Two weeks.
That's how long Nora had been avoiding Zayan — her master, the devil of her nights, and the fire in her thoughts. Every time he called, every time he needed her for something, she came up with a new excuse: she was busy, tired, needed somewhere else to be. Anything to put space between them. But the space only made the ache grow.
Zayan had been patient.
Until today.
It was early morning when one of the older maids approached Nora. "Please, Miss, can you help clean the library? The master's study needs tidying, and the others are busy."
Nora hesitated. Zayan's library. Her stomach flipped at the thought. But surely, she reasoned, he wouldn't be there this early.
She agreed.
The silence of the grand library greeted her like an old friend. Dust motes danced in the sunlight as she wiped the shelves, organizing books and folding the scattered throws on the armchairs. Within minutes, she was nearly done.
That's when she saw it — a sketchbook lying half-hidden under the chaise lounge.
Curious, she picked it up, flipping the cover open.
Her breath caught.
Page after page… her face. Smiling, staring out a window, sleeping — every sketch drawn with startling precision and quiet devotion. Her lips, her eyes, her expressions captured perfectly. She turned to the next page and froze.
It was a drawing of her in Zayan's arms. His arms wrapped tightly around her, hers around him — the sketch full of unspoken passion. At the bottom, in elegant handwriting:
"My gorgeous future wife."
Her fingers trembled.
"Sneaking around, aren't you, darling?"
Zayan's deep, husky voice cut through the air, making her gasp and spin around. Her back hit the wall behind her, but he was already walking toward her, eyes dark and unreadable.
"I—I wasn't d-doing anything—"
"It's fine," he murmured.
He stepped closer.
And closer.
Until the space between them vanished, and the heat of his presence washed over her like a wave.
"Nora," he said, his voice low but aching, "I don't like this distance. It hurts."
She blinked. The devil gets hurt? she thought.
She opened her mouth to respond, to make another excuse — but he didn't give her the chance.
His lips found hers, slow and deep. Her mind screamed to stop, but her body betrayed her — no, it welcomed him. She had missed him. She melted into his touch, wrapping her arms around him tightly.
His kiss burned.
Like he wanted to devour her soul and leave her branded.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and shaken, his forehead rested against hers.
"Midnight," he whispered. "Meet me here. When the castle sleeps."
And she nodded.
That night, Nathaira made her move.
Zayan was in his chambers when she entered, sultry and confident. "You must be thirsty," she said with a smile, handing him a glass of wine.
"Thank you," he replied coolly.
She excused herself to use the bathroom. While she was gone, Zayan poured his wine out the window and slipped crushed sleeping pills into her glass — a plan he'd had ready for days.
When Nathaira returned in lacy lingerie, sipping her wine and attempting to seduce him, she barely made it two steps before collapsing.
"Take her to her chambers," he ordered two guards.
They obeyed.
By midnight, the castle was silent.
Nora was already in the library, sitting cross-legged on the floor in her soft, short romper, books scattered around her. She was absorbed in one, her eyes shining with wonder.
"At least Nana taught me how to read," she whispered to herself. "Even if I never went to school."
Zayan leaned against the doorway, watching her in silence. In that moment, she looked like the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen — no crown, no riches, just her, glowing in his world of shadows.
She looked up and smiled when she saw him.
Without a word, she walked over and sat on his lap, curling into him. His arms wrapped around her like they were made to hold her. They kissed again — this time softer, deeper, more intimate.
And then came the words he'd waited to say.
"I promise I will always be there for you, Nora."
She leaned back slightly, her eyes searching his.
"I'll always be here for you… my master."
He grinned, his eyes flickering with fire.
"Say it again."
She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear, her voice a low, seductive whisper.
"My… Master."
He pulled her in once more — this time, not as a maid, not as a servant.
But as his.