BEHIND THE MASK / episode 6- possessiveness?
890 Words
The hall was quiet except for the faint echo of footsteps. Yuri sat at the table while a young servant carefully wrapped a linen bandage around the small cut on her hand.
His touch lingered a little too long. Not improper, but enough.
Across the room, Zayne stopped in his tracks. The look in his eyes shifted—first concern, then something darker.
“That’s enough,” he said. His tone wasn’t raised, but it carried the weight of command.
The servant froze, bowed quickly, and hurried away.
Yuri lifted an eyebrow, voice even. “He was just helping.”
Zayne’s jaw tightened. “He was touching you.”
“He was treating a wound.”
“That didn’t need that much attention,” he muttered, stepping closer. The space between them thinned, air tightening with unspoken emotion.
Yuri crossed her arms. “Are you jealous, Your Majesty?”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Should I not be? My wife sits here letting another man—”
“Enough,” she cut in, sharp but quiet. “You forget who you’re speaking to.”
Zayne stopped right in front of her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “No,” he whispered. “I remember exactly who I’m speaking to. The woman who drives me mad just by standing still.”
Her heart stuttered, but her voice stayed calm. “Then control yourself.”
“I’ve been trying,” he said, voice rough. “But watching him touch you—” He broke off, frustration catching in his throat. His hand rose, stopping just short of her cheek. “Yuri…”
She didn’t move away. “Then what?”
He leaned in before he could think better of it, his lips brushing the side of her throat. “Then I remind you,” he murmured, “you’re mine.”
Yuri’s breath hitched as he pressed soft, heated kisses along her neck—one, then another, each a little slower, a little lower, until his teeth grazed her skin.
A quiet gasp escaped her. “Zayne…”
He didn’t answer. He only kissed her again, deeper this time, leaving faint marks that bloomed like small bruises under moonlight. Each one was a word unsaid: I see you. I want you. Don’t forget me.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was low. “Let them wonder who put them there.”
Yuri met his gaze, eyes bright, cheeks faintly flushed. “You’re impossible.”
“Completely,” he said, a crooked grin breaking through the jealousy. “And you love it.”
Her smirk returned, cool but trembling at the edges. “We’ll see about that.”
THE NEXT MORNING
Morning light spilled through the palace corridors, gilding everything in quiet gold. Servants moved softly, eyes lowered, but not low enough. Whispers traveled faster than footsteps.
Yuri entered the breakfast hall first. Her gown was immaculate, her posture perfect, every movement measured. Only the faintest flush along her neck betrayed her.
Zayne was already there, sitting at the head of the table, half-smiling behind his cup of tea.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” she said evenly, as though nothing had happened.
He set his cup down slowly. “Good morning, my queen.” His tone was far too smooth to be innocent.
She caught the glint in his eyes—the same look from last night. Calmly, she took her seat opposite him, ignoring the soft murmurs from the attendants as they caught sight of the fading marks along her collarbone.
One of the younger maids nearly dropped a pitcher. Another pretended not to see.
Zayne’s lips twitched. “Sleep well?”
“Perfectly,” she replied without missing a beat. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” He leaned back, casual, but his gaze dipped for just a second to the place where her gown didn’t quite hide the evidence of his jealousy.
Yuri met his eyes. “You seem distracted, Your Majesty. Something troubling you?”
He smiled slowly. “Only the memory of how very… stubborn you can be.”
Her fork paused mid-air. “And you’re still insufferably pleased with yourself.”
He shrugged, feigning innocence. “Shouldn’t I be?”
She gave a quiet laugh—soft, dangerous. “You mark me once and suddenly you think you’ve conquered me?”
His grin widened. “Maybe not conquered. But perhaps I’ve made a start.”
The chamberlain cleared his throat awkwardly, pretending to focus on the morning brief. The servants moved faster, desperate to escape the charged silence.
When they were finally alone, Yuri rose from her seat, approaching him with slow, deliberate steps. “Careful, Zayne,” she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath brushed his ear. “Keep this up, and the court might start thinking you’ve gone soft.”
He turned his head just enough to whisper back, “Only for you.”
For a heartbeat, the mask slipped—her lips curved, warmth flickering behind her eyes—then the ice returned. She straightened, smoothing her gown.
“Enjoy your tea, Your Majesty.”
And with that, she walked away, leaving him sitting there, grinning like a man who had won a battle but not the war.
TO BE CONTINUED
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