Pregnant By The King

The Worst Possible Idea

Amara’s plan for the day was simple.

Avoid the king.

Avoid Prince Malachi.

Avoid eye contact with anyone capable of spreading rumors.

And most importantly—

avoid humiliating herself a third time.

Unfortunately, the palace seemed personally committed to ruining her plans.

“Absolutely not.”

The royal housekeeper shoved a garment bag into Amara’s arms with enough force to suggest violence was spiritually fulfilling for her.

Amara blinked.

“Respectfully, that sounded less like a request and more like a threat.”

“It was both.”

“I don’t understand why I’m involved.”

“Because the senior attendants are already assigned.”

“And?”

“And you’re the only remaining person close to Lady Zula’s height.”

Amara froze.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

The housekeeper narrowed her eyes.

“You are speaking to me like you wish to die.”

Amara lowered her voice immediately.

“Why would Lady Zula need me specifically?”

The woman sighed dramatically.

“Because the royal family is hosting the diplomatic luncheon in Kentara this afternoon, and Lady Zula’s gown requires emergency alterations.”

Amara’s stomach dropped.

Kentara.

Public appearance.

Royal family.

Lady Zula.

Absolutely not.

“No,” Amara repeated firmly.

The housekeeper blinked slowly.

“That was not a question.”

“I can’t work directly around Lady Zula.”

“And why exactly not?”

Because she already accidentally embarrassed her during the Grand Choosing, made eye contact with the king, and apparently developed a medical condition every time he got within six feet of her.

Instead Amara said:

“She doesn’t like me.”

“Lady Zula does not like anyone whose salary requires labor.”

“That is somehow worse.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I might not.”

The housekeeper shoved a tablet into her hand.

“Vehicle leaves in forty minutes.”

Then she walked away.

Amara stared after her.

“This feels targeted.”

⸻

Forty minutes later, it somehow got worse.

Much worse.

Because the moment Amara stepped into the private underground loading area beneath the palace—

she saw him.

King Aziel stood beside a black luxury SUV speaking quietly with two security officials. Dark suit. Gold watch. Calm expression. Entirely too attractive for someone actively damaging her peace.

Amara stopped walking immediately.

No.

No, absolutely not.

She turned around.

Directly into Prince Malachi.

“Well,” he said brightly. “That’s the face of a woman making excellent decisions.”

Amara nearly jumped.

“Why are you everywhere?”

“I’m royal. We travel in clusters.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

She tried.

Malachi gently grabbed the back of her garment bag before she got three steps.

“Unhand me, palace demon.”

Malachi laughed.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s called me this week.”

Amara lowered her voice sharply.

“Why is he here?”

Malachi looked toward Aziel.

“Because it’s his luncheon.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean why is he HERE here?”

“Because this is where the vehicles are.”

Amara shut her eyes briefly.

“Wonderful.”

Malachi studied her face.

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m being cautious.”

“You walked into him twice in twenty-four hours.”

“That was circumstance.”

“That second one was gravity mixed with longing.”

Amara gasped in horror.

“I do not long.”

Malachi looked unconvinced.

Unfortunately, before she could defend herself further—

Aziel turned.

And immediately spotted her.

Of course he did.

His gaze moved over her once, then paused at the garment bag in her hands.

“You’re coming to Kentara.”

Not a question.

Amara straightened automatically.

“Apparently against my will.”

One corner of his mouth lifted.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Malachi muttered, “Oh, this is already entertaining.”

Amara glared at him.

Aziel stepped closer.

Not too close.

Just enough to completely destroy her ability to think normally.

“You dislike Kentara?” he asked.

“No.”

“You dislike public events?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick.”

“Public events involve people.”

“That is generally how they work.”

She stared at him.

He was doing it again.

That dry humor thing.

Kings were not supposed to be funny.

That felt unconstitutional somehow.

Amara crossed her arms.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Possibly.”

“That seems inappropriate for a monarch.”

“You say many brave things to someone capable of imprisonment.”

“You keep speaking to me voluntarily. That weakens your threats.”

Malachi physically turned away laughing.

Aziel’s eyes stayed on hers.

And for one reckless second—

the rest of the room disappeared again.

Then a sharp voice sliced through the moment.

“Well.”

Lady Zula.

Of course.

The atmosphere changed instantly.

Amara stepped back automatically.

Lady Zula approached in an emerald dress so expensive it probably required armed protection. Beautiful. Elegant. Perfect.

And staring at Amara like she had discovered a stain on royal fabric.

“Interesting,” Zula said smoothly.

Amara immediately decided she hated that word.

Aziel’s expression cooled slightly.

“Lady Zula.”

