Transmigrated into the body of a poisoned queen

Yvonne's POV

The German speaking maidservant took a cautious step forward, her voice trembling. "My lady, don't! You will suffer greatly. Your body hasn't known the taste of meat in years; it will revolt against you, causing cramps, nausea, and perhaps even a fever. Such a thing is unnatural for one of your kind."

I stared at her, then looked down at the most succulent lamb I'd ever seen. This was the kind of dish you only eat in fancy restaurants, ones that cost a small fortune, and I definitely didn't indulge in such luxuries. But now, here was my chance. Someone was trying to ruin it. Never.

I turned to the maid. "What's your name?"

Her eyes flickered between me and the icy bastard beside me, confusion clouding her gaze. Yeah, I get it. I'm supposed to know her name, but truthfully, I didn't. And frankly, I was tired of thinking of her as "German maid."

"Klara, my lady," she said, her voice soft, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear there was a hint of hurt in it.

I brushed my hair from my face, a mix of annoyance and determination surging within me. "Klara, darling, look at me."

She hesitated for a moment, then met my gaze. "I'm fine. I've eaten meat all my life, and I'm fine…" I began, but before I could finish, an all-too-familiar voice interrupted.

"Your maidservant, who has faithfully attended you in your homeland for many years, insists that you do not partake in meat. Yet, you now claim the contrary?" It was him, the icy bastard, seating there as stoic as ever. His voice was void of any emotion.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What are you getting at?" I gritted out in Spanish, my irritation flaring. The only response was the subtle arch of his eyebrow, nothing more.

"Watch your tone, little girl," he said, his voice as cold as the winter winds. If I wasn't careful, I thought, I might turn into an icicle from that tone alone.

Before I could fire back, his attention shifted from me to Klara. "Take it away," he ordered, and my stomach sank. No, no.

I looked from him to Klara, who was about to take my plate of food.

"No, don't you dare," I growled, my voice rising. In my fury, I blurted out in English and yanked the plate closer to me, like a wild animal protecting its meal. But if you were in my shoes, you'd understand.

First, they'd fed me a plate of vegetables last night, as if I were some kind of rabbit. Then, they'd woken me up from a fitful sleep, rushing me to prepare and dine with this asshole. Just the smell of food had me running here, temporarily forgetting that I wasn't in New York anymore. I followed the scent straight to this room, hoping for something satisfying, and now it was going to be taken from me? Not a chance.

I glared at him, still clutching my plate. "This isn't fair! I'm starving, and all they gave me was salad!" I spat, the frustration clear in my voice. I felt the sting of tears threatening to surface, but no. I refused to let them fall. I'm a foodie, okay? Only other foodies would understand this kind of betrayal.

He glanced down at the food in front of me, his gaze as uninterested as ever. "Your complaints are irrelevant."

I gasped, my mouth falling open. Irrelevant? Did this bastard just say that to me? In my shock, I didn't even notice when Klara managed to take the food away.

I reached for the plate.

"Sit down." His tone didn't rise, no anger or impatience, just that same deep, emotionless voice. But it was like my body had a mind of its own, I found myself sitting down instantly, though I glared daggers at him.

Klara swiftly handed the plate to someone else, then began setting aside everything I had claimed for myself, the lamb and other meats, replaced with salad and strange foods I'd never seen before.

She stepped back, bowing.

"Eat," he commanded.

I didn't move. I didn't reach for the spoon. I just glared at him. God, I'd never wanted to strangle someone more than I did right now.

"I detest having to repeat myself," he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"And if you hate repeating yourself, how does that concern me?" I shot back, my hand gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white from the effort of holding myself back from lashing out at him.

He glanced at my clenched fist, and for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw an amused glint in his eyes. But it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

He stared at me, his gaze cold and calculating, as though he were deliberating whether to break me or simply watch me. After a moment, he leaned forward slightly.

"You are testing my patience, my lady, and I do not take kindly to being tested."

I smiled, defiant.

"Then prepare yourself, for testing is precisely what I intend to do. But if you wish to avoid it, return my food."

He straightened, his lips curling into something that might have been a smirk. Without a word, he resumed eating, taking only a few bites of his own plate.

Then, as though to remind me of my place, he rose from his chair with the kind of grace that suggested it was an effort too small to acknowledge.

He glanced at me briefly, then turned to address the servants in the room, his voice chilling. "She is not to be served meat again, and she will not leave this room until she has consumed what is on her plate."

To say my jaw dropped was an understatement. My mind was racing. Was I a child to be treated like this?

His gaze flickered to me again, unreadable as ever, before he turned away and began walking toward the door.

In a surge of anger, I slammed the plate in front of me to the floor, the crash of it echoing through the room.

He whirled around, his eyes now colder than ever. "Do not serve her anything else," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She will eat what she has thrown to the floor."

With that, he exited the room, the door closing with a soft click. I was left fuming, my fists clenched. In a fit of frustration, I grabbed an apple from the table and hurled it toward the door.

It struck the wood with a satisfying thud before splintering into pieces as the door slowly closed.

"Ahhh!" I screamed, my hands gripping my hair in sheer frustration.

"I hate you!" I shouted at the closed door, my voice trembling with rage.