The first thing I saw when I entered the grand hall was a bucket of water… tipping over.

And the first thing I felt was ice-cold water splashing across my boots.

“Ah! Oh no, I— I’m so sorry!”

A small figure scrambled forward, her frilly maid’s cap slipping sideways, almost falling into the puddle herself. She looked like she had run straight out of a romance novel — big round eyes, flushed cheeks, and a panic so genuine that it made me pause instead of scolding her.

She clutched a cloth, dabbing frantically at my boots, but her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly wiped the wrong way.

“Stop,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

She froze instantly, biting her lip. “I… I’ll clean it! Please, don’t fire me. It’s only my first day.”

I sighed. I had told the head housekeeper I didn’t need another maid, yet here one was — tiny, trembling, and clearly about to trip over the hem of her own skirt.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Lila.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Lila,” I said slowly, “have you always been this… clumsy?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “I— I promise I’m not usually like this! It’s just—” She glanced up at me for the first time, and I noticed her lashes trembled like they carried the weight of the world. “You’re… intimidating.”

…Well. I wasn’t expecting that.

The corners of my lips twitched despite myself. “If I’m so intimidating, why did you take the job?”

Her cheeks turned even redder. “Because… they said the pay was good. And… I like castles.”

I studied her for a moment. Her uniform was slightly too big, the sleeves slipping past her wrists. She smelled faintly of fresh soap and lavender. Completely harmless. And yet…

I crouched down, slipping an arm under her before she could react.

She squeaked — actually squeaked — and grabbed my coat collar. “W-what are you doing?!”

“You’re drenched. You’ll catch a cold. And if you trip again while carrying boiling tea, I’ll be the one dealing with the burns.” I started walking, carrying her effortlessly toward the servants’ quarters.

“I can walk!” she protested weakly, her face buried in my shoulder.

“I noticed,” I said dryly. “And I also noticed how well that went a minute ago.”

Her breath caught, but she didn’t argue further.

When we reached her tiny room, I set her down on the bed. She looked at me like I had just saved her life and ruined her pride at the same time.

I crossed my arms. “From now on, you are forbidden from carrying heavy trays, boiling kettles, or anything sharp. Understand?”

Her brows knitted together. “But… then what can I do?”

I let out a slow breath, leaning against the doorway. “You can… stay where I can see you. Read books. Drink tea. Try not to fall out of your chair.”

“That’s not work,” she said, almost pouting.

“That’s the point,” I replied. “I’ll handle the rest.”

For some reason, saying it out loud made my chest feel… warm. Like I had just made a decision that went far beyond today.

She blinked at me, hesitant. “…You’re… spoiling me?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You make it sound like a crime.”

Her lips curved slightly — the tiniest smile. “Maybe it is.”

I didn’t know why, but in that moment, I decided that no matter how clumsy she was, Lila wasn’t going anywhere.

And if the head housekeeper didn’t like it?

Too bad.

The next morning, I found her sitting stiffly in the small chair by the window, her hands folded in her lap as if she were in the middle of an exam.

A stack of books sat untouched on the table beside her, along with a teacup that hadn’t been sipped.

“You look miserable,” I said, stepping inside.

Her head snapped up, and her cheeks flushed instantly. “I-I’m not! I’m just… doing my job.”

“Your job,” I repeated, crossing the room, “is to sit here and not destroy anything. That should be the easiest assignment in the world.”

She pouted — actually pouted — and my chest tightened in a way I wasn’t prepared for. “It’s boring. I can’t just sit and do nothing all day.”

“You’re not doing nothing,” I said, setting down the small box I carried. “You’re keeping me at peace.”

Her lips parted. “That’s… not work.”

“It is for me.”

Before she could argue, I slid the box across the table. She blinked at it suspiciously, then lifted the lid. Inside lay a delicate porcelain teacup painted with tiny lavender flowers. The rim gleamed gold, catching the sunlight.

Her fingers trembled as she touched it. “This… this isn’t for me, is it?”

“Of course it is,” I said casually, though I watched her every reaction. “The old cups in the servants’ quarters are chipped. Unacceptable.”

Her eyes darted up to mine, wide and shimmering. “But… this looks so expensive—”

“Then take better care of it than you do buckets of water,” I said smoothly.

She blinked once. Then, to my surprise, she laughed. A small, soft laugh, but enough to fill the entire room.

And I knew, without a doubt, that I would buy a thousand more teacups if it meant I could hear that sound again.

---

Later that day, I caught her sneaking into the kitchen.

“Lila.” My voice echoed down the corridor.

She froze, half-bent over a tray of bread rolls.

