Consummation Night III.

**

Chapter 45.

~Katrina~

I stepped into the king's room for the first time, my breath hitching as I took in my surroundings. The space was massive—at least three times the size of my own. It was beautiful yet simple, every detail carefully placed. To my right, a wooden table and chairs sat beside a towering bookshelf filled with books.

My eyes traveled to the bed. It was twice the size of mine, neatly arranged and decorated with red roses. Did the king like roses, or was this just for tonight?

On the other side of the room, a portrait rested against the wall, surrounded by bags of pencils. My heart skipped. The king was an artist? I had no idea.

Curious, I moved to the table, running my fingers over the books stacked there. They were historical texts, filled with stories of wars and lost kingdoms. I wished I had time to read them, but that wasn't why I was here.

The king wasn't in the room. It seemed like he had stepped out. If so, this was my chance.

I hurried to the table, flipping through the letters and books, searching for my father's letter. But it wasn't there. My stomach tightened. Had the king hidden it elsewhere?

Instead, I found something else—letters exchanged between the king and others, asking about a witch named Elisa. A witch? My brows furrowed. Why was the king searching for her?

I didn't have time to dwell on it. I moved to the bookshelf, flipping through more books, hoping—praying—that I would find something useful.

But my mind kept wandering. Who was Elisa? And why did the king need a witch?

A voice shattered my thoughts.

"Are you looking for something?"

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

I knew that voice.

The king.

Panic surged through me. I hadn't heard the door open. Had he been here the whole time?

"I'm talking to you. Turn around." His voice was firm, commanding.

I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip. What had I just done?

Lately, everything in my life had been falling apart. And now, this.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip. What had I gotten myself into? Everything had been falling apart these past few days. And now this.

Slowly, I turned around and opened my eyes.

There he was, standing by a door—likely the entrance to his bath chamber—dripping wet. Water ran down his body, his dark hair soaked, strands falling over his face. His mask was still on, as if it were part of him, never to be removed.

The mask made him look even more mysterious, more dangerously handsome. Yet, a part of me longed to see the face beneath it. To know what he was hiding.

He was bare except for a white cloth wrapped around his waist. His chiseled chest glistened, sending a cold shiver down my spine. Every inch of him was perfection. My breath hitched when I noticed the firm shape beneath his cloth. Heat crept up my neck as my mind wandered where it shouldn't.

He took a step forward and stopped, his piercing gaze locked onto me.

"Katrina, I asked you a question," Karl reminded me, his deep voice snapping me back to reality. My pulse quickened.

"I—I was just looking at your shelf," I stammered, my eyes dropping to the floor. I couldn't even look at him without feeling like I might combust.

"But you were scattering my books," he said, his brow furrowing. "It looked more like you were searching for something."

He walked closer. My heart pounded—whether from fear of being caught or the overwhelming presence of him, I wasn't sure.

"Tell me the truth."

"I came in and you weren't here," I said quickly. "No one told me where to sit, so I started looking for a particular book, but it seems you don't have it either." The lie slipped out so effortlessly that I barely recognized myself.

His sharp eyes studied me.

"So why do you look so nervous?" he murmured, lifting my chin with his fingers.

I sucked in a breath. My heart pounded like a drum against my ribs.

This wasn't going to end in disaster… was it?

I took a deep breath and met his gaze. For a moment, Karl seemed caught off guard. His lips parted slightly before he let go of my chin and stepped back.

He reached for a towel from the bed and began drying himself. His movements were slow, deliberate. I shouldn't have been watching, but I couldn't look away. Why was I drawn to the very man I should fear?

"You can sit now," he said, his voice calm.

I hesitated, but then I noticed him struggling to reach his back. Without thinking, I stepped forward.

"Let me help," I offered.

Karl didn't object. He simply handed me the towel, allowing me to move behind him. As I gently ran the cloth over his skin, my fingers accidentally brushed against him. Warm. Smooth.

There wasn't a single scar.

Most warriors bore marks of their battles—cuts, burns, reminders of war. But his skin was untouched, almost unnatural in its perfection.

"You don't have any war scars?" I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

"No, I don't, Princess," he answered.

Princess. Not Katrina, like before.

"That's strange. You've been in sixty-four battles, and yet…" I trailed off, still running the towel across his back.

Karl chuckled and suddenly turned to face me. "Is that all they say about me?"

