Cursed To Conquer

The morning sun poured through the windows of the grand dining hall, casting soft rays across the long, polished table. Basil sat at the head, his mind still heavy from his recent actions. He had not expected to feel so much weight after saving his maid—after all, he had only done it out of desperation and fear. Yet, here he was, wondering about the consequences of his actions.

As Basil absently pushed food around his plate, a soft voice broke his thoughts.

"Young Master, may I refill your cup?"

He looked up to see his maid standing beside him, her hands poised with the decanter of wine. The same maid he had tortured, the same one he had abused and tried to break for years, now standing before him—alive, well, and performing her duties as if nothing had happened. Her pale features were calm, and there was no trace of the fear that once consumed her whenever she crossed his path.

She was wearing the same black-and-white maid uniform she had worn when she had first returned to the Eryndor estate five years ago. But now, her eyes were different—calm, composed, and unwavering.

"Is there anything else, Young Master?" she asked politely, her tone neutral.

Basil's throat tightened. He wanted to say something—to apologize, to explain—but the words stuck in his mouth. Instead, he gave a short nod, allowing her to refill his cup.

As she turned away to move down the long table, Basil's mind began to wander, the familiar tug of guilt pulling at his chest. Her recovery was nothing short of miraculous, considering the brutal injuries he had inflicted upon her. And yet, she had remained loyal to her duties, never once wavering, never once showing any sign of bitterness.

But that wasn't the full story. There was more to her than just the maid who had dutifully cared for the Eryndor household. There was a history between them—a history that Basil had tried to bury, a history that had long been forgotten in the depths of his reckless heart.

Basil's thoughts drifted back to the day she had first disappeared from his life.

Five years ago, before the woman who stood before him now had become his maid, she had been his closest friend. They had grown up together in the grand halls of the Eryndor estate. Her name was Lira. They had shared their childhood days, running through the forests, playing games, and talking about the future. She had been his companion, the one person who had understood him when he felt lost in the world.

But one day, she had disappeared.

Basil hadn't understood at the time. His world had turned upside down when Lira had simply vanished without a trace. He had asked his parents, the servants, anyone who might have known where she had gone, but no one had any answers. It was as if she had never existed in the first place.

Years passed, and Basil's behavior grew worse. His descent into cruelty, his disdain for the world, and his bitterness toward everyone around him became a constant fixture. He treated his family with indifference, his maids and servants with contempt, and anyone who dared speak to him with disdain.

And then, five years ago, she returned. Lira, now a maid in the Eryndor household.

Basil had been furious. He had never expected to see her again, let alone as a servant in the very estate they had once shared as children. Her return stung more than he could bear. To him, it was a reminder of his failures, a reflection of his growing distance from the world he had once cherished. But instead of confronting the feelings he had buried for so long, he lashed out.

He beat her. He insulted her. He tried to push her away in every way he could. He was convinced that if he tormented her enough, she would quit. But she didn't.

Lira stayed.

She never once cried out in anger. She never once retaliated. Instead, she bore his treatment with quiet dignity, as if she had accepted the punishment he handed out, as if it was something she deserved.

Basil couldn't understand why. He didn't know why she had come back, why she stayed, or why she endured the torment. It angered him. It frustrated him. And in the end, it pushed him further into his cruelty.

It wasn't until the night of the incident that things had escalated.

He had gone too far. In a fit of rage, he had struck her harder than he ever had before. She had fallen to the ground, her body bruised, her face pale. He had left her there, thinking she would get up and leave the estate once and for all. But when the news came that she had died from the injuries, everything changed.

The guilt he felt was suffocating, but by then, it was too late. His father had been the one to intervene. In a swift and brutal act, he had ordered Basil to be publicly beheaded for what he had done. His family had reacted with horror, and even the servants, who had long feared him, had turned their backs.

But now, here she was. Lira, alive and well, standing in front of him, performing her duties as though nothing had happened. She had survived. She had endured.

As the meal went on, Basil couldn't keep his mind from racing. He had been so wrong, so utterly lost in his own hatred that he hadn't even realized what he had done to the one person who had never abandoned him.

And now, she was here, serving him without question.

His heart ached as he watched her from across the room. The maid who had once been his closest friend had returned not as a symbol of his cruelty, but as a reminder of everything he had lost. She was the one person who had seen through the mask he had worn for so long, and yet, she was the one he had hurt the most.

"Lira," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry."

But Lira didn't turn to him. She simply carried on, her expression unreadable.

Basil had no idea if she would ever forgive him. But one thing was certain—he would spend the rest of his life trying to make amends.