Yeara's heart stopped momentarily as she realized what she had said earlier. Her face grew hot as she shifted her gaze away from his, biting her lips hard, her hands moving tightly to her shoes—but then something hit her.
H..How did he know?
Her eyes moved to him curiously as lots of questions flashed through them. Something was wrong. This was not normal. Just how was this possible? Her head spun more. She opened her mouth to speak, but her words were caught short as Zalthor moved swiftly, carrying her into his arms. Yeara gasped as he held her in a bridal style.
"W..what are you doing?" Yeara asked in disbelief as she stared up at him in pure surprise.
Zalthor lowered his gaze, his cold eyes now staring at her as a slow, sinful grin stretched onto his lips.
"As you said, I missed you."
Yeara's heart flipped in shock at his words. She did not expect that at all. Had he seen it all? Had he heard it all? Zalthor then began to walk toward the end of the hallway with her.
Yeara's heart raced as she gaped at him, her eyes watching his sharp jaw and perfect features. She could not believe a person could have such perfection—how was that possible?
Just then, the wind touched her face as she looked up at the sky. The stars were beautiful. She had totally forgotten that Zalthor was carrying her. The view above was perfect… or rather, she was enjoying it.
Zalthor stopped and lowered her carefully. Yeara's eyes were on his as she watched him set her down on a bench chair. She sat with her leg raised, her bare legs exposed. Zalthor took the heels from her hand as he lowered himself. Yeara's mouth opened, not expecting what she was seeing—the King was wearing her heels. Her eyes moved to his red hair, which now covered the side of his face.
Zalthor carefully moved her small feet back into the heels.
He finally raised his head, his gaze resting on her face. He watched the way her cheeks flushed slightly. He stood, taking a step back, and Yeara stood as well, gracefully curtsying.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. You are such a gentlem—"
Her words were interrupted by his sudden laughter. It was dry, cold—almost mocking. Yeara stared wide-eyed at him, not expecting that. None of what she had said was amusing, so why was he laughing as if she had made a joke—a dry one.
"Gentle?" That one word slipped from his lips chillingly, as if he were asking and answering a question all at once.
"Your Majesty, perhaps did I say something funny?" she asked, slightly pissed off by his rudeness.
Zalthor's hand moved to her chin as he tilted it upward so she could stare at him fully.
"You are funny," he calmly replied his eyes bored the complete oppositeof his words.
Yeara tilted her head, feeling offended. Did she really look funny?
Just as she opened her mouth to fire back, she heard soft footsteps from behind. Her gaze turned and finally landed on her parents and little Cedric, who was smiling widely and running toward her. Yeara smiled softly as she turned and ran to him. He jumped into her arms, and she hugged him, swinging him around.
"Yea… be lady-like," Lady Persophone whispered as she stood beside them, while Duke John walked toward King Zalthor to speak with him.
Yeara's smile grew wide as she nodded softly, setting Cedric down, his eyes glinting with joy.
"Sister Yea, where have you been? I missed you so badly," Cedric pouted.
Yeara's lips curved upward as she pinched his cheeks gently.
"Yeara, let's go meet your papa," Lady Persophone said as she walked toward her husband.
Yeara turned and noticed her papa and the King in serious discussion.
She bit her lower lip before taking a calm breath. Holding Cedric's hand, she walked toward them.
When they reached them, Yeara avoided Zalthor's gaze, looking anywhere except those eyes. Duke John turned to her with a smile. Yeara raised a brow at the unfamiliar expression—she rarely saw her papa smile. It was her mother's smile she was familiar with, not his.
"You will be leaving with His Highness tonight. He is a King and has many duties; that is why plans have changed," he said with finality.
Yeara stared at her father in disbelief.
Tonight?
That was too sudden. She hadn't expected that. She turned to her mama, hoping for a response, but Lady Persophone only smiled and nodded in approval.
"But Papa—"
Her father's face turned stiff in disapproval.
"Do not say anything. Why are you—"
His words trailed off as Zalthor spoke, the air turning dark and more suffocating than it already was.
"I would not condone you speaking to my wife that way. She is the future Queen, and you will talk to her with respect."
His gaze was calm, but the threat beneath it made Duke John tremble slightly. He nodded in agreement. Yeara's eyes finally turned to Zalthor in surprise. She bit the inside of her cheek, her heart fluttering for an unknown reason. Her father had never been spoken to like that—and the fact that she had been stood up for, even though she hated to admit it, felt… good.
"My apologies," Duke John said, clearing his throat, his posture stiff as he tried to regain the confidence Zalthor had just crushed.
Yeara knew she would marry him. She had only wanted to ask why it was so sudden—why they were rushing when they had said they would leave tomorrow.
Lady Persophone tried to soften the tense, suffocating air. It was hard to breathe; the silence pressed heavily, turning what should have been comforting into something dangerous.
"Well, we will be visiting as well, since we will have to come for your wedding," she said reassuringly, smiling at Yeara. Duke John nodded in agreement.
"King Zalthor, my sister does not want to marry you," little Cedric finally said in a serious tone.