Yeara's face burned, her heart thundering in her chest. Her body tingled for an unknown reason as his large arms held her waist perfectly, raising her up to stand.
Yeara's eyes darted around as she quickly picked up the book, turning the front page away.
Turning to him her head low, the air suddenly felt chilling. She pressed the book to her chest and curtsied, feeling his predatory gaze on her face.
"T-Thank you, y-your Majesty," she spoke softly, trying to steady her voice from stuttering too hard.
She did not know what to do. What would he even think of her? She had snuck out at night to take such books—something even her mama had no idea she read.
He said nothing.
Her gaze, which had been fixed on the floor, subconsciously moved to his face, curious about his silence.
Her body froze in place as her eyes locked onto his. Her lips parted as a gasp escaped in shock. She quickly shifted her gaze away as the chill of his stare made her feel strange…
She could not even lock gazes with him. He just stood there, unmoving, his eyes fixed on her. Goosebumps crawled against her skin. She wanted something anything—to distract herself.
But why?
Never in her life had she felt silence this loud and intimidating. This man had not said a single word, yet it felt as though he had spoken volumes through it.
She quickly turned to leave.
"Do not run, Yeara."
He finally spoke, his cold, empty words rolling effortlessly. Yet there was something deeper when her name left his lips. Her body refused to move this time.
Zalthor's eyes lingered on her hair as his gaze moved down to where it ended on her back. His sharp ears caught her breathing.
Yeara stood there, her back facing him. She did not know why, but the moment he called her name, her ability to move vanished—like an unseen force was holding her back.
She gulped.
"We shouldn't be h-here… if we get caught…" Her words trailed off as she realized she had said that out loud. She had meant to say it only in her head, to convince her body to move.
Her hands tightened on her gown, a habit she had grown into over the years when nervous, she pressed her lips together before biting her upper lip hard.
It was true. If they were caught here, it would become scandalous news—not to mention the book she was holding, which was even worse.
Zalthor moved, his eyes fixed on her. Yeara's chest rose and fell as her hands tightened on the book and torch she held to her chest… not to mention her dress.
"If we get caught, I will take responsibility."
Yeara's eyes flew wide as her body finally moved—but instead of running, she turned to him in shock.
Had she just heard right?
His face was blank. She stared at him, searching for any sign of a lie, but she could not tell. She did not know if she was spellbound or gaze-bound by his handsomeness.
Was that why she could not speak? Or was it his aura—deafening and heavy?
"I..i did not mean….." Her words cut off. She did not know why she was struggling to speak at all. This was not her. What had gotten into her? Was it because she was staring at the most handsome face she had ever seen?
'Shift your gaze and talk,' she told herself. Maybe if she shifted her gaze, she would be able to speak properly.
Zalthor's hand moved to her chin, his skin burning against hers as he raised it ever so slowly, as though examining her face. His gaze remained calm—even the way he controlled his pupils made her breath hitch.
"Stunning," his dark word rolled out smoothly as his eyes locked onto her green ones.
Yeara's heart skipped dangerously at the iciness of his tone. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment.
Her gown showed her figure, but it was not transparent at all. Yet not once did his eyes wander to her body—only her eyes and face.
The air thickened.
Zalthor's eyes flashed with something unspoken before returning to their blackness. His lips curved ever so slightly, but the smile did not reach his eyes. He finally stepped back.
"Good night, Lady Yeara," he said before turning to leave.
She stood there, staring, realizing that earlier he had called her name without the title Lady.
"Learn to respect women," she finally said.
Zalthor stilled.
"The world does not revolve around you," she continued, her eyes glaring hard at his perfect ink-red hair. Even his back was too good to be true.
She realized she had been unable to speak earlier because of his eyes and the coldness of his gaze—or perhaps she had simply been awestruck by his beauty.
"I cannot bind myself to a man so emotionally absent."
Zalthor's pupils dilated slightly as he remained standing, his back facing her. Her body shivered as the air grew darker and more suffocating.
She had never seen anyone like him. Now that he was no longer facing her, her thoughts finally returned.
Her green eyes moved to her bare feet once more before she steadily turned to leave. She could not stay here. This man spoke danger, and it was better she did not shoot herself in the leg.
She moved to climb the stairs, but then s..sh..she….
She heard footsteps.
Yeara's soul momentarily left her body. The confidence she had gathered drained away like water poured over candlelight. Her eyes darted to him as he began to leave. She looked back up the stairs and gulped hard as horror flashed across her face.
That was the sound of heels.
It was her… mother.
"Please wait…" she whispered quickly.
She hurried down the stairs, calm yet quiet, moving on tiptoe—straight toward King Zalthor. The danger she thought she had dodged returned. She did not want her mother seeing her like this… with the king in the middle of the night, not to mention…the book—
This book was too much.
Zalthor stopped, his eyes flashing gray for a split moment before dark excitement danced across his features.
He slowly turned to her.
Yeara's breath grew shaky, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She turned from the staircase back to Zalthor, pleading.
"P-Please… I beg you… help me, please."
Her eyes filled with desperation, but she was met with his same cold, emotionless stare—until she noticed the dark excitement in his eyes.
He was enjoying this… far too much.
To her surprise, his lips widened slightly, his white teeth showing, though the smile never reached his eyes.
"Why should I?"
Her pupils trembled in shock and disbelief. She turned back toward the stairs—any moment now, her mother would appear. Her lips quivered.
Just today alone, she had caused so much trouble. This never happened to her. She did not want this.
"Please… we would get married."
The moment she said it, Zalthor turned and began to stride away, haughtily yet perfectly. His words were flat.
"Follow me."
Her heart skipped as she hurried after him. She could not believe what she had said. But it was better than being caught—a maiden and a king together.
How scandalous.
Still…
Was she sure of this?
Zalthor opened the door to his chambers and entered. Yeara followed, stepping into his den.
There was no turning back.
He shut the door, and her heart settled slightly—yet she was keenly aware of his presence.
Who wouldn't be?
He walked effortlessly to a chair in the large room, sitting with his legs crossed.
Yeara's eyes drifted to the bed unknowingly…until she realized it was untouched. She immediately shifted her gaze.
'Heavens, Yeara, why did you have to look there?' she scolded herself almost smacking her own forehead.
Zalthor's eyes moved to the book she was hugging tightly, then back to her. She had not moved from where she stood.
"It seems the world has always revolved around me."
Yeara's heart pounded against her chest as she parted her lips to speak..
But then—
A knock sounded at the door.