Chapter 15: Time to Feed

"Who is responsible for serving Prince Basil?" Darius demanded, his voice dangerously low.

"I-I believe Maid Clara has been handling His Highness’s meals," the maid stammered, her voice shaking violently.

"Go get her."

The maid swallowed.

"Bring her to me immediately," Darius ordered, releasing her arm with a slight shove.

She practically fled.

Darius paced the hallway, his blood boiling. How dare they serve his prince like an animal? And to think only one maid was serving Basil while two served him. How could the King and Queen be so incredibly careless that they hadn’t even noticed the palace servants were already subtly mistreating and disrespecting Basil behind closed doors?

How had nobody noticed this?

The King and Queen kept talking about how they would never stop loving Basil, yet somehow they had failed to notice the servants quietly treating him differently.

A few minutes later, the maid returned with another young woman. Both looked terrified.

As they should.

Darius fixed his attention on the newcomer.

"Are you the one responsible for serving Prince Basil’s meals?"

"Y-Yes, Your Highness," the girl whispered, not daring to look up.

"Then explain why his lunch is sitting on the floor outside his room."

The girl visibly flinched at the sharpness of his tone, her hands gripping her apron.

"Prince Basil wouldn’t open the door when we knocked, Your Highness. That is how it has been for the past three weeks. We bring the food, knock several times, and when he doesn’t answer, we’re instructed to leave it outside so he can collect it later if he wishes."

Darius forced himself to take a slow, controlled breath, managing his rising temper.

"Before it was discovered that I was switched with him, when he was still the sole crown prince, was his food ever served this way?"

Neither maid answered.

Darius’s eyes narrowed.

"Answer me," he warned, leaning down slightly until his voice was barely above a whisper near the girl’s ear. "Or you really will not like what I do next."

The younger maid shook her head frantically, her eyes filling with tears.

"No, Your Highness. It was always served on a heated cart."

Darius let out a harsh groan through clenched teeth and abruptly turned away from them to keep from exploding. He ran a hand through his hair, his back to the servants as he tried to cool himself down.

Behind him, the maids looked ready to collapse.

"First," Darius said, his back still facing them, his voice flat and icy, "you are going to go back up there, retrieve that tray, and re-serve the meal. Make sure the food, the temperature, and the presentation are entirely deserving of a royal prince."

He turned around slowly, his eyes settling on them with a promise of violence.

"Or else I will personally break those hands of yours." Both maids paled.

"Y-Yes, Your Highness."

"Good." Darius pointed toward the staircase. "Now go do it before I count to thirty. One!"

The maid bolted up the grand staircase, nearly tripping over herself.

"Two. Three," Darius counted aloud.

By the time he reached ten, the young maid was already sprinting back down the stairs, clutching the silver tray tightly against her chest as if her life depended on it.

"Eleven. Twelve," Darius continued as the girl sprinted past him.

He reached the count of twenty-five when the heavy doors leading to the kitchen opened again. Two maids were now pushing a pristine heated silver serving cart toward him, complete with a fresh linen cloth, polished covers, and a small vase holding a single rose. Perfect.

Darius smiled smoothly, looking as relaxed and pleasant as if he had not been threatening bodily harm moments ago.

"I’ll meet you upstairs," he told them as he took the staircase, his steps light as he returned to the second floor.

The maids swallowed nervously and hurried toward the elevator since the cart could be pushed more easily through there.

When he reached Basil’s suite again, both maids were already waiting outside the door, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

Darius stepped forward and knocked firmly on the heavy wood.

"Big brother," he called out, his tone smooth and loving. "I brought you some food."

There was a tense pause from inside the room before Basil’s muffled, furious voice cut through the wood.

"Go away, you piece of shit."

The two maids exchanged nervous glances.

A quiet chuckle escaped Darius, his shoulders shaking slightly as he began to wonder if that was the only curse phrase his prince knew.

"Come on, big brother," he said patiently, resting one hand against the door. "Open up. You have to eat something. Starving yourself isn’t going to solve anything."

No response.

Darius waited a few seconds. Still nothing.

He turned toward one of the maids, his expression shifting into a thoughtful look.

"Is there a spare key to this suite?"

"Y-Yes, Your Highness," the maid, Clara, answered quickly.

"Go get it."

The maid ran off.

It did not take long before she returned, slightly out of breath. With trembling hands, she presented a polished silver key, her eyes locked on the floor.

"H-Here it is, Your Highness."

Darius accepted it and turned it over between his fingers with a wide, satisfied grin.

"Thanks, Clara. You ladies can go now. I can take it from here."

Both women bowed deeply.

"Yes, Your Highness," they murmured in unison and hurried away.

Darius watched them disappear down the corridor before looking back at the door.

​"Okay," he said, his blue eyes flashing with a playful, dangerous light. "Time to feed my favorite big brother."

​He inserted the key into the lock and turned it with a soft click. The door swung open. Darius pushed the serving cart inside and stepped into the suite.

The sight that greeted him was absolutely not what he had been expecting.

​Basil was standing completely naked in front of a full-length mirror, a towel draped over his shoulders as he dried his damp hair. Water still glistened on his pale skin, trailing down the sharp lines of his back, down to the crack of his lean hips. Darius swallowed audibly.

His brain completely stopped working.

​For several long seconds, he simply stood there, frozen behind the serving cart as every coherent thought abandoned him. As if sensing another presence in the room, Basil glanced back.

Their eyes met through the mirror.

Basil froze. The room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence.

​Darius immediately raised both hands.

​"In my defense," he began carefully, "this is not what I thought I’d be walking into."

​The towel slipped from Basil’s hand. His face turned a burning shade of red.

For one horrifying moment, he seemed too shocked to react. Then his expression twisted into pure mortification and rage.

​"GET THE FUCK OUT!" he screamed.