Natasha—The King’s Personal Secretary
A pause. Then a voice from within—deep, heavy, and unmistakably disinterested—answered, "Send him in after ten minutes. I’m doing something important."
Haran hesitated for a fraction of a second, lips parting as if to speak—but he said nothing. As a subject, he couldn’t question his king aloud.
He swung back to Leon, with a diplomat’s smile. "Ah. Lord Duke, sorry. His Majesty is busy with state affairs. He asks you to wait here for ten minutes."
Leon had already listened to the words of the king. His smile was still calm and tranquil. "It’s alright, Sir Haran. I know. His Majesty has important affairs to take care of—after all, he is the king."
Haran appreciated this and nodded. "Thank you for your understanding, Duke.
Leon strode to the tall windows running along the corridor wall. He gazed out over the garden below—the flowing greenery waving softly in the air, sunlight spilling over the petals. The morning air blew chill over the curtains, softly stirring them, but within, his brow furrowed.
To all observers, he seemed calm.
But beneath it, his mind focussed.
So, he summoned me here. to keep me waiting.
Leon wasn’t the sort to be irritated by waiting. But this wait—he knew it was intentional. It wasn’t the first time the King had played this sort of trick. Flashbacks of his past Leon floated across his mind.
After the war, when Leon became war hero, his fame spread fast—nearly bordering on the King’s own position. The King did not seem to have taken it lightly at all. Deep within the King’s heart, a cold jealousy was brewing. For a man sitting atop, seeing a junior man rise so close in popularity was not just a bitter pill to swallow but also a strong challenge to his throne.
The King was a cunning man, always playing his cards close to his chest—civil and courteous on the outside, but chill within. Each word, each move, was meant to remind Leon precisely where he was positioned—beneath the throne, yes, but still beneath.
Sometimes, the King left Leon waiting for no reason—a small snub, a reminder of the gap between them.
Leon remembered another visits of past Leon —when the Silver City and the surrounding lands experienced shortages in food, he would arrive at the capital to beg for assistance. The King, however, would turn him away with frozen indifference. "I have work now. I will see you later," he’d tell him, keeping Leon waiting in front of the royal study for hours on end.
In those days, the old Leon hadn’t bothered with politics enough to take offense. But this Leon... things were changed.
In those days, Leon hadn’t cared much. Politics wasn’t his universe.
But now, things were different.
He detested being underestimated. Detested how the King dismissed him like he didn’t matter.
And he certainly hated playing the role of obedient subject to a man so desperate to cling to power.
This wasn’t about patience or politics anymore. This was about personal.
I want this life, he thought to himself—the one with my wives, my home, my peace.
But if the King still retains that spark of jealousy towards me in his heart, none of it will ever be.
That’s why I require the throne—not even for power —but because I’ll never have peace living while someone like him sits over me.
His strategy to claim the throne had to accelerate. He could not risk any further hesitation—or pretending warmth—to a king who already regarded him as a threat.
Anyone could stand waiting for ten minutes, Leon thought, that’s nothing. Because soon, I won’t be waiting here anymore.
There was a still, peaceful smile that spread across his face—a smile that held something jagged and sinister beneath its façade.
Minutes slipped by—ten, perhaps more—but Leon stood lost in consideration, engrossed in planning the future.
He stood at the window; eyes glued on the green garden extending below. Morning sun painted the verdure a golden, warm hue, and soft breezes rustled the leaves, bearing subtle fragrances of blooming roses and fresh ground.
But nothing in the serene beauty around him served to still his mind. Within, plans and strategies whirled on eternally, each step in the labyrinth game to come laid out before him. His hands lay gently upon the chilled glass, a quiet anchor as the burden of his desires weighed ever more with each second.
Abruptly, the silence in the air was broken by a thud creaking down the hallway—the King’s study great doors slowly opening. Leon’s attention jerked from the garden to the open door.
A dramatic figure came through the gilded doorway.