Her head whipped around, guilt written all over her face. “I-I wasn’t stealing!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I just… wanted to help!” she blurted. “Everyone else is busy, and I can’t just sit there like some… useless ornament!”

I stalked toward her, taking the tray gently from her hands and setting it back down. “You’re not useless. You’re—”

She tilted her head, waiting.

I swallowed the word precious. Too dangerous. Too revealing.

“—just… not meant for hard labor,” I finished.

She frowned, unconvinced. “Then what am I meant for?”

The truth slipped out before I could stop it. “You’re meant to be spoiled.”

Her breath caught. For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other, her eyes wide and startled, mine far too steady.

“Y-you can’t just say things like that,” she whispered, her cheeks scarlet.

“Why not?” I stepped closer, close enough that her lashes fluttered nervously. “It’s the truth.”

She stumbled back, her heel catching the edge of the stone floor. I reached out, steadying her instantly before she could fall.

Her hands clutched my sleeve, warm and trembling. Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue — but all she managed was a soft, breathless: “You’re impossible.”

I smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Get used to it, Lila. I’ve decided that from now on… I’ll be impossible for you every single day.”

---

That night, I walked past her room and heard the faintest whisper of her voice.

“…spoiled… rotten…” She was repeating my words softly, like she was testing how they felt.

And the laugh that followed was small, shy, and sweeter than any melody I’d ever heard.

I leaned against the doorframe, unseen, my heart pounding harder than I wanted to admit.

Yes. She could call me impossible.

She could call me overprotective.

But I had already made up my mind.

This clumsy maid would never lift a finger again — not while I was here to carry the world for her.

When I told her to change into something decent, she looked at me as if I’d just asked her to leap from the castle tower.

“Go… outside? With you?” she stammered, clutching the hem of her plain gray dress.

“Yes,” I said firmly, brushing on my coat. “The air will do you good.”

Her lips parted. “But I’m a maid. People will think—”

“They will think you’re with me,” I interrupted, offering my hand. “And that should be enough.”

Her cheeks flushed so fiercely that for a moment, I thought she might faint. But after a long hesitation, she slipped her hand into mine. Warm. Shaking. Fragile.

---

The town square was bustling, sunlight spilling across cobbled streets and rows of cheerful stalls. Merchants called out their wares, children chased one another with ribbons, and the scent of fresh bread lingered in the air.

Lila stuck close to me, wide-eyed at every sight. She tugged gently at my sleeve when she saw a stall selling candied fruits on sticks.

“…Do you like those?” I asked.

Her face turned pink. “I just… used to eat them when I was little.”

I didn’t hesitate. I handed the vendor a coin and placed the treat into her hand before she could protest.

Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“You looked at it,” I said simply.

“That doesn’t mean—”

“Eat it before it melts,” I ordered.

She glared up at me, but the moment she bit into the glossy red fruit, her expression softened into pure delight. The sticky sweetness clung to her lips, and I had to look away before I did something reckless.

---

We wandered through the marketplace, and every time her eyes lingered on something — ribbons, hairpins, a music box — it ended up in the bag I carried.

By the fifth item, she spun on her heel, blocking my path. “Stop it! You’re… you’re spoiling me!”

I arched a brow. “Exactly.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “That’s not how this works! You can’t just… buy me things every time I blink at them!”

“Why not?”

“Because— because then I’ll…” Her voice faltered. “I’ll start expecting it.”

I leaned down, close enough that my breath stirred her hair. “Good. Expect it.”

Her heart all but jumped into her throat — I could see it in her eyes.

---

Later, as the sun dipped low, I guided her to a quiet café tucked at the edge of the square. We sat by the window, where the golden light painted her face soft and warm.

She sipped the tea slowly, her fingers brushing the rim of the delicate porcelain cup.

“…I don’t understand you,” she murmured finally.

I raised a brow. “What don’t you understand?”

“You’re… cold, and scary, and everyone says you’re impossible to please. But with me…” She hesitated, then whispered, “Why are you different with me?”

The question was dangerous. Too close to the truth I wasn’t ready to voice.

So instead, I leaned back, smirking. “Maybe I like clumsy things.”

Her eyes widened, and she almost choked on her tea. “That’s— that’s not funny!”

But I caught it—the corner of her lips twitching upward, the spark in her gaze she tried to hide.

I’d give her a thousand more reasons to smile like that.

---

When we returned to the castle, she tried to hand me the bag of trinkets I’d bought.

“Keep it,” I said.

“But—”

“Lila.” My voice dropped lower. “I told you before, didn’t I? From now on, your only job… is to let yourself be spoiled.”

Her grip on the bag tightened. Slowly, she nodded, her eyes shimmering like starlight.

And I thought—

If this is what spoiling her feels like…

I’ll never let anyone else have the chance.