The sun peeked its way through the window, creating a golden hue across the tiles and part of the bed where Yeara lay.
Her eyelids opened softly before she closed them gently again because of the almost blinding light hitting her face. She slowly opened them once more, her mouth parting.
"Haaaaammm…" She yawned softly as she moved her hands from the hard-like structure she seemed to be holding tight. As if a bucket of water had just been poured on her body, she jolted upright, pulling her hands away like she had just touched a hot kettle.
She shifted her hips, now sitting at the end of the bed, her chest rising and falling from sharp breaths she gasped from the earlier surprise. Her eyes widened in pure shock.
Lying down, back facing her, was Zalthor.
He was shirtless.
His well-sculptured back greeted her perfectly. His long hair was tied up, and some strands fell loose. Her eyes rested on his neck.
On his neck was a tattoo. The tattoo looked similar to what you could call a flower, but it seemed to be burning — a burning black flower. Her eyes moved across every line of the tattoo as if to memorise it. She reached toward his neck to touch it, but then halted, snapping back to reality.
She had almost forgotten herself and was about to touch this man. She could not believe she had been holding onto him earlier like her life depended on his. She bit the inside of her cheeks as she smacked her forehead.
"Congratulations, yea—you had officially let your guard down," she muttered to herself sarcastically, scolding.
She moved to stand, careful not to wake him up. She could not afford facing him after what she did. Her bare feet tapped against the cold floor, twitching slightly before adjusting. She walked to the mirror area. The moment she reached it, she gasped softly, taken aback by her reflection.
She turned sharply toward the bed — Zalthor was still laying the same, meaning he was still asleep. She quickly ran her hands through her hair, as if straightening it. She was sure that if she went outside like this, a bird would mistake her for their lost nest.
She bit her lower lip. The fact that she even slept well shocked her.
Her eyes moved around the room.
"Did we already reach the palace?" she wondered as she carefully moved. She could not help but wonder how long she had slept.
She walked to the other door that looked like the bathroom door, but then halted. Her hands moved to her back as she felt the straps. She shut her eyes tight, almost in frustration and surrender.
She would be needing help loosening her straps — and she could not ask anyone else apart from… oh heavens.
She had no choice, right?
"Stupid straps," she said to herself in annoyance as her head turned to Zalthor's domineering figure. She took a few deep breaths.
'Just walk to him, wake him, tell him to remove it… and then tell him to sleep back,' she told herself. It sounded so easy in her head, but walking toward his sleeping frame made her heart beat faster. The silence of the room made it worse, except for her soft footsteps.
She finally reached him. His eyes were closed, perfect lashes resting. Her eyes moved from his face to his nose and then to his lips.
Her gaze rested a bit too long before she shifted away, her cheeks heating up.
Her eyes moved to his chest. It was perfect, down to his jaw-dropping abs.
'One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight…' Her lips parted as she counted in her head. This man was the epitome of perfection; everything about him screamed luxury. Her eyes unknowingly moved lower and then—
She immediately caught herself and lifted her face back to his.
His eyes were open.
Yeara gasped as she staggered back in shock. His midnight, lazy gaze rested on hers. She had been caught staring. Her face burned harder as heat rushed up her nose.
"Y… Your Majesty, good… morning. I… I…" Her words stumbled over each other as she tried to redeem herself, but the embarrassment she now felt outweighed her brain's ability to form a sentence.
"No need to fear, wife. I am all yours."
His morning deep husky voice rolled from his lips, swimming through her ears like it had always belonged there. She bit her lip.
"Stop that…" That was all she managed to say as she looked away from him. Her hands moved to her gown as she squeezed it softly in embarrassment. The audacity of this shameless man.
Zalthor's laughter broke into the room — mischievous yet filled with teasing.
"Stop what, hmm? You were the one worshipping me while I was asleep."
Yeara's head snapped toward him as her lips opened and closed in disbelief, words failing her.
"W… Worship?" She was at a loss for words. This shameless, proud king thought she had been worshipping him. She had just been curious… well, curiosity was not bad, right?
She could feel his gaze on her. She finally lifted her chin, her eyes determined as she cleared her throat.
"Well, I had wanted to wake you up because I needed help…" Her eyes flickered away; she could not maintain his gaze with the mockery swimming in his eyes.
"I need help with my straps," she said quickly.
"Hmm."
Zalthor hummed as he stood from the bed, his tall frame walking toward her. Yeara's hands shot out as she lowered her gaze, biting her upper lip.
"But wear something first," she spoke.
Zalthor, who had stopped, moved toward her anyway, ignoring her words. He stopped in front of her. Yeara's breath caught in her throat as he leaned in, using his fingers to raise her chin.
Her green eyes locked onto his steel-black ones.
"You will need to get used to this," he said. Before she could speak, he leaned closer, his face resting near her neck. Chills burst through her as his masculine, rich scent wrapped around her, making her fully aware of his presence.
Just then she felt something warm against her skin..his mouth brushing her neck.
"Ah~" A sound escaped Yeara's lips, and her hands moved to cover her mouth. She felt Zalthor's lips stretch slightly, the atmosphere growing tense.
Zalthor pulled away, his lips curving faintly though his face remained blank.
"Ah… I see. This is the first time," he spoke.
Yeara's heart pounded dangerously in her chest as she stared hard at him, eyes glaring.
"No, it is not," she said defensively.
Zalthor, who had been about to move behind her, paused midway.
Yeara held slight confidence, catching that she had taken him by surprise. It surged through her as she continued.
"In fact… numbers cannot count."
Zalthor's eyes rested on her as he hummed again in response. He walked behind her, his hands moving to her straps. Slowly, he began to loosen them. Yeara's eyes tightened before she opened them again.
'Did he notice?' she wondered if he had seen through her lie — but she doubted it. The confidence she used would make it hard to tell.
Fully aware of his presence, her shoulders remained stiff. The only sound was the loosening straps and the intimidating silence. The fact that he said nothing made her uneasy.
What was he thinking?
His face revealed nothing. She pressed her lips tight.
"Are you not curious about my favorite? I can tell you his name," she slowly chimed in, unable to take the silence anymore, her sudden confidence surprising even herself.
Zalthor's gaze turned sharp as his hands left her gown before Yeara could catch it.
It fell to the ground with a soft thud.