Yeara's heart pounded against her chest as she did not even know what to do anymore… never in her life could she believe that eating a cookie could feel this intimate.
She bit her lips as she was unable to move. Zalthor's eyes glinted; he remained where he was, patiently waiting, his eyes scanning her face ever so slowly, his lips curving just slightly. But she remained still, the cookie still midway.
Slowly, Zalthor pulled away, his eyes deepening.
"Koala, are you…."
His words died as Yeara unexpectedly pushed the cookie in her hands into his mouth…exactly what he had done to her.
Zalthor's pupils dilated slightly.
"…."
He remained speechless, but his body froze when he heard her laughter.
The melodic, soft laughter of hers floated through the room like a solo.
Yeara found it funny the way he looked right now. She could not explain it, but it was just funny—the way the cookie was on his lips, just sitting there, his body unmoving and his hair framing his face.
Maybe because she could never have thought that the king could ever look like this..maybe that was why she was surprised.
Her laughter continued as she imagined him holding a meeting, and just when he was about to make an important announcement, somebody pushed a cookie his way to prevent him from speaking. Her hands slapped her laps softly as tears gathered around her eyes.
She turned to him, but then her laughter died down as she realized his gaze had been on her all this time. She shifted her gaze as she bit her lips—she had forgotten herself for a moment.
He slowly moved his hands to the cookies, taking a bite before dropping it atop the plate. He ate it slowly, his eyes watching her in silence. Year became even more aware of herself — why did this silence make her feel like this man was planning something against her?
He finally moved as he stood, the air growing even more frigid. He walked to the wardrobe to wear his kingly robe. Yeara's eyes followed him, curious about his sudden movement.
Did something happen? Well, she did not want to ask, cautious, because it was hard to tell this man's moves.
Zalthor grabbed the black glove as he wore it perfectly through his fingers, his eyes now shifting from the glove to her.
"Let me give you the honour and show you the castle garden."
He spoke. Yeara nodded as she stood. Did this mean he was no longer angry about the hallway scene?
The little guilt that she felt immediately washed away as she walked to him. She then stopped as she raised her head to look at him.
"Does this mean you will also show me around the palace?" she asked curiously.
"No."
The air tensed.
Yeara's lips opened, and with that he walked past her as he stepped out. Yeara followed behind him as she rushed to catch up.
'This man does not even know how to treat a lady right,' she thought..but just as those words left her head,
Zalthor halted.
Yeara's heart skipped.
Did he hear her though?
He just stood there. It was then Yeara realized that he was waiting for her.
She increased her pace to him, and they both walked down the stairs. His teasing glint was gone, back to his controlled calmness.
As they walked, Zalthor's eyes flickered to hers briefly before moving to her hands, which were pressed to her gown. He shifted his gaze just as she turned to him.
Yeara watched him a moment before focusing her eyes back to the steps as she did not want to embarrass herself again.
Her hands moved, brushing her hair behind her ear. Zalthor's eyes caught that as she now walked a bit ahead of him.
"Why do you choose not show me around? You are…" Her words trailed off as her steps slowed.
"Because that is your punishment. No one in the palace will show you around—you will have to figure it out yourself."
Yeara immediately stopped as she turned to him.
"My punishment…"
Zalthor stopped, his icy eyes staring at her.
"Yes. I am your king."
"Just because you are king, that does not mean you just give punishment without reason," Yeara spoke, her eyes frowned at him almost in annoyance.
That might not have sounded like a punishment, but with how big this castle was, there was a chance someone could get lost, just because of that small thing she said…he decided to punish her.
She inhaled sharply turning her face away from him before he could read her further.
They resumed their walk. Yeara's lips moved upwards as she managed to look ahead without her thoughts drifting away still fully aware of him.
Was she really about to marry this devil?
They reached the last floor. Yeara realized this was the exact place she had gone earlier.
"The grand garden," she said softly to herself as she kept a mental note. Now that she could not be given directions, it seemed it would be better if she found her way through.
The hallway was slightly darker because it was short. Zalthor moved to turn the doorknob, but Yeara had already moved as she pushed it open.
The breeze entered, moving in like an unwanted visitor, pushing their hair to the side.
Yeara turned to him as she spoke, avoiding those black tempting eyes.
"Well, a king should not be opening doors, should he?"
Zalthor held her wrist. To her surprise, he pulled her to him. A soft gasp escaped her lips, her back pressed to his chest, and his rich scent surrounded her. And to her surprise, he shut the door, something dim flickering through his eyes.
"A queen should not as well."
And with that, he opened the door.
Yeara just stared at him in disbelief as she did not even know what to say. So this man had closed the door just to open it again himself.
They both stepped out, and the scenery outside made Yeara stare in awe. She had seen this earlier, but for unknown reasons, seeing it again now just made it even more ethereal.
She slowly walked towards the flowers — the exact white rose-like one that she had seen earlier. Her hands moved across its soft petals. Softly she spoke as Zalthor calmly stood beside her, his gaze still fixated on her.
"The ethereal flower of bloom…"
She spoke with a smile. She had read lots of books, and one thing she found fascinating was flowers — not to mention her mama was in love with them to the extent her favourite gowns were floral gowns.
"You have lots of flowers, Your Highness. I would like to plant here… someday," she spoke as she smiled.
"Mn," Zalthor answered with a hum, still watching her.
She turned her gaze, her eyes scanning the flowers. There were a lot of flowers here; she would really need to take her time to examine all of them.
Yeara turned to ask him a question, but she was interrupted by a sound.
"Baaaacupppp"
Yeara's gaze turned as she stared at the running chicken. Two maids seemed to be chasing after it—the chicken had escaped from the kitchen after it was placed for preparation.
Zalthor's eyes moved to her, and before he knew it, Yeara sprinted towards the chicken as she chased it.
The maids halted, their heads low as they began to tremble when they realized His Majesty was there—their faces filled with dread as they realized Her Grace was now chasing the chicken.
Yeara moved, her white hair bouncing as she ran, her gown flapping softly as the chicken ran towards an open field area. It moved around. Yeara finally increased her speed. It flapped its wings, and then she finally caught it.
She stood straight as she blew the strands that had fallen to her waist. Her hands held the chicken tight as it clucked loudly.
"Be silent and I will tell them not to cook you."
She spoke — and as if the chicken heard her, it turned silent.
Yeara smiled.
"Good girl."
She turned towards where the maids stood. The two maids quickly rushed towards her, their heads low, shoulders trembling.
The intimidating aura from Zalthor could not be ignored, the respect for Yeara that she was able to stay with the king.
"Do not cook her. She promised to behave."
She spoke as she handed the chicken to the maid, who bowed even more. It seemed that before Yeara even arrived at the palace, they already knew her, but…
But how?
The maids remained bowed as they rushed out. Yeara watched them leave before she finally turned her gaze to Zalthor, whose eyes just stared at her.
She parted her lips softly as she had forgotten her surroundings and had moved on instinct.
Her face flushed slightly as she walked towards Zalthor, who stood there, eyes fixed on her.
She managed a small smile, her hands moving to tuck her hair behind her ears. Managing a soft laugh, she spoke as she did not like the silence.
"Don't worry, this is how I chase Mister Tuesday back at our manor."
Just as she spoke, Zalthor's eyes darkened.
"Who is that?"