She exhaled slowly. The meeting must be over by now. A man like him wouldn’t allow anything to run over the prescribed time. He must be in his bedroom on the other side of that locked door, going through whatever bedtime routine a man like him followed. He probably had more skincare and haircare products than she did just to maintain his glowing skin and perfect hair.
Ugh.
She turned onto her side, away from the connecting door.
Just sleep.
But she couldn’t. She tossed and turned a few more times.
Until she heard a soft click.
She sat up and frowned.
What was that?
She realized it was probably the palace walls. The centuries-old stone made a noise from the cold mountain air.
But just as she was about to lie back on the bed, a thin line of light appeared under the connecting door. And then, the door opened wider, and a tall silhouette filled the frame.
For a moment, she couldn't move. Her brain refused to process what she was seeing.
She had been so certain. So completely, absolutely certain that he wouldn't come. That the door between them would remain locked until the end of their contract marriage.
But he came.
He wore a black robe, loosely tied, his shoulders filling the doorway. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but she sensed his gaze on her across the room.
He stepped inside.
Her heart thudded with each step he took. It was pounding when he stopped next to the bed.
There was a brief click, and the bedside lamp turned on, casting the room in soft, warm lighting.
Her heart raced. He was close enough for her to see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw and the steady rise and fall of his chest.
The warm light flickered across his face, highlighting the sharp cheekbones and nose that made him look less like a human and more like something carved from marble—beautiful, unyielding, and cold.
His eyes didn’t meet hers.
His golden-brown eyes moved slowly over her body. She suddenly became aware of the thin nightgown against her skin, the sheets tangled around her legs, the warmth rising in her stomach under his gaze.
Her fingers curled into the sheets as her skin began to burn.
She wanted to speak, but her throat didn’t seem to work.
A part of her felt it was a dream. That her disturbed mind imagined that the cold maharaja who hated her was inside her room.
But then, she felt his touch.
His long fingers brushed the straps off her shoulders in one smooth motion.
A gasp escaped her as the soft silk of her nightdress slithered down her torso, pooling at her waist, baring her entire upper body.
Her face burned in embarrassment. But his handsome face remained unreadable as he looked at her.
Before she could cover herself or say something, she felt a firm push on her shoulders, and her head hit the pillow with a gasp.
He leaned towards her, his citrus cologne with a hint of pine musk and something strangely metallic filling her senses. And then his mouth closed over her breast.
