Chapter 16: Unbothered Serenity
Emris leaned against the doorframe of Roya's study, his arms crossed and his eyes distant. The faint scent of smoke from earlier still lingered in the air, mingling with her perfume—a mix of ink, coffee, and something inexplicably hers. The image of her wide, startled eyes when he'd leaned in and kissed her cheek flashed through his mind again, and he felt his jaw tighten.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He had saved her, yes. That wasn't unusual. For all his teasing and endless enjoyment in tormenting her, he wasn't about to let some obsessed maniac harm her. But the kiss...that had been unplanned. A moment of weakness. A slip in his carefully curated façade.
Emris Malachai didn't slip. He didn't falter. He didn't let emotions cloud his judgment. And yet, as he thought of the way her breath hitched, the fleeting softness of her skin against his lips, he felt something coil tightly in his chest.
It wasn't love. No, that was ridiculous. He didn't believe in such a thing, and even if he did, Roya Amani was the last person he would fall for. She was his bane, his endless source of frustration, the one who had written him into existence only to end his life in her story. She was chaos personified, and he thrived on taming chaos.
But there was something about her. Something he couldn't quite pin down.
The way she faced the world with an icy calm that hid a storm within. The way she spoke with biting wit, her words sharp enough to cut, yet strangely endearing. The way she carried herself, like a queen who didn't need a throne to command attention.
She infuriated him. She fascinated him.
He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning quietly. He shouldn't have kissed her. It was a mistake—a moment of misplaced gratitude, perhaps. Or maybe it was his way of grounding himself after the chaos of saving her.
No, it wasn't that simple.
He knew what it was.
It was the way she looked at him when he stepped in front of her, shielding her from danger without hesitation. The way her usual sharpness softened for just a moment, replaced by something vulnerable, something real.
For a brief moment, she didn't see him as a fictional creation, an annoyance, or even her self-proclaimed rival. She saw him as...him.
And that terrified him.
Emris shoved himself off the doorframe and began pacing the room, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair. He could still feel the heat of her skin under his fingertips, the way her breath ghosted against his neck as he pulled her out of harm's way.
He hated how much he noticed these things.
He hated how much she occupied his thoughts.
"Get a grip, Malachai," he muttered to himself, his voice low and rough. "She's just a woman. A maddening, impossible, infuriating woman who's probably plotting some petty revenge as we speak."
Yet, even as he tried to convince himself, the truth gnawed at him. Roya wasn't just anyone. She was different. And that difference was unraveling him.
He thought back to the moment after the kiss when her usual icy demeanor cracked, just slightly. Her cheeks had reddened, and she'd looked at him like she didn't quite know what to make of him. That moment, fleeting as it was, had been enough to make him question everything.
Was he doing this because he wanted to annoy her? Because he enjoyed the push and pull of their dynamic? Or was it something more? Something he wasn't ready to admit?
He let out a bitter laugh. "Pathetic."
Emris Malachai didn't do complicated emotions. He didn't do vulnerability or softness. He was the strongest, the most untouchable, the one who laughed in the face of danger and shrugged off emotions like they were nothing.
But with Roya...
She was blurring the lines. And that scared him more than he cared to admit.
For now, he decided, he would push it aside. He would treat her the way he always had—with teasing, mischief, and a carefully constructed mask of indifference. Because admitting otherwise would mean acknowledging that she mattered to him in a way no one else ever had.
And he wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.
Roya stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, patting her face dry with a soft towel. The faint scent of her rosewater toner lingered in the air as she set it down with practiced ease, her movements smooth and deliberate.
It was just another night.
Sure, she'd nearly been stabbed by a crazed fan obsessed with her fictional characters. And sure, Emris had decided to play hero yet again, sweeping in with all the theatrics of a brooding knight in slightly scorched armor. He had even kissed her on the cheek.
The memory of his lips brushing her skin was already being cataloged in her mind as another oddity in the chaos of her life. Something to be filed away and ignored.
She reached for her moisturizer, spreading it evenly over her face with meticulous precision. Her green eyes flickered to the reflection of the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar, revealing the faint hum of Emris pacing in the living room.
Of course, he was still brooding.
Roya let out a small sigh, shaking her head as she picked up her jade roller, gliding it along her cheekbones. She wasn't blind to the turmoil he was likely going through. Emris was always dramatic, acting as though every interaction between them carried the weight of the universe.
But she wasn't like him.
To her, the world didn't revolve around emotions or fleeting gestures. The kiss, while unexpected, didn't unearth some grand revelation about their relationship. It was just Emris being Emris—impulsive, annoyingly overprotective, and far too eager to prove a point.
She moved to her vanity, smoothing her hair back into a loose braid. The faint sting of her earlier brush with danger had already dulled, replaced by the comforting monotony of her skincare routine.
It was funny, in a way.
People always expected her to crumble under pressure, to show cracks in her icy exterior when things got too intense. But the truth was, she thrived in chaos. It was the quiet moments—the stillness after the storm—that felt foreign.
Outside, she could hear Emris muttering to himself. He'd been pacing for at least twenty minutes, his movements heavy enough to shake the floorboards. Roya smirked to herself, imagining the look of frustrated confusion on his face.
Good. Let him stew.
After all, he was the one who made it weird with that kiss.
She knew it was driving him crazy, and while a part of her felt mildly amused, another part—a smaller, quieter part—felt...something else. She brushed the thought aside.
As she finished her routine, applying a light lip balm, she turned off the bathroom light and went upstairs into her room, Emris following behind. The sound of Emris's pacing grew louder, and she could feel his energy radiating through the walls.
"Would you stop pacing? It's annoying," she called out, her voice calm but sharp.
The footsteps halted abruptly, followed by a low grumble. "Annoying? You're welcome for saving your life, by the way."
Roya rolled her eyes, settling onto her bed and scrolling through her phone as if he wasn't even there. "Yes, thank you, oh great and powerful Emris Malachai. Truly, my life is in your debt."
There was a pause, then the sound of his footsteps moving closer. He stopped at her doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his piercing blue eyes narrowing at her.
"Is that it? No heartfelt gratitude? No deep introspection about how much you'd miss me if I weren't here?"
She glanced up from her phone, one brow arched. "I'm busy. And I'm sure your ego doesn't need any more stroking tonight."
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, she thought he might storm off. Instead, he sighed, raking a hand through his dark hair.
"You're impossible, you know that?" he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"And yet, here you are," she replied with a faint smirk, turning her attention back to her screen.
Let him fret over the kiss, over what it meant or didn't mean. Roya Amani had more important things to focus on—like finding the perfect serum for her nighttime routine.