"Your Grace… Your Grace…"
Oriana stirred at the voice that seemed to seep gently through the fragile veil of her dreams.
The sound tugged her back to wakefulness as pale morning light spilled into the room, slipping through the tall windows and washing the chamber in a soft, golden glow.
Her lashes fluttered before her eyes slowly opened—only to squeeze shut again at the brightness that had found its way inside. A faint groan escaped her lips as her hands lifted, rubbing at her eyes while she pushed herself upright.
She yawned quietly, her hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. As she turned to the side, she raised her hands to stretch, earning a few soft cracks from her joints.
There stood Layla.
The maid's head was respectfully bowed, her hands folded neatly before her as she spoke with the careful politeness of the exact words she always said every morning.
"Good morning, Queen Oriana. Your bath is ready."
Yet the words scarcely reached Oriana's mind.
Instead, her thoughts began to unravel the memories of the night before—one by one, vivid and inescapable. Her eyes widened suddenly, the lingering haze of sleep vanishing at once. Her hands clutched the fabric of her gown, pulling it slightly upward as flashes of memory surfaced.
His warmth… those eyes.
His closeness.
The brush of his breath… the heat of his tongue—
Her heart skipped.
Oriana's hand flew to her chest as though she could physically catch the sudden, uneven rhythm of her heart. She had not expected the memory to return so sharply.
Her gaze slowly dropped to her thigh.
There, neatly wrapped around the skin, was a bandage. Her brows knit faintly together. He must have bandaged it last night… but how did he know where her room was? The last thing she remembered was resting against his shoulder, exhaustion pulling her into sleep.
Had he carried her here? But how did he know her room?
Layla's head remained lowered, though a flicker of curiosity stirred within her as she wondered why Her Grace still sat upon the bed in silence.
Finally, Oriana drew in a slow breath and rose from the bed, the hem of her nightgown brushing softly against the polished floor.
The soft sound of rope echoed through the room as the maid gently, yet deliberately, tightened the corset. Oriana held her breath, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her gown. She could not help but wonder if the corset had been designed to slowly kill a person rather than simply make them appear snatched.
She was dressed in a pale pink gown that flowed gracefully down her frame. It was a simple dress, yet elegant, with soft embroidery along the hem that almost formed the shape of flowers. Even without any actual floral print upon the gown, it carried a delicate sense of florality. Her wavy red hair had been left down that day, cascading softly along her back, while a crown rested atop her head, glinting faintly in the morning light.
"I am finished, Queen Oriana," Layla spoke quietly as she stepped aside, her head bowed.
Oriana nodded softly before waving her hand in dismissal. The maid quickly bowed once more before exiting the chamber.
Oriana sighed under her breath as she walked toward the door. Turning the knob, she opened it and stepped out into the quiet corridor. The castle halls were calm, the faint echo of her steps following her as she walked toward the staircase.
She began to descend slowly, one hand lifting the edge of her gown while the other reached toward the rail. Just as her fingers brushed the cold metal, she pulled away abruptly.
A fragmented image of his eyes flashed through her mind.
Her heart began to pound violently in her chest.
She could not believe what had just surfaced in her memory. When he had done that… her hands had gripped the rail.
Her breath escaped louder than she intended as she shifted both hands to her gown instead, descending the steps without touching the rail again. Yet by the time she reached the bottom, she no longer paid the thought much mind.
Standing there was Jacob.
He waited near the hall, his posture straight, his gaze fixed forward with practiced discipline.
Oriana slowed to a stop before turning toward him.
"Is something the matter, Jacob?" she asked.
He bowed his head respectfully before speaking.
"No, Queen Oriana…" he paused slightly before adding, "King Zorath."
The moment his name left Jacob's lips, Oriana's stomach flipped.
She nodded quickly—almost frantically—unaware of her own reaction as she urged him to continue.
"Go on," she said, not realizing the hint of curiosity within her tone, something very much unlike her usual composure.
"He is still around. I suggested that he remain here, as it was quite late after the ball and his kingdom lies far away, Queen Oriana," he said.
Oriana knew that this was exactly what her brother would have done. And besides, she had left such matters for Jacob to handle.
"Very well," she replied.
He gave a respectful nod before bowing.
Oriana then walked toward the large doors that led to the dining hall. Two guards stood firmly at their posts. The moment she approached, they bowed deeply before opening the doors for her.
Oriana already knew what awaited her inside. As usual, she expected to be the only one dining in the vast hall. Yet as she stepped inside, her footsteps slowed.
Her lips parted softly at the sight before her, not far away—
There he was.
Zorath.
He sat at the long dining table, eating slowly with deliberate care. Every movement was calm, controlled, almost effortless. Even without doing anything extraordinary, in Oriana's eyes—or anyone's—he looked as though he were the true king of this place.
An intimidating aura wrapped around the dining hall unmistakably his.
The air itself seemed heavier.
She did not realize the sharp breath she had taken.
Composing herself, she began walking again. Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she approached the table.
Not once did he raise his head.
Oriana's heart began to thud loudly in her chest, heat creeping up the back of her neck as the memory of how he had licked her blood returned uninvited.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her gown.
A thin thread of nervousness seeped through her chest, and she clutched the dress again as she took her seat, as though the simple act might give her some small semblance of control. Her hands moved to the napkin, placing it neatly upon her lap.
She pulled the plate slightly closer to herself. One of the chefs bowed respectfully before leaving the hall.
Quietly, she picked up her fork.
She gently poked at the mushroom and wrapped leaf on the plate before lifting it toward her lips.
But—
He raised his head.
Oriana's hands trembled.
Her fingers lost their balance.
She released the fork.
Clank.
It fell sharply against the plate.
Her head shot up.
Their eyes locked.
She quickly shifted her gaze away, reaching for the glass of water as she lifted it to her lips, gulping slowly as though the action might restore some sense of elegance.
"Apologies, King Z—Zorath. I see my late-night sleep has its side effects," she said softly. She lifted her head again, managing a small, composed smile.
Their eyes locked once more.
For a moment, it felt as though he could see straight through her.
He gave a curt nod.
Oriana quietly exhaled in relief.
She picked up the fork again and stabbed the mushroom and leaf—this time more firmly, her fingers tightening around the utensil as though determined not to repeat the mistake. She brought the food to her mouth and began to eat.
Her eyes remained fixed on her plate.
Yet she could feel his gaze.
Her heart began to beat faster again. The sensation of his eyes on her overwhelmed her senses so much that she could barely taste the food.
"Queen Oriana."
Her head lifted immediately.
He had called her name.
The way his deep voice spoke it made her feel as though she had lifted her head even before he had finished saying it.
'Idiot. Behave yourself. What is wrong with you today?' she scolded herself silently.
Outwardly, however, her expression remained calm and unbothered.
Finally, he spoke again.
His voice was empty.
Cold.
"You will be my queen."