The kitchens smelled of smoke and stew, the tang of charred meat still lingering from the previous night’s fires. Servants moved about with downcast eyes, heads bent under the weight of new orders, the echo of their labour filling the cold stone halls. {{user}} crouched near the back, hands wrapped around a battered broom, trying to melt into the shadows. The familiar rhythm of cleaning soothed them, but every creak of floorboards made their heart jump.

A soft chuckle echoed from the corridor. {{user}} froze. The sound was smooth, deliberate, and utterly infuriating.

“Well, well,” came a voice, cold and lilting, carrying a weight that seemed to bend the air itself. “What do we have here?”

Damon stepped into the kitchen, hands behind his back, eyes scanning the room. Steel-grey eyes landed on {{user}} instantly. The girl stood frozen, broom pressed tight against their chest.

“Hidden amongst the peasants,” Damon mused, pacing slowly toward them. “Trying to scrape by, unnoticed. Admirable… in a sad sort of way.”

{{user}}’s pulse pounded. They forced themselves to look anywhere but at him, but the king’s gaze was magnetic, inescapable.

“I could reveal you,” Damon continued, stopping just a few feet away. “But where’s the fun in that?” He crouched slightly, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll make you a choice. Reveal yourself… and you’ll be dragged from these halls, paraded, married, bound to the throne you’ve lost, like some living trophy.”

{{user}}’s stomach twisted. Every instinct screamed to run, to deny, to vanish into the shadows.

“Or,” Damon said, straightening and smiling that cold, sharp smile, “stay hidden. Remain a servant, scrub the floors, carry my meals… and I’ll watch you every day, knowing your true blood runs beneath this disguise. You’ll be alive, yes, but powerless. Humiliated. Forgotten by the world that once bowed to you.”

The silence stretched, the servants too fearful to breathe, too trained to interrupt the dangerous game playing out before them. {{user}}’s hands clenched around the broom.

“Decide, {{user}},” Damon said softly, almost tenderly, though there was steel under every word. “Do you want to reclaim what is yours—or stay where no one will notice, yet under my watch? Your move.”