TPOP 1

Chapter 1. Prologue

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She couldn't see anything, but she could smell a strong scent of blood in the air.

Diana gasped, clutching her clean rag.

"Aaaahhhh-!"

A desperate scream came from not far away. The soul-crushing cry of a man's last terminus, the stale smell of blood and metal cladding wafting past her nostrils. She had gotten used to it in the half years she had been here.

When all was quiet, Diana began to move.

She had memorized the layout of this hellish place. She moved forward, counting the tiny protrusions that caught on her toes. One, two, three. Three tiles later, the tips of her shoes touched the wall.

Her fingertips touched the smooth window sill and its fine embossed design. Diana fiddled with the latch and threw the window wide open. The foul odor from inside was swept away by the breeze.

Only one window should be open. The owner of this place enjoyed neither the noise outside nor the afternoon sunshine.

Diana groped for her left foot and picked up the bucket and mop she'd brought with her. She was careful with her steps, not wanting to step on the wrong floor and slip.

Her footsteps as soft as possible, her gestures as light as air. Muting her presence as much as possible, she made her way to where the scent of blood was strongest-not too close, but not too far away either.

When she was close enough, Diana stopped.

She dipped the rag into the bucket, squeezed out the water, and scrubbed the floor. The mop quickly became damp. When the mop began to drip with a fishy liquid, she dipped it back into the bucket to rinse it, twisted and wringed it out, and started mopping again. The gritty liquid on her fingertips gradually diminished.

After a quick wipe down, she scrubbed the floor vigorously with a soapy mop. The water in the bucket was as clean as if it had just been dipped in, no matter how many times she washed the mop.

"Whew... whoa."

Diana took a deep breath to calm her churning stomach.

Her keen sense of smell hadn't quite adjusted to the scent of blood, even though it was something she did almost every day these days.

But that was one of Diana’s strengths. She pinpointed the exact spot where she smelled the blood and cleaned every inch of it. She used her bare hands to feel around in the places where her sense of smell had been strained.

Slowly, the scent of blood that weighed heavily on the air dissipated, and other odors began to fill the space. It was an unfamiliar smell, one that Diana had never smelled in her life until she came here.

The distinctive smell of paint mixed with the intense sulfur and flaxseed oil.

Then a rustling sound came from far ahead. Swoosh, swoosh. It sounded like a brush or paintbrush being slowly scrubbed across a wide panel.

Her master must have finally gotten moving.

Her master was always in this strange place. Diana shook the rag, which was sure to be soaked with blood, into the bucket. As she approached the center of the large, desolate space, she became more cautious and careful. Her knees buckled as she braced herself in case she lost her footing.

A little further ahead, she smelled blood. It was her duty to clean up any bloodstains in this dangerous space. Diana moved forward, forward, forward, wiping away drop after drop of blood.

The sound of the dense-bristled brush brushing across the canvas grew closer and closer.

The strong smell of blood lingered on the carpet. It wasn't just the smell of blood. It was also the scent of someone’s body. The smell of the leather and hardware he must have worn, the oil in his hair, the nauseating odor of gastric juices....

The smell of a dead body.

The rag snagged on something. Diana’s heart thudded downward. It wasn't an object. It was a human foot. For a moment, she thought she had touched a body. Everything in this room was an object of its owner.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the shoe Diana touched moved.

There was only one living person she could have encountered here. Diana hastily threw the mop back and braced herself against the floor.

"I apologize, master. I'll be careful."

Her quiet master rarely noticed her. Especially for someone like Diana.

The hem of his robe rustled. Her master's breathing drew closer, and she knew he was kneeling before her.

"Raise your head."

A deep, cold voice. It was a poisonous voice that cut through the frost. It was beautiful and dangerous.

The new master Diana had been serving since half a year ago was a man whose nobility was matched only by his elegance: the aura he exuded, the refinement of his voice and speech, the everyday noises he made with his steps and gestures. He might be handsome, too, if she had to guess.

All of it made him a man to be reckoned with.

Diana slowly raised her hunched upper body. A large hand reached out and lifted her chin. The touch was both delicate and vicious.

The fingers that wrapped around her chin were wet with something thick. It smelled of blood and pigment.... she felt dizzy, like an invisible beast was licking every inch of her face with its gaze. Goosebumps raced down her spine.

"If there's anything you want me to do, Master, just say the word."

"How do I look?"

"What?"

"How I feel."

The question came back as an answer. The master knew better than anyone else what illness Diana suffered from. It was a cheap taste, if intentional.

There was a tremor in Diana's voice that she couldn't hide.

"I was taught never to dare to question my master's feelings."

She prayed her expression didn't show the emotion burning in her chest right now. The man sneered.

"Is that what my half-brother taught you?"

"No, my Lord Chamberlain did."

He laughed, a throaty laugh, as Diana dodged the trap. It was not a pleasant sound.

He'd seen through her from the moment she'd set foot in this place. If he had, he would have killed her like the other spies from the beginning, but instead he'd kept her alive until this moment, more than half a year later.

"Diana."

Her heart beat frantically at the mere sound of his voice calling her name.

Don't shake. Diana bit her lip, casting a spell on herself. Don't show your true feelings.

Don't let the demon know the source of these terrible feelings that make her heart boil, this anger and hatred.

Very close, her master was watching her. All Diana could see was darkness, but the hot breath on the bridge of her nose revealed the other's presence.

If there was a demon in this world, it would surely have this man's face. Diana was grateful that she would never know his face.

Unexpectedly, her shoulders was pushed back. A shadow fell over her as she sprawled on the bare carpeted floor.

The master gritted his teeth and whispered.

"Entertain me."

Her neatly fastened and tied maid's uniform fell away. At some point the man stopped looking at his painting when he saw her. A canvas, unknown context, lay in front of the window.

The man who, only last month, had been so intent on remodeling her in every way to meet his aesthetic standards, now seemed to have no interest in painting.

A smile like blooming flowers brushed her forehead.

"You exist for me. Your body, your routine, the life you lead, the servitude you so desperately desire, only for me."

"......."

"So you shouldn't think about running away again, should you?"

Diana clamped her mouth shut, which was probably for the best, as she had nothing to say, even if her throat was about to be cut.

Her master didn't seem to expect her to answer in kind. Instead, he kissed her without warning.

Diana's lips parted, and a powerful tongue probed and sucked at her sensitive flesh. The relentless, unrelenting stimulation made her body burn. Her long hair fell in a mess on the carpet as the man's grip tightened.

It was hot and intense. Diana closed her eyelids under his oppressive kiss.

I am not a woman prepared for you, she thought, swallowing the anger and resentment down her throat with saliva.

The flames still burned in her eyes, consuming her hopes of escape. But she didn’t give up. Water will always consume the fire, and the waterways will always flow, no matter where they go.

Counting down the days until she could leave this hellish place was Diana's only respite.

Not long now. At most a few days.

But she always wondered. Diana thought as she felt the fabric of her clothes slipping from her body.

Would he still be the arrogant, noble Crown Prince after she left?

***

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