A statuesque, beautiful woman with a bob-cut chestnut-black hair and blinding black eyes moves with confident poise. Her heart-shaped face is crowned with high cheekbones, soft plump lips, and a porcelain complexion. She possesses a curvy hourglass figure—ample breasts, slender waist, broad hips, and heavy, muscular thighs.
She had on a white lacy blouse that was a contrast to smooth, high-waist leather pants and boots, every move exuding a mix of grace and sensuality. The sunlight streaming through the long windows of the corridor caught the silhouette of her, and she appeared both beautiful and authoritative.
For an instant, the world around Leon grew indistinct — the garden beyond, the hallway’s stillness, time itself appeared to melt away. All that Leon was aware of was her being, strong and serene, awakening something deep inside of him.
She spoke then, her voice, serene and songlike, breaking through the mist. "Lord Leon."
The two uncomplicated words dragged him back to reality. Leon’s gaze met the woman who’d spoken. Her smile remained relaxed, but her eyes were keen and purposeful, raking over his face as if attempting to commit every feature to memory. There was a very brief spark of shock in her eyes—almost as if she hadn’t quite anticipated him looking —but it was impossible to ignore.
Leon’s suspicion proved correct. The woman at the gate is not greatly surprised to see him.
The first thing she observed wasn’t just that he was a man, but the quiet strength in his presence. Tall at six feet, his wide shoulders and firm stance emanated an unmistakable authority. His black shoulder-length hair and his distinctive and awesome golden eyes had a serene dominance with a touch of mirth. His angular and sharp facial features imparted to him a presence impossible to ignore—towering enough to be described as close to godlike among males. Despite never having seen him before, merely having heard rumors of his good looks—how Duke Leon Moonwalker was numbered among the most charming men in all Galvia—the truth was far greater than any lie. There was something almost godly about him, a born authority that drew all eyes without even trying. Leon was quietly captivated by her singular loveliness. It wasn’t that his wives or Nova weren’t just as entrancing—their own special charm, their own unmistakable fascination. But she was distinct. There was something edgier, more striking about her presence—a harsher edge to her beauty that Leon couldn’t quite place yet.
She advanced with deliberate poise, her shoes silent on the buffed floor, and gave a gentle, poised smile to dispel the silence between them.
"Hmm. Salutations, Lord Leon. I am Natasha—the King’s personal secretary."
Leon blinked once, fairly taken aback.
A personal secretary? That was not something he had recalled from the old memories of Leon’s. The King never had a personal secretary—certainly not one so striking. But she had just emerged from the royal study proper. If that was a fabrication, it was at least a daring one... but there standing by the door, she didn’t leave many to doubt.
He didn’t ask her to explain. No need to express suspicion now.
Rather, he smiled politely, his face relaxed, and smiled back at her—casual, poised, with only a touch of charm behind those golden eyes.
"Hello, Miss Natasha," he replied smoothly. His voice was courteous and controlled. Charming on the surface... but quietly observant beneath.
Her heart made a soft thump as she saw his smile—surprise and quick, like a crack of heat in cold air. Her eyes flashed, just for a moment, with an odd spark. She smoothed it out at once, maintaining a professional tone.
"His Majesty is now ready. May I show you in?"
Leon nodded, voice even, polite. "Thank you. Please proceed, Miss Natasha."
She smiled and nodded and turned with practiced ease, and in the movement, a soft, intoxicating fragrance wafted toward him—her perfume. Subtle but pervasive, warm in a manner that caressed his senses without trying too hard.
Leon trailed behind him, his steps soft on the highly polished floor. But his eyes couldn’t help but catch the soft swing of her hips ahead—a movement so smooth it was difficult to look away from. For a moment, he couldn’t help but ask himself: intentional. or natural?
Leon shook the idea away, calming his mind as he moved forward and followed her into the study. The massive door swung shut behind them with a dull thump, closing off the corridor—and with it, the world outside. All that was left was the hush of the grand chamber. and the silent tension of what lay within.