Nora reminded herself, You're just a maid. Nothing more.
What happened in the storeroom meant nothing.
A mistake.
A moment.
She shook her head sharply, trying to rid herself of the memory—his hands, his lips, the way time seemed to stop. She couldn't let herself dwell on it. That wasn't her world.
Meanwhile, Zayan sat with his mother in the grand parlor. The queen was smiling—too much. That was never a good sign.
"Zayan," she said, her voice overly sweet. "This is Nathaira, my dear friend's daughter. She'll be staying with us for a while."
The girl beside her gave him a radiant smile, her light skin glowing under the chandelier. Her curly blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, and her figure was exactly the kind of distraction most men would kill for. But not Zayan.
He barely spared her a glance.
Nathaira, however, didn't seem to notice—or didn't care. She stuck by his side, laughing at nothing, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder, trying too hard. He clenched his jaw. He hated games like this.
Unbeknownst to him, the real reason for her extended stay wasn't hospitality. It was matchmaking. His mother's not-so-subtle attempt to pair him off.
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
Later, back in his chamber, he sat on the edge of the bed as Nathaira prattled on about some palace she visited in the north. He wasn't listening.
Then she walked in—Nora. Her presence silenced the room.
She had come in quietly, head down, with a cleaning tray in her hand. But the moment she stepped into the room, Zayan felt it again. That strange pull. The same feeling he had in the garden. The same spark from the storeroom.
He looked up at her and smirked.
She saw the expression on his face—the knowing look in his eyes—and instantly dropped her gaze, focusing on her task. But she could feel his eyes on her. Watching. Tracing her every movement.
Zayan's eyes traveled from her soft, honey-brown hair to her graceful neck, to her delicate yet strong hands. Nora was stunning in the quietest way—those amber eyes that refused to meet his, the curves of her hourglass figure hidden behind the plain uniform. She didn't need fine gowns to be captivating.
Nathaira noticed too. She saw the way Zayan looked at Nora. Like she was the only person in the room. Rage simmered inside her.
A few hours later, as Nora carried fresh linens down the hall, Nathaira intercepted her.
"You!" she snapped.
Nora stopped and turned politely. "How may I serve you, ma?"
Nathaira's eyes narrowed. "I know girls like you. Quiet, pretty little things who think they can trap powerful men and take their money."
Nora's hands gripped the sheets tighter, her fingers digging into her own skin. "I have nothing to do with him," she said quietly. "I'm just a maid doing my work."
She tried to step past, but Nathaira shoved her back roughly.
"I'm not done," she hissed. "Don't act innocent with me."
"I said," Nora repeated, her voice trembling but firm, "I have nothing to do with him. Thank you."
Nathaira's eyes flashed with fury. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
But Nora didn't answer. She kept her head down, her heart pounding, and walked away—leaving behind both Nathaira's venom and her own rising confusion about Zayan.