"Darian, I don't want any nonsense from you. These are the king's orders," Commander Alexander spoke in a firm tone, his piercing gaze fixed on Darian. The latter saluted reluctantly, clearly uneasy. He despised dealing with women, and the last thing he wanted was to get entangled with one.
"This way, miss…"
Roulan forced herself to smile. If marrying Rick was the only way to stay alive, she'd have to endure this. Think of it as a new job. You just have to succeed, she whispered to herself as she trailed behind Darian's brisk steps.
What's wrong with this man? Average height but broad-shouldered, with a muscular build that radiated confidence—even his walk exuded authority, as if he were gliding on a breeze.
"Stay close so you don't get lost," he said without sparing her a glance.
She was still in her ball gown. What exactly was Rick planning? Wasn't he supposed to abdicate the throne? Had he changed his mind because of her?
No, Darian. King Rick wouldn't fall for someone like this girl.
Darian stopped abruptly in a secluded wing of the palace. They stood before a massive door with no guards stationed outside, unlike the other chambers and suites.
"This is where you'll live, train, and dedicate your life to serving the king and this empire. From now on, Roulan Flak, you're a member of the royal guard."
His announcement had an official air, almost like a declaration. His gaze bore into her, challenging her resolve. Everyone knew of Roulan Flak, but why was she—of all people—chosen to join the king's guard?
Darian watched her step into the large room. At its center stood a bed, surrounded by pristine white furnishings. The decor was consistent, with varying shades of white that were so subtle it was difficult to distinguish them.
'I've heard that there is one member of her family could heal the cursed souls, may be I can fix my mother's situation,' He thought.
"Charming," she whispered, running her fingers over the smooth, polished wood. She turned to look for Darian, but he had disappeared. Her eyes fell on a garment lying at the edge of the bed.
It was form-fitting, designed to emphasize every curve of her body—a tantalizingly provocative outfit. Is this a joke? There's no way I'm wearing that, she thought, tossing the fabric aside.
"That's harsh. I personally picked that outfit for you. I wanted to see every detail of your figure," came the familiar voice that made her heart skip—a voice warm and unsettling all at once.
She spun around to face him. "Your Majesty!"
Every time Rick approached her, closing the distance between them, her defenses crumbled.
"Who gave you permission to enter? This is my room now, and I'm certainly not wearing that, Your Majesty," she said, throwing the garment from his hand.
Rick narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "This is the palace, my dear. No one can stop me from being anywhere I want. And I don't need your permission to stay by your side."
The gap between them vanished. Her back was against the wall. His scent was intoxicating, and his proximity was overwhelming. She could barely stand being this close to someone so impossibly handsome—especially here, in her room.
"And what's this Your Majesty, Your Majesty nonsense?" he murmured, his voice smooth and teasing. "I don't want you calling me that—at least not when we're alone."
Every word he spoke felt softer, more seductive, making her shiver. His eyes lingered on her lips as if waiting for her to speak. She opened her mouth but stopped short.
Rick had never felt such an overwhelming need to claim someone as his own. Brushing a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers trailed down her jawline, grazing her neck. He tilted her head slightly, and her cheeks flushed a deep red.
"You're stunning," he whispered, his voice close to her lips.
Her faint smile nearly undid him, but she still didn't yield.
"Ever heard of privacy, Rick? Stop acting so childish. You only saved me, that's all. You're not even my type of hero," she said firmly, though every fiber of her being screamed that she was lying.
In truth, she longed for his lips on hers, but she refused to seem easy or desperate. She had let him kiss her in the carriage to even the score—not because she had enjoyed it.
"You're the strangest person I've ever met. Who in their right mind rejects Rick the Eleventh, King of this kingdom?"
She nodded solemnly, meeting his eyes with determination. "Get out of my room. I need to rest."
Her words were sharp and serious, even to her own ears.
No one had ever dared to dismiss him like this. Where did she get such boldness? He bit his lip, his eyes roaming her shoulders before locking onto her gaze. She was enchanting, utterly captivating. She had consumed his thoughts.
"I'll make you beg for me to stay with you in this room, Roulan Flak. Your life belongs to me now," he said, running a hand through his hair, his smoldering gaze igniting a fire in her.
If he didn't leave, she'd crumble. He seemed to sense it, for he stepped away and exited the room before temptation could get the better of him.
Before leaving entirely, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her retreating figure. He smirked, an unfamiliar sense of disappointment creeping into his chest. No one had ever rejected him before. What was this feeling?
---
As the door shut behind him, Roulan paced the room in circles, her thoughts spiraling.
If I asked you to marry me, you'd definitely refuse. You're just infatuated with my body. You don't love me. Or… do you? I don't know. What kind of mess am I in?
She turned abruptly to the mirror. "You stupid system, explain to me what's going on! Why do I have to marry him? Why?'