Carlyle's voice still possessed a hint of disinterest.
Villiem kept his gaze low as he said, "Your Majesty, pardon me, but I won't be able to share breakfast with you."
His tone was solemn, respectful, without a hint of defiance. Yet, Carlyle flared up like Villiem had intentionally offended him.
"Why? Am I not worthy of having you eat in my company? Is my food not up to your standard? Is this all beneath you?"
"No, Your Majesty. It's not—"
"I've been told that you've refused to eat a morsel of food since you arrived at the Stone Palace. You didn't even have tea with your fellow concubines. Now you're actually daring to refuse the food I give you?"
"Your Majesty, that's not—"
"You will finish every single dish laid on this table." Carlyle concluded in finality.
"Ah?"
Villiem looked at food splayed on the table. Dozens of varieties of them, drinks, fruits. Anything a person could think of was on the table. And it was more than what fifty people could eat at a go.
"Your Majesty, I can't…"
Villiem's voice was low. His hands quivered unconsciously.
"You did not just refute my order, did you?" Carlyle said.
Villiem dared to look at the man.
It was a mistake.
Carlyle's black eyes were narrowed to thin slits. There was no single hint of concern in them. Nothingness. Endless whirls of nothingness.
Words couldn't come out from Villiem's mouth. He should say something. He should insist on not being able to eat it all. Or eat at all here.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
"... Yes, Your Majesty." Villiem looked away from him.
"You may do whatever you like in the Stone Palace, but in my presence, you do as I like. No daring to refuse anything I request, understand?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Villiem repeated.
Then he steeled his nerves and grabbed onto the fork. With proper table etiquette, he sliced off a piece of pancake.
Villiem looked as though he had come to terms with his fate. But his other hand which rested on his thigh, below the table where no one could see, was still shaking.
The nails quivering against the material of his trousers.
He stuck the piece of food into his mouth. It was hot. The taste was incredible.
Villiem wanted to throw up.
"Your Highness!" A cautious voice sounded behind Villiem.
"Be quiet." Villiem ordered Felix who stepped forward.
Felix's hand was tight on the handle of his sword. It wasn't clear what he wanted to do or who he wanted to attack. But Villiem's sharp order made him retreat in an instant.
His brown eyes, which were never concerned with whatever they were viewing, filled with worry. His throat rolled as he swallowed his words.
He looked like he had more to say. A whole lot more. But he didn't say anything. Felix's hand still remained on the sword but he stepped back and maintained the distance he broke earlier.
Carlyle watched all of this with a bored expression on his face. He couldn't be bothered about a rabid guard dog being concerned for its master. He only cared for exciting matters.
"'Your Highness', is it?"
The derision in Carlyle's voice could be detected from miles away. Villiem's lashes fluttered.
"A mistake." He excused for Felix.
"That shouldn't repeat itself."
Villiem nodded his head.
"Once you finish eating, you'll receive five lashes for recklessly throwing words at me and irritating me." Carlyle said.
Villiem lifted his head sharply after hearing that.
Carlyle pushed back his chair, giving Villiem a once-over with an unimpressed gaze. Then he leisurely added, "Along with a deduction of 10 points for not looking pretty enough."
"What?" Villiem was taken aback.
"Deduction of 10 points for playing dumb."
"I don't understand."
"Deduction of 10 points for being annoying."
Villiem withheld himself as he noticed the pattern. No matter what he said, he would get his points deducted! It would be better to just keep quiet.
A few moments passed and Villiem said nothing. Carlyle looked at him scornfully, then humphed and muttered, "How boring."
Carlyle finally stood up from his chair in all his glory and might, revealing to Villiem what he couldn't see before while he was seated.
It was Carlyle's toned stomach muscles that were divided into six, no, eight compartments. The man who was almost 2 meters tall with broad shoulders and a perfectly toned body, carried himself like he weighed nothing as he withdrew from his seat.
His steps light and fleeting.
Villiem continued his silent ritual as he watched Carlyle walk out of the dining room with a line of maids tailing after him. In his absence, Villiem only had one thought in his mind.
He's still the same.
Still the same selfish, unnecessarily cruel, and evil man. Evil creature.
Carlyle Azazel was far from being a human being.
Villiem didn't like to think bad about others, but Carlyle was an exception. The exception. Carlyle's being was worth a thousand hateful thoughts from him.
Villiem's heart sank with annoyance at himself for being unable to do a thing to make Carlyle change his ways. His stomach was the next to roll with discomfort as his brain reminded him of the words Carlyle just said to him.
He had to eat everything on this table. Then receive whippings. Because he was irritating and not… looking pretty enough.
Villiem would have never thought he'd have to face such an experience in his life. And it all happened in the span of a few moments, he didn't actually get to talk to Carlyle.
The one thing he came prepared for, which was to talk to the emperor about his brother, he didn't get to do it. He wasn't even given a chance to speak on his own terms.
All he achieved was getting his points deducted for ridiculous reasons. How was he supposed to survive here when the emperor was his biggest opponent??