The main hall was silent, except for the distant tick of a massive grandfather clock somewhere deep within the mansion. Nilla stood in the center, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as she faced the King. His gaze, golden and piercing, never wavered, but his expression was unreadable—calm, composed, almost predatory.
Nilla took a steadying breath. Every word here mattered. Every misstep could be fatal. But she didn't falter.
"Your Majesty," she began, her voice firm and clear, "I came here because I need your help. And I am willing to do anything in exchange."
The King tilted his head slightly, listening, silent but attentive.
"I was framed, betrayed, and killed—by people I trusted. The academy, my so-called friends, even people close to me…" Her hands clenched briefly, but she kept her voice steady. "No one would defend me. No one even tried. And now…" She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "I am reborn, but I cannot fight alone. I need your power, your influence. If you agree to help me, I will serve you in any way you see fit. I will obey your orders, I will carry out your will, whatever it takes."
At the word reborn, the King's golden eyes sharpened. His face stiffened, his jaw tightening. For a moment, the calm, regal composure vanished, replaced with a serious, almost unreadable intensity. He leaned forward slightly, studying her as if measuring whether she spoke the truth.
Then, slowly, he exhaled and leaned back. The tension in his face eased, replaced once more by his composed, calculating calm. His piercing gaze softened just slightly, though it never lost its sharpness.
The hall fell utterly silent. Nilla's words had barely faded when the King leaned back slightly, crossing one arm over his chest, his other hand brushing his chin. He didn't speak. He didn't blink. He didn't even seem to breathe. For ten minutes—ten endless minutes—he simply studied her.
Every second stretched like a lifetime. Nilla's eyes never left his. She could feel the pressure of his gaze pressing against her mind, weighing her, measuring her resolve. Every heartbeat was deafening in the quiet hall. She wondered briefly if he was testing her. Waiting for a crack, a hesitation. But she stayed poised, unmoving, unwavering.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the King straightened, his golden eyes locking onto hers with a sharpness that sent a chill down her spine. He spoke slowly, deliberately, each word heavy with authority.
"You are bold… and cunning," he said. "And you truly have no fear. Most who come before me would be quaking. You…" He paused, tilting his head slightly. "You are different. Admirable, even."
Nilla met his gaze evenly. "I didn't come here for compliments," she said quietly, though her pulse quickened slightly.
The King's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "No, I think not. You came for help. And help, you shall have… under conditions."
Her pulse skipped. She nodded slowly, cautious. "Tell me the conditions, Your Majesty."
He stepped closer, moving with a predator's grace. Each step echoed in the hall, authoritative yet mesmerizing. His presence was overwhelming. She could feel his power radiating, not just physical, but political, social, and something darker—something dangerous she couldn't yet name.
"You wish for my assistance," he said, his gaze never leaving hers. "I can give it… but there is a price. A price only you can pay."
Nilla's stomach tightened. She had expected cost, risk, challenge—but she did not flinch. "Name it," she said, voice steady, confident.
He studied her for another long moment, as if weighing her soul, measuring her determination. Then he spoke, each word deliberate, echoing like a drum in the vast hall:
"You will have my power, my protection, my influence… and in return, you will bear me an heir."
The words struck like lightning, and Nilla felt the chill of their meaning ripple through her. The King's gaze was intense, commanding, but not cruel. It was a demand, yes—but measured, almost… regal.
Nilla's mind raced. The weight of the offer was immense. He wasn't asking for loyalty alone—he was asking for something profoundly personal. And yet… the opportunity to exact revenge, to regain control, to dominate the world that had betrayed her, outweighed her shock.
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. "I understand," she said, her voice steady. "I accept your terms."
The King's smirk widened slightly, and he inclined his head. "Very well. Your resolve is impressive. You will serve me, and I will ensure you have the means to exact vengeance on those who wronged you. But remember this—betrayal is unacceptable. One misstep, one hesitation, and your price will be far heavier than you can imagine."
Nilla's lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "I understand, Your Majesty. I will not fail."
He finally stepped back, the tension in the hall easing slightly, though his gaze remained sharp, calculating. "Then we begin," he said. "But first… you must understand what it means to walk this path. Power always has a cost, young one. Do you truly wish to bear it?"
She met his gaze without faltering. "I do. And I will endure anything to get what I want."
A slow nod from the King, approving but wary, closed the conversation. The deal was set. The path was clear. And the power she needed—the power to strike back at those who had killed her—was now within reach.