I sat in the carriage, the luxurious velvet mocking the furious knots in my stomach. My arms were crossed so tightly my knuckles were white. Christopher had refused to answer any of my questions, his every word a sharp warning wrapped in a silken threat. He had simply disappeared, leaving me with only his parting words: Don't disobey me again. The memory made me burn with a powerless fury. I wanted to scream, to demand answers about the attack and the missing bodies, but I knew it was useless. All I could do was sit and wait for him to return, a pawn in a game I didn't understand. The bodies of our attackers had vanished, wiped away as if they never existed. What kind of power could do that?
"Well, well, well," a voice drawled, rich and smooth as aged brandy. "So who do we have here?"
A man slid into the seat opposite me, a shadow of motion that was there and then not. I had not even heard the door open. He was handsome, almost impossibly so, with rugged features that looked like they had been chiseled from stone. His chestnut hair was thick and rich, falling over his brow in a subtle wave. But it was his brown eyes that captivated me. They were warm and deep, yet held a spark of something dangerous, like a fire smoldering just beneath the surface. He was an obvious heartbreaker, and my instincts screamed to be cautious.
"The girl who finally caught the King's eyes," he continued, leaning forward. The carriage smelled of him—cedar and something faintly metallic, like steel. "But who would blame him? You really are beautiful."
The way he said it felt less like a compliment and more like an assessment. He offered a practiced smile, one that might melt the hearts of most girls but only chilled me further. His brown eyes held my gaze, not out of admiration, but with a quiet, unsettling intensity.
"I'm Princess Jackline," I began, my voice steady despite my internal alarm.
He laughed softly, the sound low and conspiratorial. " You're forgetting one thing," he paused, and his smile became more genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Well, now you're no longer a Princess. You're a Queen."
The title felt heavy, a burden I was not yet ready for. But I couldn't help a small, reluctant smile. There was something about him that put you at ease, a voice that promised trust while his eyes told a different story.
"We were attacked a few moments ago," I said, deciding to test his charm. "The bodies were nowhere to be seen. I didn't get your name."
"Alexander Lustre," he said, the name rolling off his tongue with an air of practiced confidence. "The King's royal guard. And about the bodies, leave that to us. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." His flippant dismissal of the violence infuriated me.
"Christopher told me you were his best guard," I pressed. "If a threat is still at large, shouldn't you be worried?"
"All threats are taken care of, Your Majesty," he replied smoothly, but his gaze flickered, just for a moment. It was enough to show me a chink in his perfect armor. He rose and gestured to the carriage door. "Now, let's get you to your new home. The palace awaits."
He offered me a hand, and I took it, trying to ignore the heat and strength of his grip. Other guards stood outside their carriages, their expressions unreadable. Alexander ushered me toward a different, more ornate carriage, and I scanned the faces, realizing with a jolt who wasn't there.
"Where's the King?" I asked, a hint of desperation seeping into my voice.
"He had some business to take care of," Alexander replied, his playful tone returning. He noticed the shift in my demeanor and leaned in close, his voice a low whisper meant for my ears alone. "Is the Queen already missing him?" The mockery in his voice was clear now. "Don't you worry. I'll keep you company. And I'm far more fun than Christopher."
He winked, but the gesture held no warmth. It was a challenge. And the thought of being alone with him was suddenly more frightening than any phantom assassin.