Seraya POV
The morning sun hadn't yet warmed the marble floors when Vera made her entrance, the rustle of her silks announcing her long before she spoke.
"Well, aren't you lucky today," she said sweetly, placing a tray down in front of Seraya with exaggerated care. On it sat a small but elegant breakfast—steamed buns, poached pears, and fragrant tea.
Seraya stared at it warily.
"A gift," Vera cooed. "You did so well yesterday, enduring without complaint. A little reward for knowing your place."
Seraya's jaw tightened. The others kept their heads down, eating in silence. Even Matron Miriam said nothing, just sipping her tea as if none of it concerned her. Seraya noticed it. That silence. That absence of interference.
Vera was the queen here. No crown needed.
Seraya picked up a spoon, not because she wanted to eat—but because she wouldn't give Vera the satisfaction of refusing it. She forced each bite down with precision, tasting only bitterness, even beneath the honeyed pears.
And then came the list.
"You'll be helping with the laundry today," Vera said, sipping her tea like a proper lady. "After that, scrub floors. Then dust the entire west corridor. Oh, and the kitchens will need help preparing dinner."
Seraya blinked. "That's… all day."
Vera's smile sharpened. "Why yes. From sunup to sundown. A busy girl is a humble girl, don't you think?"
It wasn't about chores. It never was. It was about keeping her locked away—out of sight. Out of reach.
Out of the gardens.
That stung more than anything. Not the work, not Vera's smug face, not even the aching pride. But the thought of not seeing him.
Lex.
Was he in the garden right now, waiting beneath the shaded alcove where they usually met? Had he brought another book? Had he looked for her?
Did he miss her?
The thought of him wandering alone, assuming she'd lost interest—or worse, finding someone else to fill the silence she left behind—made her stomach knot in ways breakfast never could've.
She didn't own him. He wasn't hers. But something about the idea of another girl sitting in her spot, laughing at his sharp wit, made her blood simmer.
Don't be ridiculous, she told herself. He's a guard. A distraction. That's all.
But the ache in her chest didn't feel like distraction. It felt dangerously close to longing.
And if Vera noticed the way Seraya's gaze drifted to the windows whenever she passed them…
She said nothing.
Though Seraya wasn't sure how much longer she could keep Lex a secret.
Not when she burned to see him again. Soon.
________________________________________________________________________
Malek POV
She never came.
Malek paced the edge of the terrace overlooking the gardens, his eyes fixed on the path she usually took. The morning air was crisp, the hedges blooming, the bench beneath the arbor—empty.
Where was she?
Did she like the dinner?
He had imagined it all too vividly—her eyes widening at the feast, perhaps hesitating at first, too proud to accept a gift from the king. But then… giving in. He could see her wrapping her lips around a honeyed fig, and his cock responded with a jolt at the thought.
Then she'd surrender to hunger—digging in with a ravenous appetite until she sat back, flushed and full, utterly sated.
He had envisioned every moment.
But reality offered nothing in return. No sign. No word. No Seraya.
Was she avoiding him?
Had she figured him out?
Was she with someone else?
His jaw clenched.
Another guard, perhaps. One who could move freely without masks or secrets. One who didn't have to pretend he wasn't the very thing she despised.
The thought ignited a fury deep within him.
He left the terrace with a scowl carved into his face and stormed toward the training yard. The guards there straightened the moment they saw him.
"Five of you," he barked, stripping off his over-robe and tossing it aside. "Now. Come at me."
They blinked, unsure if they heard him correctly.
"Sire?" one ventured.
"You heard me," he snapped, his voice like steel striking flint. "All five. Now."
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. Malek rarely sparred anymore. And never like this.
He was always in control. Precise. Cold. Except when it came to her.
The moment they moved, he exploded into motion. Fluid. Lethal. His fists landed like thunder, every strike a release of everything boiling under his skin. One guard crumpled. Another went flying. They regrouped—hesitant, cautious—and came at him again.
"More," he growled, panting through clenched teeth. "Send more."
Another pair joined the fray.
Still it wasn't enough. Not to bleed out the anger. Not to quiet the storm.
What if something had happened to her? What if she was injured?
A spike of fear shot through him so potent, he barely deflected the fatal blow aiming for his head.
And he couldn't even go to her. Couldn't ask. Couldn't protect her—not without revealing everything.
But he would, if that's what it took to keep her safe. Even if she hated him for it.
He drove a shoulder into one man's chest, sending him sprawling. Spun, ducked a blade, knocked another to his knees.
She'd told him it wasn't his fault.
But it was.
All of it.
And now… he couldn't breathe without the ache of her absence.