Sleeping without cloths
737 Words
After a moment, when the Prince finally released her, she insisted on creating space between them.
“Your Highness,” she said, her voice trembling.
Her breath was uneven, her body numb.
Her mind, however, was racing.
What now?
Would he announce what had happened?
Would he tell the King and Queen?
Would she be punished?
Would this be turned into a political statement?
The darkest thought struck her hardest—
Would her actions worsen the fate of her nation? Would her people suffer for her mistake?
The Prince smiled inwardly. Fate had placed her right in his hands—perfectly timed.
He was not a romantic man. He did not know how to woo women with sweet words. But the effect this Princess had on him left him barely able to maintain distance.
The attraction was undeniable. Powerful.
He knew now—without doubt—that she disliked him intensely, yet still faltered whenever he drew near.
Provoking reactions from her had become his favourite indulgence.
Receiving no response from him, Dhara spoke again.
“Your Highness, it was utterly rude of me to enter your chambers, but I had my compulsion. If you could ignore the behaviour of your dependent, I beg you to do so.”
There was a faint hope of mercy in her voice.
The Prince listened.
Had he been a conventional gentleman, he might have said, You are always welcome—by day or by night.
But he was not that man.
He was a diplomat—one who knew how to achieve outcomes without staining his hands.
In truth, he had seen her from the moment she entered.
The moonlight had draped her in silver, stirring something dangerous in him. He watched her search, her careful steps, even the moment she lifted the sketch.
He had noticed her expression—not jealousy, not curiosity, but neutrality.
That unsettled him.
If another woman had seen the portrait, she would have reacted. The Princess had not.
Does my presence truly mean nothing to her? he wondered.
Whatever the answer, one truth had settled firmly in his mind.
She should never have walked into the lion’s den.
“I would hear your reason,” he said coolly, “but what you have done is wrong. Entering my chamber. Taking something that belongs to me. Stealing does not suit the Princess of Chiva.”
Stealing?
She flinched inwardly.
Of course, she thought bitterly. Royals can turn dust into war.
“Your Highness,” she said steadily, “I ask forgiveness for my intrusion. But I was not here to steal anything.”
Her voice shook—but her eyes did not.
They burned with defiance.
The Prince saw it clearly and smirked to himself.
A worthy match.
He stepped forward, his hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer. Her eyes widened as she realised—too late—that he was half-dressed. The proximity unsettled her far more than she wished to admit.
“I see,” he murmured near her ear.
Her breath hitched.
His closeness blurred her thoughts. Her gaze betrayed her, drawn unwillingly to the strength of his body—honed by relentless training, marked by discipline and power.
Moonlight traced his form, making him look almost unreal.
Even angels would envy this, she thought—and immediately scolded herself.
“What proof do you have?” he asked softly, a smile ghosting his lips.
This man, she cursed inwardly. A devil wearing a crown.
And this time, she was the prey.
Images of her village flooded her mind—faces filled with hope. She shuddered.
No. She would not let them suffer.
If a price had to be paid, she would pay it herself.
“What does the honour of the Prince demand?” she asked quietly, prepared to bear whatever ensured her nation’s safety.
Her resolve struck him harder than expected.
Once again, she unsettled him.
Her eyes met his without flinching—like a warrior awaiting judgment.
She will be my queen, he decided.
He tightened his hold, pressing her closer. He kissed her hair, then her forehead. With a firm motion, he lifted her slightly, forcing her onto her toes. His lips hovered near hers, then brushed past her ear.
His whisper was barely audible—but devastating.
“Stay with me tonight,” he said.
“In my bed.”
The words shattered the silence.
- Writer
