Shastina tightly clasped Aurora’s hand, her eyes fixed on the delicate features of her face. Pain gripped her heart, an unbearable ache that whispered accusations against her own actions, blaming herself for Aurora’s tragic end.
The relentless thought echoed within her, a haunting refrain:
“I could have confessed to the king, revealed that I, not Aurora, was the one who killed the late King.”
Grief overwhelmed Shastina, erasing the memory of the times when she callously told Aurora that she didn’t care if she lived or died. The realization now hit her with a cruel force, a revelation of her true feelings.
“So you care this much about me,” Aurora’s voice cut through the heavy silence.
Startled, Shastina and Morena leaped to their feet. The sudden realization that it was Morena’s voice shattered the tension. Shastina moved closer to Aurora, and a groan escaped from Aurora’s lips as Shastina inadvertently bounced on her hand.
“Why did you play that prank on us?” Shastina exclaimed, her emotions surfacing. Morena stepped forward, examining Aurora with a mix of concern and relief.
“How are you feeling?” Morena asked repeatedly, her hands moving over Aurora’s body as if she couldn’t believe that the person before her was truly alive. Each touch seemed to carry a wave of relief and disbelief, as if Morena expected Aurora to vanish like a fleeting dream.
“I’m alive, Morena,” Aurora uttered, though the words sounded strained, as if she were exerting herself just to speak.
“Thank you for not dying. I wouldn’t have known what to do if you had,” Morena admitted, her relief evident in her voice. Aurora’s thoughts, however, were already racing toward King Malik. She wondered about his well-being, whether he was angry that she had taken the arrow meant for him or if he felt any concern at all. Morena, perceptive to the shift in Aurora’s emotions, addressed her unspoken questions.
“The king hasn’t been himself since he learned you might not make it. He brought you here and stayed, hoping you would wake up. He even wanted to negotiate with the person who fired the arrow just to get the antidote for you,” Morena explained, and a smile flickered across Aurora’s face. The unexpected revelation that the king still cared for her and was willing to go to such lengths touched her deeply.
“Can I go and see him?” Aurora inquired, and where Shastina stood, she fought the urge to smack Aurora own face. However, understanding her genuine concern for the king, she held back.
“Do you have the strength? You could wait until tomorrow morning,” Morena suggested, concern etched on her face as she gauged Aurora’s physical condition.
“I have the strength, and besides, letting the king know I’m alive is the best way to keep him from blaming himself,” Aurora asserted, determination shining in her eyes. However, Morena, ever the caring friend, offered an alternative.
“I can go and inform him if you want. I don’t want you to stress yourself,” Morena suggested, aware of Aurora’s affection for the king and the likelihood that she missed him during her time in bed.
“No, I want to go and see him myself,” Aurora mumbled, sliding down from the bed. She staggered a bit but quickly steadied herself, making her way toward the exit. Just as she reached the door, Shastina’s voice cut through the air, causing her to pause. Shastina approached, and Aurora turned to face her.
“The king has discovered who the masked girl was, so plead for mercy,” Shastina disclosed, and Aurora’s heart raced. She looked at Shastina, who offered a faint smile.
“Is there something I need to know?” Morena asked, sensing the tension that filled the room as Shastina dropped the bombshell.
“No, Morena,” Aurora replied, a nervous smile on her face as she exited the room.
Damn it! The fear of facing King Malik gripped her, but she took a deep breath, convincing herself that today was the day to clear the mess.
As she approached King Malik’s door, the absence of guards struck her as unusual. Where was Evans, her usual friendly guard? Shastina’s revelation about the king discovering the masked girl’s identity echoed in her mind, and a chilling thought crossed her-had the king harmed Evans?
“No way, he can’t,” Aurora muttered, covering her mouth with her palm. After a few seconds of deep breaths, she mustered the courage to knock. Before she could speak, Malik’s voice cut through the door.
“I don’t want any visitors,” he uttered, the late-night hour evident. Aurora turned, facing the corridor, hesitating. Then, she turned back and announced, “My king, it’s Aurora.” The door swung open abruptly, and Malik pushed her inside, his eyes locking onto her as if he couldn’t believe she was truly there.
His hand traced from her head to her cheeks, confirming her identity. Earlier, he had returned to the physician’s door, intending to ask Morena about the herbs. However, the sounds of crying and lamenting over Aurora’s supposed death reached him before he could. In that moment, Malik felt as though his heart had stopped beating. Only now did he realize the depth of his feelings for Aurora, a revelation that hit him like a sudden storm, shaking the foundations of their unspoken connection.
The magnetic pull between Aurora and the king surged, tempting her to embrace him tightly, bury herself in his chest. Yet, she restrained every ounce of self-control, aware of the impending revelation that she was the masked girl. Fear gripped her; she hesitated, uncertain of what the king might do upon discovering her secret.
The king’s hand continued its gentle strokes, descending to her lips. As he reached them, Aurora couldn’t resist brushing her lips against his touch. Her eyes shut involuntarily, momentarily forgetting her anxieties. A playful excitement bubbled in her stomach, wondering if the king would seal their unspoken connection with a kiss, his fingers lingering just above her lips.
Before she could fathom the king’s intentions, his voice sent warmth coursing through her body as he whispered into her ear.
“Are you really alive, Aurora, or am I seeing your lifeless body?” Malik questioned, a perplexed tone in his voice.
“I’m alive, my king, and please, I’m sorry for pretending…” Aurora began, but the king interrupted her words with a kiss, catching her off guard.
Malik kissed her as if searching for evidence that she was truly alive. The unexpectedness of the kiss silenced her, leaving the air charged with the unspoken complexity of their connection.
They reveled in each other’s lips as if their very safety depended on it. Malik’s hand circled around Aurora’s waist, deepening the kiss, their mouths entwining with a passionate dance. Aurora’s lips carried the sweet taste of strawberries, a flavor that lingered between them.
Lost in the intoxication of their kisses, the world outside seemed to fade away until Malik’s awareness returned, and he reluctantly withdrew. His hand still cradled Aurora’s arms, leaving her yearning for more. Although a pang of disappointment echoed in her heart as Malik severed the kiss abruptly, she understood she couldn’t force the king to linger.
Standing in his embrace, Aurora awaited his next move until Malik’s voice broke the silence.
“Your lips taste like strawberries,” Malik uttered in a romantic tone, causing Aurora’s face to blush instantly. The anger and pain in her heart dissolved, replaced by a radiant smile, akin to that of a newlywed wife.
“Would you like more of this? It seems I can savor it until daybreak,” Malik teased, and Aurora nodded eagerly. The king gently pushed her onto the bed, resuming their passionate exchange.
In Malik’s heart, the desire was to dispel the tension that lingered between him and Aurora, between him and the masked girl. All he yearned for was to make Aurora feel loved, hoping that in those shared moments, her memories might be rekindled.
“My king,” Aurora moaned as Malik withdrew his lips, redirecting his attention to the tender skin of her neck. His lips began a gentle assault, placing soft kisses over her skin. Aurora, unable to resist the sensations that ignited, felt a burning desire within. Just rescued from the brink of death, her yearnings and cravings intensified, a fervent need to indulge in the depths of what she truly desired.