I rested my palm on the knob of the massive, dark wooden door. The door was cold, expensively polished, and the air in the hallway, despite the grandeur, was suffocating.
'Okay, focus. You're a butler. You deliver coffee. Act like you've done this a thousand times.'
I took one last deep breath, pushing the door open just enough to slip through.
CREAK
Inside the room, which was filled with elegance and luxury. Silk curtains framed the large windows, allowing sunlight to stream in and cast a warm glow on the wooden floor. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries, and an elaborate bed with fine linens was pushed up against one wall.
I quickly shut the door behind me and performed what I hoped was an acceptable version of a respectful entry.
Then, my gaze landed on her, the Queen, who was seated gracefully at a small table near the windows, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Your Majesty, the tea," I said, my voice low and respectful.
Her eyes flicked up from the parchment she'd been reading, slow and deliberate, as if she was savoring the moment.
"Coffee, darling," she corrected softly, rising with a whisper of velvet skirts. "And you know better than to call me 'your majesty' in private."
She then stepped towards me, not stopping until she was far too close, the warmth of her body seeping through my uniform. Her fingers brushed mine as she took the cup, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
"You made it exactly how I like it… again." She said. "Tell me… how do you take your coffee?"
'Huh?'
'Do I even drink coffee? Maybe Arthur did, but I definitely don't.'
While I reeled through my mind, she decided to break the momentary silence by answering her own question.
"No sugar," she murmured, her voice a low. "Strong. Bittersweet." Her gaze dipped momentarily to the cup in her hand, then rose again, locking with mine. "I prefer my coffee…. the same way I like my men."
That took me by surprise.
She likes her coffee the same way she likes men?
Bitter.
Is she into those toxic kinds of people?
Wait, she's the queen, why is she fantasizing about liking other men, other than the king?
"Sweet," I quickly said, trying to break the awkwardness that creeped in after she said that 'liking bitter men.' "I like mine sweet."
A small smirk formed at the corner of her mouth. She then leaned back against the table, crossing one leg over the other, her eyes never leaving me.
"Sweet, are you?" she echoed, her tone almost mocking, but there was a glint of something else in her gaze. "I could've guessed."
"...."
.
.
'Does that mean the Original Arthur likes sweet things?'
She stepped even closer, her body so close you could almost feel the heat radiating from her. Her fingers continued to play across the fabric of my uniform, her touch almost teasing, yet calculated.
"I've noticed…. how obedient you are," she murmured. "You follow my commands without question."
Her hands moved to my hips, her grip firm but not painful. "Do you know why I chose you for this position?"
"Not at all, Your Majesty." I stepped back, creating space between us.
'What was all that?' I thought. 'Was there anything between Arthur and the Queen?'
"I've told you not to call me 'your majesty' here," she said with a sigh. "Especially not when we're alone. My name is Mara, or did you forget?"
"Short for Marcella Luminaris, I shouldn't remind you every time," she continued.
My body suddenly went still. That's when everything clicked, the voice, my phone, and that last chapter.
I'm in that novel.
Yes, the very one I last read. Everything is finally piecing together. I had thought I was in some random fantasy world, or merely thrown back into medieval Europe, but to be inside the last romance novel I read— that changes everything.
"So she's Marcella," I realized.
Marcella Luminaris, the adulterous queen of King Charles Luminaris, ruler of the Kingdom of Luminaris.
Actually, this is the best scenario. With my knowledge, even though the first thirty chapters only took place within the palace, leaving the outside a mystery—I know everyone who matters,
'So I get to meet her,' Ithought. 'Isolde, the best girl in all of webnovels.'
'And that fucking Prince, I'm definitely killing that prick.'
"...You're thinking again," she observes, breaking the silence again. "What is it?"
She then tilts her head slightly, her red hair spilling over one shoulder.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten how to speak entirely." A half smile plays at her lips.
"No, I'm perfectly fine, but I simply can't go through with it, Your Majesty. I don't think I can call you anything else."
That caused her to pause, her gaze sharpening as she studies me. "Can't, or won't?"
There's a challenge in her words, a quiet demand for an honest answer. Her eyes never leave my face; she won't accept any evasion this time. No hiding behind formalities or pretense. She wants the truth.
And she's used to getting what she wants.
"Speak."
I could sense the anger brewing in her, and I didn't want to be any part of that. I could vividly recall the chapter where she slapped a maiden unconscious out of pure rage.
"I apologize, Your Majesty. I will be calling you Mara from henceforth when we are in private."
Her expression remained unreadable for a long moment, then, slowly, she turned away, walking towards the window with deliberate grace.
"Henceforth," she repeats, voice low and almost mocking. "How… proper of you."
She gazes out over her kingdom, the sunlight perfectly framing her face. Then, without turning back.
"You may go."
But just as I reached for the tray to leave—
"…Come back tomorrow. Same time."
....
Now outside her chambers, I couldn't help but ponder the possibilities.
Did I become the Butler she committed adultery with? I quickly dismissed that thought; the novel never mentioned who her lover was. It only revealed that she was caught by her daughter, Isolde, who wanted to use the knowledge to blackmail her mother into not agreeing to her arranged marriage with that despicable Prince. But of course, Marcella Luminaris, mischievous as ever, quickly thwarted Isolde's plan.
Now, staring at my reflection, I couldn't blame the Queen for having a thing for Arthur. With bright blonde hair that caught the light, intense blue eyes, and a sharp, classically handsome jawline, he was the definition of 'not chopped.'
"Transmigration," I smirked. The one trope I had only read about in webnovels had actually happened to me. It seems life isn't so boring after all.
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[A/N:] Welcome to my first novel, and yes it's another 'Extra' novel to add to the growing ranks of that in webnovel. Never mind, this is just another author plea to his loyal masters, his readers. I ask not much, but some piece of your power stones and time to comments.
And also, dropping a review would definitely help me understand what you like and don't like about the story.