Vivian's face contorted in a mask of terror. With a speed that belied her fear, she crumpled to the floor, bowing so low her forehead practically kissed the plush carpet. "Young Master, please, please," she stammered, her voice cracking with desperation. "Forgive my insolence!"
David, startled by her sudden kowtow, blinked in disbelief. Shouldn't he be the one seeking forgiveness? But clarity, sharp and icy, washed over him. He was the General's son – a notorious lout who treated women like barflies and respected them even less. A bitter taste rose in his throat.
Disgust curdled in his stomach. He never hit anyone, least of all an innocent woman! Taking a deep breath, he reached out and gently grasped Vivian's shoulders, forcing her hesitant gaze to meet his. "There's nothing to forgive," he said, his voice calm and surprisingly steady. "Come on, the food's getting cold."
Vivian hesitated, her eyes darting nervously at his unexpected kindness. Was this a trick? A prelude to another outburst?
"Unless you want me to truly get upset," David added, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. It wasn't a chuckle, but it sent shivers down Vivian's spine nonetheless. She slowly rose to her feet, ever the dutiful maid she led him to a luxurious chair with plush white cushions. As he settled in, he couldn't help but steal a glance at the silver tray.
Vivian couldn't shake the feeling that a predator was eyeing his prey, albeit a polite one for the moment. Still, a deep, primal instinct urged her caution. This new David, with his gentle voice and unfamiliar restraint, was an enigma, and Vivian, for one, wasn't sure she trusted him any further than she could throw him.
Vivian lifted the silver tray's lid, a plume of steam swirling upwards like a genie released from its bottle. The aroma that hit David's face was a symphony for the senses – roasted meat so succulent it could tempt a god, creamy mashed potatoes with a hint of dill, and a rich brown gravy that promised to be the epitome of comfort food.
His stomach rumbled in agreement, urging him to abandon courtesy for hunger. Yet, despite the gnawing in his gut, David surprised them both. He didn't gobble like a famished beast. With practiced ease, he selected a fork and knife from the ornate set beside the tray, his movements a stark contrast to the uncouth David everyone knew.
He savoured the first bite. The steak, cooked a perfect medium-rare, melted in his mouth. The potatoes, a fluffy cloud studded with chunks of melt-in-your-mouth butter, were the perfect accompaniment. Each mouthful was a revelation, proving that even in this bizarre situation, he hadn't lost his appreciation for good food and proper table manners.
Across from him, Vivian stood frozen, her eyes wide as a startled doe caught in headlights. The transformation of David, from the drunken lout she knew to this composed gentleman, was too jarring to comprehend. Tentatively, David pointed at the vacant chair opposite him. "Have a seat," he offered, his voice gentle.
Vivian recoiled, sputtering a protest. "Young Master, I wouldn't dare!" But something in his gaze, an unexpected warmth, held her captive. Doubting her own judgment, but unable to refuse, she sat, the plush cushion an unsettling contrast to the tremor in her legs.
"Can I know your name?" David asked, surprising her further. Why would the master inquire about a mere maid's name?
Vivian's voice trembled. "This maid at your service is called Vivian."
David smiled, a genuine expression that lit up his face. "Vivian," he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue. "Such a beautiful name."
Vivian blushed. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the notorious David calling her name, let alone finding it beautiful. It was enough to make her head spin.
"Do you know where we are?" David, pulling her back, asked.
"Young Master, don't you know where we are?" she asked cautiously, unable to fathom the situation.
David shook his head, a carefree smile playing on his lips. "Nope."
'Did he perhaps lose his memories?' she wondered, a sliver of hope flickering within her.
"Young Master," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "we are in the main residence of the De Gor estate."
Just as David contemplated the possibility of actually being in the world of "Trials of Valor," he finished the last bite of meat. He noticed Vivian's discomfort, her body tense and coiled.
An unexpected urge welled up within him, a strange desire to appease this nervous maid. "Can you bend your head down for a second?" he requested.
Vivian's entire body jolted. Was this a prelude to punishment? Tears welled up in her eyes, but she bowed her head without question. 'Goddess, please don't let him strike me,' she prayed silently.
But instead of a slap, a surprisingly gentle touch ruffled her ember hair. It was a gesture of...comfort?
"It's okay, you don't have to be afraid of me anymore," David soothed, his words hanging heavy in the air.
'Anymore?' Vivian's mind buzzed with confusion. What did that even mean?
She hesitantly lifted her head, her eyes wide with surprise. The fear seemed to have drained from them, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity. "I'm all done," David declared. "You can go back to your duties."
It was as if the angels themselves had spoken. Vivian practically flew to the tray, her hands shaking as she collected the empty dishes. As she hurried out of the room, a single thought echoed in her mind: This new David, this enigma with gentle touches and kind words, was a mystery she could not unravel.