She didn't look back.
King Malek watched her disappear beyond the hedges, striding away purposefully, not allowing her pride on full display.
Interesting.
He stood in the garden's center, arms loosely folded, pulse annoyingly fast. A part of him—cold and calculating—should've left by now. Should've called a guard to escort her, reminded himself she was just another unwilling offering from a conquered land. But the rest of him, the darker, quieter part… was intrigued.
She was different.
Most women fell over themselves trying to please him. Some wept. Some flattered. Others performed needlessly grand gestures to gain his notice. But Seraya? She hid under tables and looked at him like he was something less than impressive. Like he was just another guard with nothing to offer her.
It was maddening.
And strangely refreshing.
Malek sat back down on the same cushion she'd just vacated, still warm from her body, her scent lingering faintly—honeysuckle and sun-warmed linen.
This, he thought. This is the scent that has been evading me the past few weeks. He'd gotten lingering traces it at times when he'd enter a room, but it was always a ghost of a scent.
At times it had lingered around that little red headed concubine, Jane or something. She was decent in bed, eager for sure. But not what he wanted. Lying in bed afterwards, her true scent came out—apples and ivy. What had first intrigued him had been an illusion. But he knew it existed somewhere in the palace. He'd felt like a bloodhound the past few weeks searching for its true owner.
Of course it belonged to the little vixen who has been avoiding the king like the plague.
He took another deep inhale and laughed to himself.
His hand drifted to the spot where her fingers had curled into the edge of the cushion. He let out a breath and chuckled softly to himself.
"You really don't know, do you?" he murmured to the empty garden.
She hadn't recognized him. Not without the crown, the robes, the ring of soldiers and desperate concubines.
And gods, that made it even better.
It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him without fear or flattery. She hadn't lied to protect herself. She didn't pander. She just was. Honest. Guarded, yes, but there had been a spark behind her eyes. A fire buried beneath the survival instincts. He'd seen it. Felt it.
She hated him.
And it thrilled him.
He leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes, letting the filtered sunlight wash over his face. This garden had always been a quiet place, but now it felt… alive.
Perhaps because for once, he didn't have to be the king. He could be Lex—just a man in training clothes. Just a shadow on the edge of her world.
And she had let him in, just a little.
"She thinks I'm charming," he mused aloud, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Poor girl."
He wouldn't reveal himself yet. No, not until she was well and truly tangled. Until she wanted him—and hated herself for it. Until she looked at Lex the way all the others looked at Malek… and realized too late that they were the same man.
But it wouldn't be easy.
She was flame wrapped in thorns. And if he reached too fast, too hard, she'd cut him before she burned him.
He liked that.
He stood slowly, brushing his palms together and straightening his spine. He hadn't meant to linger so long, seeking a small respite in the library earlier from the daily pressures and politics.
But he found something so much better than a simple distraction.
A challenge.
And he was never one to walk away from that.