What would you do if you were sitting down for breakfast, your stomach growling from the hunger of a long night, only to realize there's poison in the food?
Not a taphorical poison, but the real deal—deadly, silent, creeping through the delicious aroma of whatever feast is laid out in front of you. It's a tricky situation, especially when you don't know who did it.
The cooks?
The maids?
Or maybe so unseen hand you've never t.
And here you are, the Prince Consort, sitting in a chair you never really asked for, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, trying to decide whether to take a bite.
Mikhailis stared at the breakfast tray in front of him, his fingers tapping the edge of the wooden table rhythmically.
The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows in the room, and the soft clatter of dishes being set on the table echoed faintly.
The maids worked silently, their expressions neutral, but there was sothing... off.
He couldn't quite place it.
But there it was.
A tension in the air.
His usual carefree smile stayed plastered on his face, but behind it, his mind was already working, piecing together the puzzle.
He had learned long ago to trust his instincts, especially in situations like this. Sothing didn't sit right. The faint bitterness in the aroma of the soup, the slight sheen on the surface of the fruit slices—small details most wouldn't notice.
But he wasn't most people.
His eyes flickered to the maid closest to him, Lira, standing just a few steps away, hands folded neatly in front of her apron.
She seed fine.
A little stiff, maybe, but she was always like that.
No, it was the other maids, the ones he didn't know, the ones who had arrived just this morning.
There was a slight tremor in the hands of one as she poured tea. Her eyes didn't et his.
Interesting.
Ca Rodion's voice, soft and cold, as if reading the situation right alongside him.
Mikhailis humd lightly, pretending to take in the scent of the tea.
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