THE ROYAL TABLE
JANELLE POINT OF VIEW
The great hall buzzed with laughter and conversation as nobles feasted at long tables decorated with golden candles and fresh flowers. I stood against the wall with the other serving maids, my hands trembling slightly as I gripped the heavy wine pitcher.
"You'll be serving the royal table tonight," Mrs. Crawford had told me an hour earlier. "Try not to embarrass us."
Now, watching the King and his court enjoy their meal, I wondered if this was some kind of punishment. The royal table sat on a raised platform at the front of the hall, putting everyone at it on display. Including Adrian.
He sat to his father's right, wearing a deep blue jacket that made his dark hair look almost black. His face was a mask of polite attention as some lord told a story about his hunting trip. Adrian hadn't looked in my direction once since the feast began.
"Janelle," hissed Sarah, one of the senior maids. "You're up. Refill their wine."
My stomach dropped. "Can't someone else.."
"Go. Now."
I forced my legs to move, climbing the three steps to the royal platform. The conversations seemed to grow quieter as I approached, or maybe that was just my imagination. My injured leg throbbed with each step.
King Magnus looked up as I reached the table. He was an older version of Adrian, the same green eyes, the same sharp jawline but where Adrian's face was cold, the King's held cruel amusement.
"Ah, the little maid," the King said, his voice carrying across the nearby tables. "I've heard interesting stories about you."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Your Majesty." I curtsied awkwardly, trying not to spill the wine.
"Haven't I, Adrian?" The King turned to his son with a knowing smile. "You were just telling me about your... encounter in the forest."
Adrian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Father."
"Such a heroic rescue," the King continued, his voice dripping with false admiration. "Finding our little maid trapped and bleeding. How fortunate that you happened to be in that particular part of the woods at just the right time."
I kept my eyes down, focusing on pouring wine into the King's goblet without shaking. The liquid glowed deep red in the candlelight.
"Some might call it fate," added Lady Vivian, a sharp-faced woman sitting across from the King. She smiled at me like a cat watching a mouse. "Or perhaps something more... deliberate."
The nobles at nearby tables had stopped their own conversations to listen. I could feel their eyes on me like weights.
"Just pour the wine," Adrian said quietly, not looking at me.
I moved to his goblet next, trying to keep my hands steady. This close, I could smell his scent, pine and leather and something uniquely him that made the mate bond sing in my chest. My hand wavered slightly.
"Careful," he murmured, still not meeting my eyes. "We wouldn't want another accident."
I finished pouring and moved on to the other guests, but I could still feel the King watching me. There was something calculating in his gaze that made my skin crawl.
I was almost finished when it happened.
Bethany, another maid who had always resented my assignment to the upper floors, was carrying a tray of empty plates past me. As she walked by, she "stumbled," bumping hard into my shoulder.
The wine pitcher tilted dangerously. I tried to catch it, but it was too late. Dark red wine splashed across the white tablecloth, droplets flying toward Adrian's plate and jacket.
The hall erupted in laughter.
"Look at the clumsy maid!"
"Can't even pour wine without making a mess!"
"Maybe she's still dizzy from her forest adventure!"
My face burned with shame as I stood frozen, wine dripping from the overturned pitcher onto the marble floor. Some of the nobles were actually pointing at me, their laughter cruel and loud.
"Pathetic," sneered Lord Marcus from a nearby table. "Though I suppose we shouldn't expect competence from someone who can't even walk through the woods without getting herself trapped."
More laughter. Someone else made a joke about rejected mates being good for nothing. The words crashed over me like waves, each one designed to humiliate and hurt.
I wanted to run. To disappear. To sink through the floor and never face another mocking stare.
Then Adrian's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
"Enough."
The word was spoken quietly, but it carried absolute authority. The laughter died instantly, as if someone had blown out a candle. The entire hall fell silent.
Adrian hadn't moved from his seat, but his green eyes swept across the room with deadly calm. When he spoke again, his voice was ice cold.
"I said enough."
Lord Marcus actually shrank back in his chair. Lady Vivian's smile vanished. Even the King looked surprised by his son's reaction.
For one impossible moment, Adrian's gaze found mine. In his eyes, I saw something that made my heart skip, protection, anger on my behalf, the fierce instinct of a mate defending his own.
Then reality crashed back.
Adrian's expression hardened, the brief warmth disappearing behind his usual mask of indifference. He looked at me like I was something distasteful he'd found on his shoe.
"Remove yourself," he said coldly, his voice carrying across the silent hall. "Before you cause more trouble."
The words hit me like physical blows. After defending me, after that moment when I'd seen the real him, he was dismissing me like I was nothing. Again.
I dropped what was left of the pitcher, not caring that it shattered against the marble floor. Without curtsying, without apologizing, I turned and walked toward the exit. My injured leg screamed in protest, but I refused to limp. I would not give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken.
The silence followed me across the hall. I could feel hundreds of eyes watching my retreat, but I kept my back straight and my head high.
Only when I reached the servants' corridor did I allow myself to run.
I made it to my room before the tears came. They burned my cheeks as I slammed the door and leaned against it, my whole body shaking with humiliation and rage.
But underneath the shame, something else twisted in my chest. Because for those few seconds, when Adrian had silenced the entire hall with a single word, I had seen him. The real him. Not the cold prince who rejected mates and dismissed servants, but my mate. The one who couldn't bear to see me mocked and hurt.
He had defended me. Even if he'd covered it with cruelty afterward, even if he'd sent me away like I was nothing, for one moment he had been mine.
And that terrified me almost as much as it thrilled me.
I sank onto my bed, pressing my hands to my face. How was I supposed to hate someone who kept saving me, even from himself? How was I supposed to plan revenge against the man who had just silenced a room full of nobles because they dared to laugh at me?
The mate bond pulsed in my chest, stronger than ever. Because despite everything – the rejection, the cruelty, the public humiliation – I had finally seen proof that Adrian felt it too.
He had defended me before he could stop himself. And then, horrified by his own reaction, he lashed out to cover it up. But it was too late. I had seen the truth in his eyes. He cared. Despite everything, he cared. And that changed everything…