Erika's feet landed on the cold floor.
The moment his newly crushed foot touched the ground, a sharp pain shot up from the sole, making him stagger.
He steadied himself against the wall.
Erika lowered his head, staring at his own feet, still trembling slightly, planted on the floor.
"Don't make that face."
Cole reached out and patted his cheek.
Slap. Slap. Two pats, neither too hard nor too soft, as if checking to ensure his toy wasn't broken.
Then—those two hands pinched the corners of his mouth.
And pulled them outward, hard.
It hurt. The corners of his mouth were pulled until they ached, his gums exposed. Erika wanted to dodge, but Cole's movement was too fast, too sudden. Before he could react, his face had already been pulled into a comical, stiff expression—impossible to tell if it was crying or laughing.
Cole's face was right in front of him, close enough to see the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Remember—"
He let go.
"Just eat. That's all."
——
Erika nodded.
He didn't ask why. Didn't ask "what about them" or "what should I say." He just nodded, like he'd nodded countless times on this journey.
He turned around.
Faced that door.
That half-open door. Warm yellow candlelight seeped through the crack, carrying the muffled voices of Linglong and Liz.
His hand rested on the door handle.
Brass. Cold. Carved with patterns as intricate as the ones in the bathroom.
He held it.
Didn't move.
One second.
Two seconds.
——
Another hand covered his.
Cole's.
That palm pressed against the back of his hand—warm, rough, a full size larger. That sensation transmitted from his skin, like some inescapable brand.
Click.
The sound of the door latch turning.
Then—
A slight push from behind.
Very light. Almost imperceptible. But that force existed, pushing him, forcing him to take that step forward.
The door opened.
Warm yellow light flooded from the crack, shining on his face, illuminating the dark blue soft robe he wore, and catching on his left hand gripping the door handle.
The air carried the heavy aroma of food—hot, oily, fragrant, and a hint of something sweet he couldn't identify.
Linglong's voice was right there: "…finally here. I'm starving to death—"
Erika stood at the doorway.
The light fell upon him.
He took that step.
——
"Mind your etiquette."
Liz's voice came from beside the dining table, neither loud nor soft, yet like a sharp pair of scissors, precisely severing Linglong's outburst before it could fully form.
"Your Highness, the Second Prince."
Those few words fell into the air, not heavy, yet carrying an oppressive weight that demanded obedience.
Erika stood at the doorway. Through the warm yellow candlelight, he saw the maid standing by the table, hands clasped before her, spine ramrod straight. She didn't even look at Linglong, just kept her eyes lowered, fixed on some point on the table.
Linglong opened his mouth, swallowing the second half of "I'm starving to death."
"…Tch."
Very soft.
But he didn't shout anymore.
——
"You're finally here—"
Linglong changed his tone. That voice was still aimed at Cole, but it was no longer the casual shout towards the staircase; it carried something held back, something put on.
Erika couldn't understand what it was.
He only knew Cole's hand was still on his back, pushing him forward with a pressure that was neither light nor heavy.
One step.
Two steps.
Half-pushed, half-guided, he arrived at the table's edge.
——
That table was too big.
Too big to be for people eating; it looked more like an altar prepared for some grand ceremony. The white tablecloth hung to the floor. Upon it lay silver cutlery, crystal glasses, several candlesticks, and countless plates and bowls. Those dishes steamed with heat, wafting the aromas of countless foods he couldn't name—roasted, stewed, fried, and sweet things.
Erika stood by the table.
Staring at the food on it.
Motionless.
He didn't know where to sit. Didn't know which of those silver utensils were his. Didn't know when he could eat, how to eat, or what to eat.
He just stood there.
Staring at the food.
His stomach growled. Loudly. But he didn't move.
——
Screech—
The sound of a chair being pulled out.
Loud. Sudden. As if someone had deliberately pulled it hard.
"Tch."
Liz's disdainful scoff.
That one "tch" was sharper than any words. Erika didn't even need to look up to imagine the expression on her face—eyes rolling, brow furrowed, like looking at something filthy.
He tightened his grip on his empty right sleeve.
——
The next moment—
He lost all sense of weight again!
Before Erika could react, his whole body was lifted! Cole's hands—in the exact same position, supporting his back, lifting under his knees—hoisted him from the floor!
Erika's feet left the ground, his whole body airborne, and then—
He was set down.
Not on the floor.
On Cole's lap.
The sensation was far too vivid—through that dark blue soft robe, through Cole's dirty pants, he could feel the radiating warmth of his thigh and the sheer firmness of muscle. Cole's arm wrapped around his waist, locking him in place.
Erika froze.
He sat on Cole's leg, facing that huge table laden with food, facing Linglong's smiling gaze from across the table, facing Liz's eye-rolling face that now clearly screamed, "I knew it all along."
He couldn't move.
He couldn't speak.
He just wanted to bury himself.
——
Linglong laughed out loud.
That laugh wasn't loud, but it was starkly clear in the quiet dining room.
"Cole," he said, "you really haven't changed at all."
Erika only felt the arm around his waist tighten slightly.
——
"Second—Prince—!"
Cole's voice came from above, carrying a deliberately drawn-out, exaggerated tone.
"Liz is right. We really must mind our etiquette."
Erika could feel the slight vibration of his chest with each word. He sat on Cole's lap, stiff as a board, his gaze unsure where to land.
"It's just lunch."
Linglong's voice floated over from across, carrying a lazy, dismissive tone.
"It doesn't need to be this formal."
——
"Would you mind cutting some bread for me, Liz?"
