Malek
Malek's footsteps echoed through the stone corridor, slower than usual, unhurried. For once, there was no war council pulling at his sleeves, no diplomat whispering poison in his ear. The sun was warm on his back, and rose still clutched in his hand.
Seraya.
He was smiling.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled like that—softly, stupidly, privately.
She was... a puzzle. Bold but skittish. Teasing, but wary. Her wit, her quiet strength, the fire behind her eyes when she tried to hide it—gods, she was fascinating. Real. So real it disarmed him.
He hadn't meant to stay in the garden that long, and yet—he'd lingered. Let the moment stretch.
He almost kissed her. Almost.
Malek rarely almost did anything.
And then—
"Your Majesty!"
He nearly groaned aloud.
Lady Vera glided toward him in a swirl of sapphire silks, her painted smile already fixed, her voice sweetened like a poisoned pear. "I was just coming to find you.
The evening banquet—"
He didn't stop walking.
She quickened her pace to match his, a too-practiced flutter of her lashes.
"You've been so hard to reach lately. I thought perhaps you'd forgotten how much you enjoy my company."
"I haven't," he said flatly.
She faltered, the smile tightening.
"I remember everything," he continued, voice clipped. "Especially those who push their luck."
Her lips parted in protest. "Majesty, if I've offended—"
"You haven't. You're simply... mistaking access for importance."
That wiped the sweetness clean from her face.
He stopped just long enough to face her fully.
"Don't crowd me, Vera."
Then he turned, his stride sharper now, his mind already gone from her presence.
Back to the girl in the garden. The one who hadn't flattered or simpered. The one who didn't want anything from him—didn't even like him, really. And yet still smiled. Still stood tall. Still made him feel...
Something.
That was the problem. No one else made him feel anything anymore.
Everyone else was performing. Playing their part in a theater he built. Vera especially—dressed in power, hungry for his crown, clawing her way toward a throne that didn't exist.
But Seraya… she wasn't trying to win. That made her dangerous. That made her different.
Even if he was lying to her.
Even if she didn't know who he really was.
Even if she hated him the moment she did.
He wasn't sure why that thought made his jaw clench. Or why he suddenly wished—just a little—that he could stop lying altogether.
But he wasn't built for honesty.
And the truth was far more dangerous than any garden flirtation.
Still… he wasn't smiling anymore.
He missed it already.