscular lap. Milian's lap.

The entire court fell dead silent. His mother's icy glare pierced right through me. The whispers erupted instantly—I was the clumsy whore trying to gold-dig her way into the Prince's bed. I couldn't even dare to look at him with accusation.

Later that night, outside the stairwell, I blocked his path. My chest heaved with rage.

"You think anyone cares about a servant girl?" he sneered before I could even shout. "No one even noticed you until you threw yourself at me."

"I didn't! You tripped me deliberately!" I shoved his firm chest.

His eyes darkened, amusement vanishing. "You look cute when you get mad, Sera, but I do not permit that tone."

In a fluid, terrifying motion, he scooped me up, throwing me over his broad shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Put me down!" I thrashed, slamming my fists against his back as he marched up the stairs.

"Keep hitting me," he growled, the vibration of his voice hitting my stomach, "and I'll make you pay for every single blow once we reach the bed."