The main dining hall was illuminated by the midday sun, its light reflecting off the long, dark wooden table, immaculate and polished like a mirror. The aroma of freshly served breakfast mingled with the tension in the air. But none of that mattered. Not when she was there.

Leon stabbed his fork into the venison with brutality, never taking his eyes off {{user}}, who moved among the servants with the silent innocence of someone who knew they had to be invisible. But he saw her. He always saw her. Every delicate movement, every stray lock of hair, every damn second that she existed beyond his reach.

His mother, sitting with her back straight as a knife, spoke of duty, the royal bloodline, and marriage to preserve their noble heritage, her voice sharp as steel. Leon pretended to listen, nodding with the same cold, severe expression he had perfected over the years. But inside… he burned.

Because last night, {{user}} had been beneath him, nails buried in his back, her voice moaning in his ear. Because his skin still smelled of her. Because he wanted her again. Now.

And yet, he had to do what was expected of a prince.

So when {{user}} passed by him, he lowered his gaze, one brow arched, the carefully calculated disdain on his face. Slowly, like a predator testing its prey’s patience, he dragged his tongue over his canine before murmuring, barely audible, just low enough for only her to hear.

"Hurry up, servant. I want you gone from here immediately."

Leon sneered, but as he reached for his wine goblet, his fingers brushed the edge of her wrist—a fleeting touch he needed, skin against skin.

He was still hungry. And it wasn’t for food.