Chapter 35: The Demon King Who Refuses to Eat (Why Am I Lecturing Him?)
Chapter 35: The Demon King Who Refuses to Eat (Why Am I Lecturing Him?)
Even though those words made my heart skip a beat, I glared at Zorathys.
He met my glare calmly, one elbow rested lazily on the table, chin balanced on his fingertips like he was waiting for me to entertain him—and I was no entertainer, so there was no way I was going to entertain him.
"Too bad I don’t feel full with you watching me eat. Eat something," I told him sternly.
He chuckled lightly.
"So bossy," he muttered under his breath.
"Eat," I repeated, ignoring his comment about me being bossy because I wasn’t bossy... at least I don’t think I am.
The corner of his mouth twitched, amused. But he picked up his fork with exaggerated obedience. So exaggerated that I swear he was mocking me. He took a bite of the salad-looking thingy.
Then another, and another again.
He took exactly five bites... yes, I counted.
Then he put the fork down and pushed the plate away like it had personally offended him.
I blinked in shock at the gesture.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
He gave me an almost lazy look, then said slowly, "I’m done eating."
"Done eating? You only took five bites!"
"Yes." He nodded serenely. "And now I’m full."
I stared so hard my eyes began to water. "How are you full?! That was barely even a meal. That wasn’t even a meal. That was a— a tasting sample. A nibble. A— a..." My hands flailed. "A disrespect to food itself."
He tilted his head. "I told you earlier, firefly. Watching you eat filled me."
My mouth dropped open from shock. I could not believe the words he just uttered out of his mouth.
It worked on me for exactly one second. My heart gave a traitorous flutter. A soft oh. My knees prepared a swoon.
Then my brain rebooted, slapped me, and dragged me back to reality.
I shook my head. I would not be having this reaction for a demon king who only brought me here because my father refused to pay a debt he owed and because I had literally used my mouth to sign my fate.
"Eat more. You can’t possibly be filled with just five meager bites," I told him.
He blinked slowly. "But I don’t feel like eating."
I sat up straighter, squared my shoulders, and pointed at him like I was about to deliver a royal decree—which, honestly, I guess I was.
"See, let this be known and get it through your thick skull: you cannot skip meals. You cannot eat five bites of food and call it done. That is not healthy. You are going to wither."
"Wither?" he echoed, faintly amused.
"Yes, wither," I insisted. "That’s what happens when living beings don’t eat well."
He raised a brow, clearly entertained, but I continued my lecture with the burning passion of a royal tutor who had given up on life weeks ago.
"If you don’t eat properly," I said sternly, ticking each item off on my fingers, "first your head is going to get too big because your body won’t be able to keep up—"
His brows shot up.
"—then your eyes won’t glow so strongly anymore. They’ll get dim. Like dying candles. Or sad coals."
He actually paused at that.
"And then," I continued, "eventually you won’t even have the strength to snap your fingers anymore."
His lips parted—slightly. Barely. But enough to show I’d hit a nerve.
"And what if someone needs you? What if the castle is being invaded? What if your people are in danger and need your help? How will you react if you can’t even lift your hand?"
He blinked.
Then blinked again.
Then gave me the laziest, softest smile I’d ever seen on him.
"Firefly," he murmured. "I am not sure if you realize this, but I’m not in danger of losing my strength."
"You will be," I said firmly, "if you keep eating like some... some... gah, I don’t even know what to compare you to."
He opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t give him the chance to do so.
"And don’t tell me demon kings don’t need food," I added quickly. "You clearly eat. You have a plate. You have cutlery. And the kitchen staff prepares food. You need to eat, Zorathys."
He sighed but said nothing, eyes gleaming... amused.
Then he yawned.
Actually yawned.
In my face.
In the middle of my lecture.
I stared at him.
He froze mid-yawn. Literally froze.
Then closed his mouth slowly, like he knew—he knew—I was about to scold him harder than an academy headmistress.
I narrowed my eyes. "Are you bored?"
"No," he said instantly.
"Were you yawning?"
"No."
"Zorathys."
He straightened in his chair, suddenly very attentive.
"Continue," he said politely.
Oh, now he was pretending to be a good student? Unbelievable.
I huffed and folded my arms. "I’m done lecturing. You already know what I’m saying is true. You need to eat properly."
"I took five bites."
"Take more."
"Firefly—"
"Eat."
He looked at me.
I looked back.
And at that point, it was a battle of wills between us.
A princess versus a demon king.
Eventually, he exhaled softly and leaned back in his chair.
I reached over, grabbed my plate of bread and my bowl of soup, and slid them in front of him.
His eyes lowered to the meal.
Then lifted to me.
"You’re giving me your food?" he asked, slow and unreadable.
"Yes. Because you clearly aren’t going to eat yours."
"...Firefly."
"Don’t ’firefly’ me. Eat."
He gave me a look again like he could not believe what was happening here, and I ignored him, gesturing impatiently.
"Go on, have a taste," I told him.
He looked at me again and frowned.
"Come on, I’ve already had a taste of the meal. It’s very good. You’ll love it too," I told him.
He hovered a moment longer, as though weighing something. Then, finally, he nodded.
And began to eat slowly. He was so slow I had to wonder if he had been born from a sloth or not.
He tore a piece of the bread, placed it in his mouth, chewed with all the enthusiasm of someone chewing gravel, and swallowed.
He took another piece again and then chewed slowly. His face was blank as he chewed; it looked like it was taking everything in him not to spit the food out.
When he was finally done, he took a sip of the broth.
A single sip.
His entire face contorted immediately, then he pushed the bowl away instantly as if it personally offended him.
I blinked in shock from the movement.
He grabbed his water so fast the cup nearly fell. He took a long drink, then another, and set the cup down with a small thud.
"What... what is going on?" I asked him.
Zorathys frowned and picked up his fork, taking some of the salad thingy in his mouth again like it could cleanse his palate.
I stared at him, and when he was done, he used a napkin to wipe his mouth.
"What happened?" I asked him. "Was there something wrong with the food?"
"Other than the fact that I don’t like it? No."
I frowned. "What do you mean you don’t like it?"
"I don’t like pears, and I don’t like the bread either. I don’t like the food plated," he said casually.
I just stared in disbelief. "If you don’t like it, then why did you let them serve it in the first place?"