“Your Majesty.” Zula’s eyes flicked toward Amara again. “I wasn’t aware palace assistants traveled with the royal convoy now.”

Amara opened her mouth.

Then immediately closed it.

No.

Absolutely not.

She would not get fired before noon.

Aziel answered before she could.

“She’s handling your alterations.”

Zula’s smile barely moved.

“How generous of the palace.”

Amara smiled politely in the way people smiled before poisonings in historical documentaries.

“I do excellent stitching.”

Malachi made a choking sound.

Zula’s eyes sharpened.

Aziel looked away briefly.

Which was suspicious.

Amara narrowed her eyes.

“Did he just almost laugh?”

Malachi answered instantly.

“Yes.”

Traitor.

Zula looked between them slowly.

And for the first time—

something dangerous entered the air.

Not romance.

Awareness.

Because Lady Zula was not stupid.

She noticed things.

And right now—

she was noticing entirely too much.

The security driver opened the SUV door.

“Your Majesty.”

Aziel nodded once.

Then looked at Amara.

“You’re riding with us.”

Her soul nearly left her body.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Malachi grinned.

“This is my favorite conversation now.”

Amara looked genuinely alarmed.

“There are other vehicles.”

“There are.”

“I can ride in one of those.”

“You could.”

“Then why am I not?”

Aziel’s gaze held hers steadily.

“Because I said otherwise.”

That should not have affected her the way it did.

It absolutely did.

Lady Zula noticed.

Again.

Wonderful.

Amara climbed into the SUV before her dignity suffered additional injuries.

Unfortunately, Aziel entered right after her.

And unfortunately again—

the back seat was far too small for emotional stability.

Malachi climbed into the front passenger seat looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“This feels historic,” he said.

Amara glared at the back of his head.

“I hope your socks remain wet for the rest of your life.”

“Violent,” Malachi murmured happily.

The SUV pulled away from the palace.

Silence settled for approximately four seconds.

Then Aziel spoke.

“You threaten people creatively.”

Amara looked out the window immediately.

“I’m trying not to speak.”

“You’re failing.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re nervous.”

“No, I’m trapped.”

Malachi snorted.

Aziel leaned back slightly beside her.

“You think I’m intimidating.”

“I think you’re the king.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Amara turned finally.

Big mistake.

He was too close again.

Too calm.

Too observant.

“It’s difficult to relax around someone who could ruin my life accidentally,” she admitted.

Something shifted in his face.

Not amusement this time.

Something quieter.

“You think I would?”

“I think power ruins people accidentally all the time.”

Silence.

Even Malachi stopped joking.

Aziel looked at her carefully now.

Like he was trying to understand whether that answer came from fear or experience.

“Has someone hurt you?” he asked quietly.

The question caught her completely off guard.

Amara blinked.

“What?”

“You answered too quickly.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It usually does.”

The SUV continued through Kentara’s crowded streets while tension quietly filled the space between them.

Amara looked away first.

“Not everyone gets protected by crowns,” she said softly.

That landed harder than she intended.

Aziel went still beside her.

And for the first time since meeting him—

she saw something dangerous beneath the calm.

Not anger.

Resolve.

The kind powerful men carried when they decided something mattered.

That realization terrified her slightly.

Because she was beginning to understand something important:

King Aziel was not flirting carelessly.

And somehow—

that was much worse.

⸻

Kentara was alive by midday.

Music drifted through crowded streets. Luxury storefronts glittered beneath sunlight. Cafés overflowed with wealthy socialites pretending not to watch the royal convoy pass.

Amara stepped from the SUV carefully.

Immediately, cameras flashed nearby.

Her panic returned at once.

“Oh no.”

Aziel stepped closer automatically.

“What?”

“People are taking pictures.”

“That tends to happen around me.”

“Yes, but I’m standing next to you.”

Malachi looked delighted.

“She learns quickly.”

Amara lowered her voice sharply.

“This is exactly how scandals happen.”

Aziel’s gaze flicked briefly toward the photographers.

Then back to her.

“You think standing beside me creates scandal?”

“You’re asking that like you haven’t met your own kingdom.”

That almost smile appeared again.

And somehow—

that was the exact moment a photographer captured them.

Amara saw the flash.

So did Aziel.

So did Lady Zula across the courtyard.

And suddenly—

everything changed.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Because now there was proof.

Not of romance.

Not yet.

But attention.

Interest.

Possibility.

Danger.

Amara’s stomach dropped.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Malachi looked toward the photographer.

Then toward Aziel.

Then toward Amara.

And muttered the absolute worst possible sentence:

“Oh, the council is going to lose their minds.”