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His chest was bare, his hair tousled, lips parted as he said something, lips she had once kissed and regretted, a guilty pleasure that had been re-enacted in one too many dreams. He was saying something, but she wasn’t listening.

She felt alone, going to Neera over and over again had been like willingly choosing to be stabbed in the same wound over and over again, and now, it left a wide, gaping hole in her chest, and she needed someone or something to heal it, to stop it from hurting.

“Pen,” her name sent her crashing back to the present. Azriel cupped her cheek, holding her like she was glass.

“I can’t go there tomorrow. I don’t have any strength to.” She said.

“Then don’t,” he spoke, caressing her chin with his thumb.

“I can’t give up on her.”

“You are not, but you are hurting yourself.”

“She is still the same person, I know it,” she tapped and pulled at her chest. “I know it in here.”

.....

“I know.” Azriel’s assurance made a shuddering breath release from her, and she could breathe without it hurting that much anymore.

“Thank you,” she said, and stepped away from his hand. Then with a low breath, she turned and walked away. She had not walked for long when she heard the doors shut behind her and she stopped in her tracks.

Her heart thundering against her chest. Why did she come to him? He was the Commander General, she was a maid, and she loved her life more when she was invisible, unnoticed, and quiet. She liked it when he was nothing more than a Lord to her, but this heart, this little thing banging against her chest wanted something more than the life that had been so comfortable for her.

Azriel made her feel things she fought so hard to not feel, maybe that’s why she was so tired, tired from waiting for a friendship from her best friend to mend back to how it was before, and tired of fighting off a demon that had nothing more than a mere flirtation toward her like he did for any pretty maiden out there.

He would get bored of her, Penelope knew. He would move on to the next pretty woman, she knew. It would end poorly, she knew that too.

Yet she was back to his door, and she raised her hand to knock again, but it hung there. She didn’t know how long she stood there, but the door opened, and Azriel stared down at her, wordless.

Yes, she knew there was no future with him, but she had long dumped the idea of a husband and kids the second she had worn the maids’ garment and dedicated her life to serving the demons. So who was she saving herself for?

With him standing there, Penelope didn’t want to think anymore about anything. She wanted to know what it was like, to be held in his arms and taken to bed with him.

Azriel must have read her mind, because the next thing he did was pull her to himself, and kissed her fiercely as he closed the door behind them.

As the doors shut, Pen felt her legs lift off the ground, and they wrapped around his waists reflexively. His hands pulled her gown from underneath her, so skillfully that Pen wondered how many he had to pull that he had mastered it.

But even when she thought about that, she did not want to stop. She still wanted him. She still wanted him to touch her, kiss her...

”God... ” Pen moaned as his lips latched onto her breasts, her toes curling. She had not felt anything like this before. Every touch burned into her, and before long, she was squirming against him.

Pen did not know when she was back against the bed with Azriel hovering over her. Her heart was beating so fast, but yet, no thought could form in her head. Even as his eyes stared into hers, with that little smirk on the side of his lips, she did not care.

Even if it was for one night, she wanted to have him, to have him all to herself. Thus shutting away all warnings blowing up in her head, she pulled him in and kissed him.

….

The mourning period had long passed, but Jasmine’s name still clung to the lips of the people, inserted in their prayers and their conversations, and the good part was, she would forever remain a saint in her people’s eyes.

But that peace was about to be upended as Zavian strolled into his meeting room. The conversations died, and eyes were focused on him as he took his seat at the end of the table.

“I believe this council meeting comes with celebratory news,” Lord Gerald guffawed, his big belly bouncing with his laugh.

They were all bright-eyed and cherry, and Zavian knew why. It was required of him to state the next Princess he would pick as a bride, especially since he had spent a great deal of his life mourning the first Queen. Beneath those veneers of happiness, everyone was on edge of the past repeating itself.

“Your Majesty,” Ryan spoke up. “We all loved the Queen, and as much as this meeting will discuss other important matters concerning our kingdoms, we plead with you to make a choice of wife. I know no one can replace the late Queen, but duty is required of the throne.”

Mumbles of agreement followed and fell. They all watched in silence as their King said nothing, his fingers tapping on the table. Zavian leaned forward, interlaced his fingers together, and looked them one by one in the eyes.

“I am glad to announce to you all that I have picked my Queen, and the wedding would be in two full moons’ time,” Zavian said.

Surprised gasps followed, and there was thundering applause. The Dukes laughed, the merriment already descended even before the day.