It's Getting Too Close
1833 Words
The problem with royal scandals in Zafara was that they rarely started as scandals.
They started as photographs.
A glance caught at the wrong angle.
A hand resting too close.
A smile held half a second longer than it should have been.
Then the kingdom did the rest.
Amara realized this approximately three seconds after the camera flash.
Her entire body tensed.
“Oh no.”
Aziel looked toward the photographer calmly.
Not alarmed.
Not surprised.
Just watching.
Which somehow irritated her more.
“That reaction suggests this is not your first photograph,” she muttered.
“No.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It wasn’t intended to be.”
Another flash lit the edge of the courtyard.
Amara immediately stepped backward.
Unfortunately, the stone heel of her sandal caught against the edge of the pavement.
Her balance tilted.
Aziel caught her waist before she could stumble.
Again.
There was now a deeply upsetting pattern developing between them.
The world seemed to pause for exactly one dangerous second.
Too close.
His hand steady against her waist.
Her fingers instinctively gripping the front of his jacket.
Camera flashes exploding around them.
Amara stared at him in horror.
“You have got to stop catching me.”
His mouth moved slightly.
“You could try falling less.”
“That sounds judgmental.”
“That’s because you nearly hit the ground.”
“I would have recovered.”
“You walked directly into me yesterday.”
“That was emotionally stressful.”
Malachi made a noise suspiciously close to laughter from behind them.
Lady Zula, standing several feet away near the luncheon entrance, looked like she had just bitten into glass.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
Amara stepped away from Aziel so quickly she almost lost her balance again out of spite.
Malachi physically looked toward the sky.
“Oh, this is becoming a gift.”
Amara pointed at him.
“If you enjoy this any more than you already are, I’m reporting you to somebody important.”
“I am somebody important.”
“That feels fake.”
Aziel looked at her.
“You threaten royalty very comfortably.”
“I threaten everyone comfortably.”
“That explains a lot.”
The photographer lifted his camera again.
Aziel’s expression changed instantly.
Not playful now.
Cold.
Sharp.
The king.
“Enough,” he said.
The single word cut through the courtyard immediately.
The photographer lowered the camera at once.
People nearby pretended very hard not to stare.
Amara watched the shift happen in real time.
One second warm.
One second dangerous.
It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Because she understood suddenly why people followed him.
Not because he was crowned.
Because when he spoke, people listened like their instincts made the decision before their minds did.
Aziel turned back toward her.
“You’re thinking too loudly.”
Amara blinked.
“What?”
“You get the same expression every time you overanalyze something.”
“That is an accusation.”
“It’s an observation.”
“You should stop observing me.”
“No.”
That answer came too quickly.
Too naturally.
And for one reckless moment—
they both heard it.
The air shifted again.
Malachi saw it instantly and groaned quietly.
“Oh, this is becoming terminal.”
Lady Zula approached before either of them could respond.
Perfect posture.
Perfect smile.
Perfect timing.
“Your Majesty,” she said smoothly. “The ambassadors are waiting.”
Aziel didn’t look away from Amara immediately.
That was the problem.
That tiny hesitation.
Zula noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Amara noticed too.
And suddenly she became intensely aware of how this looked:
The king of Zafara standing too close to a palace assistant while photographers hovered nearby like starving birds.
This was bad.
Very bad.
Amara stepped back again.
“You should go.”
Aziel finally looked toward Zula.
“Yes,” he said calmly.
But something in his tone made it sound like he didn’t particularly want to.
Zula heard that too.
Her smile tightened almost invisibly.
Malachi looked ready to develop a stress condition.
The luncheon hall inside the Kentara Grand Pavilion was worse than Amara imagined.
Far worse.
Crystal chandeliers.
Political families.
Foreign ambassadors.
Noblewomen dressed like walking luxury advertisements.
And cameras.
Everywhere.
Amara kept her head down as she adjusted the final pinning on Lady Zula’s gown near one of the mirrored side halls.
“This fabric pulls too tightly here,” Zula said coolly.
Amara adjusted the seam carefully.
“It’s the posture stitching.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the dress was designed assuming you breathe less.”
One of the nearby attendants choked violently trying not to laugh.
Zula turned slowly.
Amara immediately regretted being born with thoughts.
“You’re very comfortable speaking freely for someone in your position.”
Amara lowered her eyes.
“My apologies, Lady Zula.”
But Zula wasn’t finished.
“You seem to have become very visible quite suddenly.”
There it was.
Not direct accusation.
Worse.
Elegant accusation.
Amara continued adjusting the fabric carefully.
“I’m just doing my job.”
“Yes,” Zula replied softly. “I imagine that becomes difficult around certain distractions.”
Amara looked up then.
Not aggressively.
Carefully.
Because there was something underneath Zula’s tone now.
Not jealousy exactly.
Assessment.
Calculation.
