A pair of soft yellow cloth shoes sat neatly by the bedside.
Sylas knelt on the floor, holding a bowl of rice he couldn't bring himself to eat.
His mouth felt bland, but a deep nausea churned within him, threatening to rise.
Yet he feared angering Isolde and bringing another round of "punishment."
He could only repeat silently:
It's fine. The Queen of Aethelred must be clean. She must wash her feet. It's actually hygienic. There's no smell.
Isolde sat at the table, eating with relish, her bare feet swinging carelessly beneath it.
The food was delicious, and she was thoroughly enjoying it. But seeing Sylas not touching his chopsticks instantly darkened her mood.
This prisoner must have lost his appetite from helping me with my shoes earlier. He really needs to be put in his place!
"Not hungry?" she asked, shooting him a sidelong glance.
"Not hungry…"
Gurgle…
His stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly.
Isolde didn't call him out. Instead, she lifted her legs and dropped them into his lap.
"Lyonesse is a bit chilly. Warm these up for me. If you're not hungry, I'll just take your chopsticks."
She swiftly snatched the chopsticks from his hand and went back to eating.
Sylas swallowed hard. He was hungry.
He had thought about starving himself, but the bracelet on his wrist pulsed softly, relentlessly reminding him to eat.
Because of the enchanted chain, his hunger was magnified—gnawing, artificial, intensifying until he was full.
"This bracelet…" Sylas asked, his voice strained. "What is it called?"
It was a vicious artifact. Not only did it prevent him from refusing a woman's command, but it also stole his right to end his own life.
"The Servant's Chain. Why?" Isolde replied leisurely, a smirk playing on her lips. "Is it making you eat?"
"Can it be removed?" Sylas gave the chain a futile tug. It didn't budge.
Isolde laughed. "What nonsense are you talking? Isn't it pretty? I think it suits you.
And it helps unlock your… potential, doesn't it? You performed adequately last night.
Keep it up, and we can… progress together."
Sylas sighed in defeat. "Then can I have my chopsticks back? I want to eat now."
"You didn't want them earlier. Too late. Eat from the bowl." Isolde pulled her long legs back and brazenly planted her feet on his knees.
"Eat from the bowl? Like an animal? What difference is there between me and a dog then?" Sylas protested, aghast.
"What did you think you were?" Isolde retorted. "Are you only just realizing your position? You're so clever, you shouldn't be this slow.
Not going to eat? Fine, I'll take the bowl away too." She reached for his rice bowl.
The torment from the Servant's Chain became unbearable.
His hunger swelled, making his whole body tremble. It was a completely magical starvation, but it felt utterly real.
In despair, he whispered, "I'll eat. I'll eat."
It was just as Isolde said. He was no different from a dog.
He placed the bowl on the floor, bowed his head, closed his eyes, and buried his face in the rice.
He thought a few mouthfuls would suffice—to end the humiliation quickly.
But the magical hunger was relentless. He had to eat until he was completely full for the maddening sensation to subside.
"Look at you, rice all over your face. And you call yourself a noble lord?" Isolde mocked him deliberately. "Hmph. I think even a country bumpkin has better manners than you."
Sylas raised a hand to wipe his face, but Isolde kicked it away with her foot. "If you eat from the bowl, can you at least try to be neater?"
Sylas flinched. "I could eat cleanly with chopsticks!" he said angrily.
"I know," Isolde said sweetly. "But I said you'll eat from the bowl from now on."
"Tyrant…"
"Hmm?" Isolde had been waiting for this. A mix of anger and excitement flashed in her eyes. "Well, well, still daring to insult me. Perfect timing—I'm full and refreshed. Let's continue what we started last night."
"W-wait… Don't you have things to do this afternoon?" Sylas stammered, his face smeared with grease, panic setting in. "You just conquered a kingdom. Shouldn't you be incredibly busy?"
He had only gotten a few hours of rest since the previous night. If this continued, he felt he would truly find a fate worse than death.
"Ah, I have to thank your nation's nobles for being so… understanding," Isolde joked. "They all swore fealty within the morning."
Hearing this, Sylas's eyes filled with profound despair.
They surrendered completely in just one morning?
The capital his family had guarded for so long had fallen so easily. It seemed he was indeed nothing but a conquered slave now.
"Go wash your face. I'll be waiting for you on the bed," Isolde chirped happily, launching herself onto the bed and kicking the neatly folded blankets into disarray with her long, pale legs.
She hugged a pillow. "Your bedding looks plain, but it's quite comfortable. What's it stuffed with?"
Sylas washed his face meticulously. Seeing Isolde waiting for him on the bed, ready for another round, his legs felt weak.
He glanced desperately toward the door, hoping for some emergency to interrupt the Queen's leisure.
But unfortunately, the defeated Lyonesse was being exceptionally "well-behaved," causing the Queen of Aethelred not a single bit of trouble.
"Just… ordinary material..." he mumbled, trembling as he approached the bed.
Isolde propped her head up with one arm, lying on her side watching his hesitant approach. "Getting shy again?" she teased.
"Your Majesty... please," Sylas said, on the verge of tears.
He was finally beginning to plead.
He slowly knelt by the bedside. "Your Majesty, please stop tormenting me. I..." He bowed his head, truly feeling on the brink of collapse.
He had been stretched taut since the previous day, and now Isolde was preparing to tighten the screws even further. The thought was unbearable.
Isolde watched him quietly, letting him suffer for a moment before speaking. "You, a conquered slave, have absolutely no sense of awareness, do you?"
Sylas: "I have the resolve to die!"
"That won't do. Tell you what," Isolde said, clearly toying with him again. "The day you behave in a way that shows you desperately want to live, I'll grant you permission to die. How about that?"
Sylas gave a bitter laugh. "So you're just going to oppose me in everything, is that it?"
"Heh, you finally got it. I don't just want to oppose you," she said, reaching out and yanking him onto the bed. "I want to win. Now, Servant's Chain, do your thing! Let's get our young lord… excited!"
The enchanted artifact obeyed Isolde's command perfectly.
In an instant, a surge of unnatural energy coursed through Sylas, overriding his exhaustion and will.