Zalthor shifted his gaze to Cedric. He noticed the determination in the little boy's eyes, similar to Yeara's. In fact, the way Cedric stood straight — it was like he had more composure than the two adults he called parents, his gaze far deeper than someone his age.
Lady Persophone's face lost color as she turned to Cedric, her eyes looking at him in hopes he would look back so she could tell him to stop…the only way for her now was to speak through her eyes.
Duke John was just at lost for words, Yeara was silent… when her brother told her that he would talk to the king, she did not expect that he had actually meant what he said. Her eyes moved to Zalthor, but his expression was calm, his face as usual blank, giving nothing of his thoughts away.
"Tell me why." Zalthor's cold words surrounded them curtly. Cedric raised his chin as if that would make him taller than he was. He squinted his eyes as if trying to mimic a serious expression.
"Well, Sister Yeara does not like men…infact she hate them."
Just as those words left his lips, Yeara's eyes widened as she gasped in shock. Her father and mother turned to her wide-eyed.
Yeara shook her head as she brought out both her hands, shaking them as well as if to emphasize her point. Her brother had phrased that in a misunderstanding way — that was what she told him because she could not explain what she really wanted, but who knew he would say it this way.
"No no no…" she spoke, almost lost for words. She turned to Cedric, who now looked at her with a raised brow as if saying,
'It's okay, big sister, tell them truth,' that alone making matters worse.
"I.. I.. well I do like… I mean…" Yeara's face burned in embarrassment as her words stuck in her throat. She felt the piercing gaze from Zalthor even though he said nothing.
Lady Persophone managed a soft laugh as she turned to Cedric, taking his hands.
"Cedric, how about we get some cake?" she spoke as Cedric nodded. He wanted to say something, but the sharp gaze of his mama made him silent. They turned as they walked out.
Just as they left, Duke John shifted his gaze to Zalthor. Even though he was unable to maintain it for more than three seconds due to the cold intensity, he finally shifted it as he spoke.
"We would not like to keep you." He smiled as he turned to Yeara, who was standing there feeling the second embarrassment at herself. She could not blame Cedric, but herself.
"Lady Yeara, we would be visiting in a few days for your wedding." Yeara nodded. Her father turned back to Zalthor as he gave him a respectful bow, and with that he began to leave. It was now left with Zalthor and Yeara.
Yeara bit her lower lip as she made sure not to look at Zalthor…
"Are we embarking on our journey tonight?" she asked. She knew that this would take two full days, meaning she would be spending time with this man in a carriage.
Zalthor turned as he began to walk as if she had not just asked a question. Yeara's lips parted as she tilted her head.
'Did he ignore me?' she asked herself again to make sure she had not seen things. She quickened her pace towards him, trying to catch up to his long purposeful stride.
"Your majesty, the great—well, I asked a question," she whispered to herself, exaggerating her words in the most sarcastic way.
Zalthor stopped.
Yeara's heart skipped as she did not expect that… Had he heard her?
No, that was impossible.
"Walk ahead of me," he finally spoke as Yeara bit her lips, holding back her tongue. The arrogance in this man's words really needed to be studied.
She quickened her pace as she then walked past him. She was now walking ahead of him, and for some reason she became aware of herself.
The wind whistled softly through the air, accompanied by the sound of the soft flowers tapping slightly together. Her heels clicked softly against the ground as she walked ahead. It was a small, long walkway; beside each side was a block that demarcated the garden side from the ground.
At the end, it had two sides—left and right— one leading to the hall and the other to another side.
Yeara's heart began to race. She wondered where they were going, and she could not even turn to ask him which side.
What if when she turned she tripped and fell, because she knew fate could be cruel to her?
'Just walk and act normal,' she said to herself, her hands stiff by her side.
Finally she turned to the left side, the place leading outside. Just like her papa had said, they were leaving — that would only mean this was the only place. Yeara walked with a smile as she realized that she was correct because he had not corrected her.
Yet she turned to check…. lo and behold, Zalthor was walking to the other side. Yeara's mouth opened. She did not know how many times she had opened this mouth of hers today. She could not believe that this man had literally left her to walk the other way. He did not even inform her.
"Ahhh this man, such arrogant wicked…" She bit her lips hard as he was now out of her sight. Her hands moved to her gown, tightening around it. Now how was she going to know where he had gone? Would it really falter his ego if he had just told her that she was going the wrong way? Did he have to be like this?
"This heartless man, I promise you have to learn manners so…"
"Annoying," Zalthor finished, the word coming out serious, almost deadly.
Yeara's body stilled as she turned. There, standing at her back, was Zalthor, his posture regal and controlled, his sharp eyes remaining on her.
Chills shot through Yeara's spine as she stared at him.
"H.. How d.. did you—"
Zalthor's gaze dimmed as he saw the fear that married her expression. His lips stretched wide as he walked towards her, every step he took screaming danger as he finally stopped near the frozen Yeara.
"Exactly, that is how you should fear me," he spoke, holding her hands to his, the warmth of his hands a quiet contrast to the danger cloaked around him.
He wrapped his hands around her as he began to walk towards the end of the walkway. There at the end stood a carriage.
Yeara could not say anything at all. It was like she had turned mute and lost her voice because her bones were shivering with fear.
Zalthor's eyes glinted, the slight taste of her fear seeping through his nose. He found comfort in that — the fear not only in the eyes but the taste, and hers… was the sweetest.
Even though the ones he was used to were the bitter ones.
They finally reached the carriage. A coachman stood, the door opened. Zalthor's sharp gaze flickered to Yeara's hands on his momentarily before he helped her enter the carriage.
Yeara's eyes missed how big the carriage was and fancy. She sat on the plush seat, her brain trying to connect what was happening. Normally she would have mistaken this for a coincidence, but lots of things had happened for this to be one.
Zalthor sat beside her, his legs crossed. The coachman shut the door. Not long after, the carriage began to move.
Silence fell as Yeara just sat there unmoving, her gaze forward. Time passed.
"Yeara."
Zalthor finally called as he shifted his dark gaze to her, silently waiting for a response. Yeara turned to him, her gaze serious as she responded,
"It's Queen Yeara."