The slave had been hired to bathe the spoiled prince, and when she undressed him

For a long moment, Maia couldn’t move. Her fingers froze above the prince’s shoulder, and her heart pounded so hard she thought he could hear it. The stories she’d heard about Aron had painted him as cruel, heartless, untouchable. Yet before her stood a man whose body told a story no rumor had ever mentioned—a story of suffering, not arrogance.

The prince noticed her hesitation and turned his head sharply. “Why do you stop?” he demanded, his tone sharp, but beneath it, something trembled—something that didn’t match the cold mask he wore. Maia lowered her gaze immediately.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I did not mean to offend.”

He said nothing more, only leaned back into the steaming water as she continued her work. But as she ran the cloth gently over his back, her eyes couldn’t help but follow the jagged lines that crisscrossed his skin. They weren’t the marks of battle. They were older, more deliberate—as if carved by the hands of cruelty itself.

Maia’s mind raced. How could the prince, the son of the most powerful king in Ederia, bear the marks of torment? Who would dare harm him?

“Do not stare,” he said suddenly, his voice low, almost weary. She flinched, realizing he had felt her gaze tracing his scars.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she murmured again, but something inside her shifted. For the first time, she didn’t see a tyrant. She saw a prisoner.

Minutes passed in heavy silence, broken only by the sound of water dripping from the marble edges of the pool. The scent of lavender and smoke filled the air. Maia dared not speak, yet she could feel his eyes on her, studying her every move, as if searching for something—perhaps judgment, or perhaps pity.

When the bath was done, she reached for the towel. Her hands brushed against his, and she felt a strange warmth ripple through her. The prince’s hand tensed, then slowly withdrew, as though the touch had burned him.

“You may leave,” he said finally.

But just as she turned, he spoke again, softer this time. “What is your name?”

“Maia, Your Highness.”

He repeated it quietly, as if tasting it. “Maia.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “You will come again tomorrow.”

She bowed, confused but obedient, and left the chamber. Outside, the night air struck her face, cool and real, grounding her in the world she knew. Yet her thoughts remained behind, tangled with the image of those scars—and the eyes that had hidden so much behind their coldness.

The next day, when she returned, the prince was already waiting. The arrogance was still there, but dimmed, shadowed by something else. “Close the doors,” he said, his voice calm. “No one must hear us.”

Her pulse quickened. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He rose from his seat and walked toward her, every step echoing softly on the marble floor. “You saw what no one else has seen,” he said. “Not even my father knows.” His expression darkened. “If you speak of it—”

“I would never,” Maia interrupted, her voice trembling but sincere. “I swear it.”

Something flickered in his eyes—trust, fragile and fleeting. “Then help me,” he whispered. “Not as a servant, but as someone who still believes in kindness.”

Maia blinked in disbelief. The prince, the man feared by all, was asking for help—from her.

“What is it you ask of me?”

He looked away for a moment before answering. “I need you to keep my secret. Those scars… they are not from enemies, but from my own family. From the man the kingdom calls our merciful king.”

Her breath caught. She could scarcely believe it.

“The world must never know,” he continued. “But I cannot bear this silence alone anymore.”

And then, in that grand, golden chamber, something broke between them—the wall of class, of fear, of power. She knelt, not in submission, but in understanding.

“Then you are not the monster they say you are,” she said softly.

He smiled for the first time, faintly, painfully. “No, Maia. I am only what pain has made of me.”

In that moment, she realized the truth: beneath the crown and the cruelty, there was a soul wounded beyond measure—one that might still be healed, not by obedience, but by compassion. And though neither of them spoke it aloud, both knew that their lives had just changed forever.