The rhythmic tapping stopped instantly. Butterfly's warm brown eyes snapped toward the servant, his gaze suddenly hardening into a glare so sharp and venomous it could have cut glass. Shiwan flinched, immediately regretting opening his mouth.
Before Butterfly could unleash his notorious temper, a sharp, unceremonious knock echoed at the chamber door.
Without waiting a single second for permission, the heavy wooden doors swung open. A second servant—this one dressed in finer, pale-blue silk, clearly a high-ranking personal attendant—strolled into the room carrying a steaming porcelain tea set on a silver tray.
He completely ignored the terrifying tension in the room, casually setting the tray down on the rosewood table.
"Master, calm down," the blue-robed attendant scolded lightly, pouring a fragrant cup of jasmine tea without batting an eye at the glare. "Why are you getting so angry over a simple question? You need to relax your face. You are going to get frown lines."
