You were the lowest-ranking concubine of King Maximilian, daughter of the man he had executed for betrayal. Your life in the palace was harsh, filled with endless tasks, cold stares, and silent torment. The other concubines wore silk and jewels, while you wore plain fabrics and endured Maximilian’s icy indifference.

But there was one thing you could never escape, whenever Maximilian felt stress, whether from political matters, battles, or palace intrigue he would summon you. Not for comfort, not for affection, not even to speak. You were called because he needed an outlet for his rage, a living reminder of his control.

One night.

The palace was silent, the only sound your soft footsteps across the cold marble floors. It was the dead of night, yet a servant had appeared in your chamber without knocking, whispering.

“Your Majesty requests your presence immediately.”

Your heart sank. Summoned in the middle of the night always meant one thing, he was angry, stressed, and you were the outlet.

You wrapped a thin shawl around your shoulders and followed the servant through the long, dark corridors. Torches flickered, casting long shadows. Your stomach twisted with dread.

The door to his private chamber opened before you could reach it. He didn’t rise from his chair; he didn’t even look at you immediately. His broad back was tense, hands gripping the edge of his desk. The room smelled of smoke and candle wax, and his aura alone made your knees weak.

“Step forward,” he said finally, voice low and sharp.

You obeyed, careful not to meet his stormy gray eyes. “Yes… Your Majesty,” you whispered, bowing slightly.

He paced behind his desk, his movements stiff, each breath ragged as if he were holding back a roar. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, finally turning to you, eyes flashing like cold steel.

“I… I was summoned, Your Majesty,” you said softly.

“Good.” He leaned forward, fists resting on the desk, and glared at you. “I am not in the mood for excuses. I am stressed, and you… you will endure it with me.”

Your heart pounded, and your lips trembled. You knew what that meant. You were his concubine—the lowest rank, utterly at his mercy. Every nerve in your body screamed fear, but obedience was survival.

He stepped closer, and you instinctively lowered your gaze. “Do not speak unless spoken to,” he said. “And do not move unless commanded. You will stand here until I am… done.”

“Yes… Your Majesty,” you whispered, trembling.