The kind noblewomen learned young.
“You think I want attention from the king,” Amara said quietly.
Zula’s expression barely changed.
“Do you?”
Amara opened her mouth.
Nothing came out immediately.
Because the honest answer was becoming complicated.
And she hated that.
Finally she said:
“I think attention from kings ruins women like me.”
For the first time—
Zula’s expression softened slightly.
Not kindness.
Recognition.
“That,” Zula said quietly, “is the smartest thing you’ve said all day.”
That caught Amara completely off guard.
Zula stepped closer.
Lower voice now.
Private.
“You think noblewomen are raised dreaming of love stories?” she asked.
Amara blinked.
“Aren’t you?”
Zula almost laughed.
“No.”
A pause.
“We’re raised for survival.”
That landed harder than expected.
Then Zula’s eyes flicked briefly toward the main ballroom.
Toward Aziel.
Toward the cameras.
Toward the watching world.
“And survival,” she said softly, “requires understanding what people are capable of taking from you.”
Amara felt the warning hidden beneath the words.
Not cruel.
Not threatening.
Real.
Then Zula stepped back again.
Perfect posture returning instantly.
“Finish the hem.”
And just like that—
the moment disappeared.
Hours later, the luncheon finally began.
Amara should not have still been there.
That was the issue.
She had intended to finish the alterations and leave quietly.
Instead, palace staff shortages, diplomatic timing, and general royal chaos somehow kept dragging her deeper into the event.
By late afternoon she stood near the rear service corridor balancing a tray of champagne glasses and wondering whether disappearing forever was a realistic life option.
“You look unhappy.”
Amara nearly dropped the tray.
Aziel had appeared beside her again.
She stared at him.
“How do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Appearing out of nowhere like an emotionally complicated ghost.”
His eyes warmed slightly.
“That’s specific.”
“You’re specific.”
“You seem stressed.”
“I’m carrying glass beside international politics.”
“That’s fair.”
Amara glanced toward the ballroom.
“You’re supposed to be in there.”
“I was.”
“That sounds temporary.”
“It was.”
“Why are you here?”
Aziel looked at her quietly for one dangerous second too long.
Then:
“You looked overwhelmed.”
Her heart betrayed her again.
Immediately.
She hated that.
“You left ambassadors for that?”
“Yes.”
“That feels irresponsible.”
“Probably.”
“You’re very calm about that.”
“You make me less interested in pretending.”
That line hit her so hard she nearly forgot she was holding glass.
The tray tilted.
Aziel caught the edge automatically.
Again.
Amara stared at him.
“This relationship is becoming heavily dependent on your reflexes.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“Relationship?”
Her soul left her body.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, no, absolutely not what I meant.”
“You sounded confident initially.”
“I’m going to throw this tray at your head.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“You make me dramatic.”
That slipped out accidentally.
Silence fell instantly.
The dangerous kind.
Aziel looked at her differently now.
Closer somehow.
More focused.
And suddenly Amara became painfully aware that they were standing partially hidden behind the service corridor wall while music drifted softly from the ballroom nearby.
Too private.
Much too private.
Aziel stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
Enough to ruin her concentration completely.
“Amara.”
The way he said her name should have been illegal somehow.
“Yes?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m holding glass.”
“That’s not why.”
Her breath caught.
Because no one had looked at her this carefully in a very long time.
Maybe ever.
And that realization frightened her more than the cameras did.
“You shouldn’t look at me like this,” she whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m becoming important to you.”
Something shifted in his face then.
Not surprise.
Not denial.
Which was somehow worse.
Before he could answer—
a voice echoed sharply from the ballroom entrance.
“Your Majesty.”
Councilor Damas.
Aziel closed his eyes briefly.
Amara immediately stepped backward.
Distance.
Control.
Reality.
The moment shattered instantly.
Damas appeared seconds later, stopping when he noticed Amara beside the king.
His expression changed.
Small.
Quick.
But enough.
There it was.
The beginning.
Awareness.
Suspicion.
Danger.
“Your Majesty,” Damas said carefully, “the investors from Dakar are requesting another meeting.”
Aziel’s face became unreadable again.
“I’ll return shortly.”
Damas nodded.
But his eyes flicked toward Amara once more.
Calculating.
Amara felt it immediately.
And for the first time since meeting Aziel—
fear truly settled in her stomach.
Because now someone important had noticed.
Aziel saw her expression change.
After Damas walked away, he lowered his voice.
“He won’t touch you.”
Amara looked toward the ballroom entrance.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“You don’t know that.”
Aziel stepped closer one final time.
And this time his voice lost all trace of humor.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“I do.”
That should have comforted her.
Instead—
it terrified her more.
Because powerful men only sounded that certain…
when they were already emotionally involved.
And judging by the look in King Aziel’s eyes—
they were both getting dangerously close to something neither of them knew how to stop.
- Writer