Cole's voice sounded again. The tone carried a casual matter-of-factness, like ordering someone around in his own home.
Erika heard light footsteps, then the faint clink of a knife against a porcelain plate.
He had no attention to spare for the surrounding conversation.
Those words—"Second Prince," "etiquette," "lunch"—floated past his ears, failing to enter his mind. All his attention—absolutely all of it—was seized by what was happening right before him.
Liz cutting the bread.
That knife. Silver, gleaming in the candlelight. Cutting into the bread without any force needed; the bread simply yielded. The crust was golden, crisp, a faint crackle audible as it was sliced. Inside was another color entirely—white, soft, like clouds, like snow, like something he had never seen in his miserable life.
Liz's hands were incredibly steady. Slice, slice, cutting perfectly even pieces.
Erika stared at those hands, at that knife, at those slices falling one by one.
He forgot to breathe.
——
Soon after.
A plate was pushed over.
The plate with the sliced bread.
Pushed before them—right before Cole and Erika.
The plate was white porcelain, its edges traced with fine gold lines. On it lay several slices of cut bread, golden crust, snow-white interior, still emitting wisps of steam.
The intense aroma of wheat mixed with rich milk crashed into Erika's brain.
He just wanted to—
Reach out.
Grab that slice of bread.
——
"I'm really tired of it, Cole."
Linglong's voice floated over as if from very far away.
"Darenz. Nothing here is interesting."
Erika looked up at Cole.
That face was just above him, the candlelight illuminating his profile in half-light, half-shadow. Cole wasn't looking at him. He was just staring at Linglong across the table, a faint, ambiguous smile playing at the corner of his mouth—that smile held none of his usual infuriating playfulness. It held only something Erika couldn't understand.
Then he looked back at the bread on the plate.
That slice of bread was still there. Golden, snow-white, steaming hot, fragrant enough to drive a starving man mad.
Waiting.
Waiting for Cole to say it was okay to eat.
——
"I can't help you there, Your Highness."
Cole's voice came from above, carrying that familiar, punchable tone, but now laced with something else—was it respect? Or mockery? Erika couldn't tell.
As he spoke, he pulled the plate closer.
That plate, loaded with golden, maddeningly fragrant bread slices, was dragged right to Cole's hand.
Cole started tearing the bread.
The movement was casual, like tearing apart some worthless rag. But the bread made a soft shredding sound in his hands, revealing the whiter, softer core inside. Crumbs fell—onto the plate, onto the pristine white tablecloth.
"You lack for nothing around you."
Cole's voice continued. Tearing as he spoke.
"You probably wouldn't think much of my gift, either."
——
The bread was torn into small pieces.
Small. Just the right size for one mouthful. Cole's fingers were dusted with a few crumbs and golden bits, gleaming faintly in the candlelight.
That hand picked up one piece—
And held it to Erika's lips.
Erika paused.
That bread was right at his mouth, close enough to smell the even richer wheat aroma, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from it. He tilted his head slightly—just slightly, because he was still trapped on Cole's lap—then opened his mouth.
The bread entered.
In that instant—
It was so soft. Soft as nothing at all. The crust had a slight crunch, but shattered at the lightest touch, dissolving into something even softer, almost liquid. Warm, carrying the heavy scent of milk and wheat, melting directly on his tongue.
Erika's teeth instinctively closed, chewing once.
"Liz. Feed me."
Linglong's voice came from across the table.
——
"Etiquette."
That single word were the only response.
Liz's voice. Cold, hard, like two stones striking together.
Erika chewed the bread in his mouth, his eyes unable to stop glancing that way. Linglong sat across from them, his face wearing a lazy, even more shameless expression after being rejected, staring at Liz with a defiant 'deal with it' look.
Liz stood there, completely unmoving.
"Boring."
Linglong sighed.
That sigh was long, empty, as if dragged up from somewhere very deep.
——
Erika swallowed the bread in his mouth.
It felt somehow tasteless.
It had been so fragrant, so soft, so—yet as he chewed, his mouth felt empty. Perhaps it was just too small. That little piece, before he could even truly taste it, was gone.
He looked at the remaining small pieces on the plate, his Adam's apple bobbing.
——
"Need me to feed you—?"
Cole's voice sounded again. This time it was directed at Linglong, carrying that infuriating smile.
"That could be arranged."
——
Erika didn't hear it. He just stared at the plate.
——
"Or—"
Cole's voice changed. That smile was entirely withdrawn, replaced by something cold and absolute.
"You could rot here for the rest of your life."
Erika's gaze lifted from the plate.
"Until your big brother breaks your arms and your legs—"
Cole's tone was as placid as if he were commenting on the weather.
"—and someone has to feed you every day."
——
"How dare you!"
Liz's voice suddenly exploded!
The sound was too sudden, too piercing. It startled Erika so badly he shuddered! He instinctively shrank back, but was held firmly in place by Cole's arm.
The dining room fell into a dead silence for a fraction of a second.
The candlelight flickered wildly.
Linglong's expression became completely unreadable.
Liz stood there, her chest heaving violently. That perpetually stoic face was now etched with raw anger and—something else entirely.
——
Another piece of bread was pushed into Erika's mouth.
Cole's hand.
The movement was very light, very steady, as if absolutely nothing had just happened.
Erika held that piece in his mouth, chewing.
That bread was still so soft, so fragrant. But this time, he chewed very, very slowly.
His eyes fixed on the other side of the table.
Fixed on the person called "His Highness, the Second Prince."
Fixed on the one who said things were "boring."
Fixed on the one whose big brother was going to break his arms and legs.