Yeara's hands closed, but it was an inch away before she could catch it. Her gown fell to the floor, leaving her in her knee-length tights and corset, her face burning.
Even though she was not completely naked, the embarrassment was too much. She regretted even saying that—she did not know what had come over her at all. Zalthor's eyes were not on her. He strode to the wardrobe as he took out a folded gown and a hat.
He walked, placing the hat atop the bed. He just held the folded gown as he walked towards her. His eyes were cold, the calmness no longer there. He handed it to Yeara.
She took it, unable to meet his gaze — she could not. The tension in the air made it impossible for her to at all. She could not even bring herself to. She turned as she walked to the bathroom door.
Yeara turned the doorknob, pushing it open. She entered, shutting the door. Just as she did, she pressed her back against it, her breath coming out shaky.
"What is wrong with you, Yeara?" she asked herself.
She finally stood straight, her eyes looking around the bathroom. It was large. In the middle was a tub. In front was a shower area with a little dip in to avoid water surrounding the area. The corner was a shelf-like place. The place was organized and modest.
She walked towards the tub as she turned on the water. She then moved towards the shelf area, putting the dress atop it. It was a floral dress, a beautiful one — almost similar to the one she had at home.
Only if she knew how long the coachman suffered just to get this, as per the king's order.
She began to strip, now standing naked. She packed her hair into a bun, as she did not want to wet it. Climbing into the tub, the warm water soothed her skin. She exhaled softly as she grabbed the bar soap and began to wash herself, the lavender scent surrounding the bathroom.
After she was done, she walked to the shower for the overall wash. She moved carefully to the shelf as she was barefoot, careful not to slip and fall by any means.
She reached the side, grabbing the towel as she began to clean herself. She wrapped the towel around her body, but then she caught something climbing the wall close to the shelf… a cockroach.
Yeara screamed, running towards the bathroom door. She quickly opened the knob as she stepped out. Zalthor was already standing there—horror in her eyes as she stared at him and spoke quickly.
"C… cockroach," she said.
Zalthor walked past her as he entered the bathroom. Her heart raced as her chest waved up and down, forgetting that she was still wrapped in a towel.
Not long after, Zalthor came out. His eyes flickered briefly to the towel before moving to her face as he spoke curtly,
"You may go in now."
He spoke in his cold tone, slightly reassuring that he had taken care of the little insect that had almost scared her to death.
Yeara nodded, smiling softly. Just as she turned to the door, her foot slipped as her body moved to fall, her towel loosening. Yeara's eyes flew wide as Zalthor caught her swiftly — his other hand quick as he held her towel in place.
He shifted his gaze away, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down ever so slightly. Yeara's face flushed as she held her towel, rushing inside the bathroom before banging the door shut.
A sharp breath left Zalthor's lips, his hands moving to his hair as he raked his hands slowly through it. He walked calmly as he picked up her gown which had fallen earlier.
Back in the bathroom, Yeara dressed as she combed her hair backwards, allowing some strands to fall in front while she used the earlier hairpin to pin some back.
She was finally done. She gently stepped out, her heart now pounding. She could not even face him yet. Her gaze swept around the room as she walked, but he was nowhere to be found.
CLICK.
The door shut. She turned back, her lips opening and closing as she wondered how he entered the bathroom without her knowing. But then the sweet aroma in the room caught her nose.
Her stomach watered as she walked to the table. On top lay different varieties of food — there were a lot. She wondered how she and Zalthor would be able to eat all this, or rather how she could even eat all this.
But she was hungry. She sat, a small smile on her lips, as she began to eat, not minding waiting for the king to finish his bath first.
Not long after, Zalthor stepped out, his aura exuding calm. Yeara's gaze shifted to him. He was wearing a black royal king robe, his hair now falling to his shoulders. No wonder Yeara was only discovering he had a tattoo today — nobody would guess he had one or not because his hair was covering it.
He walked straight to the door, but then halted when he heard her soft, slow, almost hesitant voice.
"Your Majesty, come eat."
Zalthor turned as he calmly strode towards the table. He sat at the other side, now facing her who was at the other side.
"I will watch you eat," he finally spoke, as he had no intention of eating. It was obvious by the way he relaxed into the chair, eyes locked onto hers.
"Your Highness, are you saying you do not want to eat with me?" Yeara asked, as Zalthor's gaze pierced onto her before he spoke.
"Yes."
Yeara bit her lips as her hands tightened on the fork. This man was just getting under her skin — but why did she care if he ate or not? In fact, it would be better if he starved. Her fork stabbed the soft meat before she moved it to her lips, her gaze down, fully aware of his gaze on her as he watched every movement — the way her mouth moved.
Yeara finally pressed her lips together as she gulped down the food. She raised her head and spoke.
"But I want you to eat," she said. She could not eat properly with his gaze on her. Maybe it would be better if he ate — that way she would not be too aware of herself.
"And who are you?" Zalthor asked.
She froze in place, her eyes locking sharply on his as she spoke,
"I am the Queen."