I shook my head. "They say other things too. But I won't tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because they aren't nice," I admitted. My eyes flickered to his lips before I quickly looked away. "I don't want to hurt you."

His expression softened. "So you care about me?"

"No," I blurted out too fast.

Karl laughed. A real laugh. He took the towel from my hands and walked toward the door.

"Where are you going, Your Highness?" I asked, my voice uncertain.

"To get someone who can attend to me."

I frowned. "Am I not doing enough?"

"You're not a maid, Katrina. You're a princess," he said simply. "You can't fix my hair or find me something to wear."

"Who says I can't?" I crossed my arms. "I'll take care of you tonight."

His brows lifted, surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," I bowed.

"Then come into my dressing room," he said, walking toward the door he had come from earlier.

I hesitated for a moment before following him, hoping this wasn't a mistake. At least it would keep him from asking too many questions about why I had been searching his room.

The dressing room was smaller than his bedroom, but it had a large wardrobe and a giant mirror. Karl sat in a chair and leaned back slightly.

"Go ahead, Princess. I'll be surprised if you get this right," he said with a teasing smirk.

"Let's make it a bet," I replied, picking up a comb and a bottle of oil. The man sitting here felt like a completely different person from the one who had killed a gladiator earlier. The way he could switch between ruthless and relaxed startled me.

"Really?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Your Highness."

I poured a little oil into my hands and began running my fingers through his damp hair. It was softer than I expected.

"Be careful. I have a headache," Karl murmured.

I nodded and started massaging his scalp gently. It reminded me of when my father would come home from long meetings and ask me to ease his pain. I would press my fingers into his temples just the way he liked, and soon, he'd feel better.

Lady Poria had noticed my skill too, and before I knew it, she was calling me to massage almost anyone who complained of a headache. She had a way of using people to her advantage.

As my fingers moved in slow circles along Karl's hairline, I almost asked him to remove his mask—but I stopped myself just in time. Marissa had warned me never to bring up the mask unless he did first.

"What do you feel?" I asked softly, rubbing the base of his skull.

"Better… honestly, I feel relieved," he admitted, exhaling deeply.

As I continued massaging his scalp, my fingers brushed against the edge of his mask. It felt different from the one he had worn at the sporting complex. Why did he have more than one?

When I finished, I carefully combed his hair back, making sure not to pull at the ropes securing his mask.

"You may leave. Wait in the bedroom," Karl said suddenly.

I hesitated, glancing around as if to confirm he was speaking to me.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked.

"No. In fact… you impressed me," he admitted with a small smile.

I curtsied and left the room, sitting at the edge of the bed to wait.

I knew I couldn't search for the letter again tonight. I had almost been caught once, and Karl was still suspicious. He wasn't a fool—he would put the pieces together eventually.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Karl stepped out, closing it behind him. I expected him to have changed into a night robe, but he was still half-naked.

I quickly averted my eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising in my body. But he didn't give me the chance to retreat. He walked straight to where I sat, took my hand, and gently pulled me to my feet.

"I feel better," he murmured, wrapping his strong arms around me and pulling me close to his chest.

My heart pounded. His warmth surrounded me, making it hard to think. I knew I should step away, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be here, with him.

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Thank you," he whispered.

I giggled softly, unsure of what to say.

"What do you want in return?" he asked.

"I'll tell you when the time comes."

Karl didn't reply. Instead, he lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes before leaning in. His lips brushed against mine, soft and deliberate, urging me to open up to him.

This wasn't our first kiss. I knew this feeling. I welcomed it.

His hands roamed my back, sending shivers through me. There was no escaping the fire building between us.

Slowly, he reached for the ropes of my gown, loosening them one by one. When he noticed what I was wearing, a small smile played on his lips.

"You wore it," he murmured.

I nodded, unable to speak as heat flooded my cheeks. The room suddenly felt too warm—whether from the tension or the air in Xylonia, I couldn't tell.

With one final tug, my dress slipped from my shoulders and pooled at my feet.

Karl's gaze traveled over me, his expression unreadable. He didn't speak for a long moment.

Marissa had insisted I wear nothing beneath the gown. I hadn't known if it was a good idea or a terrible one. But now, standing in front of Karl, my heart hammering in my chest, I knew there was no turning back.

"You are beautiful, Katrina," he said at last, his voice deep and filled with something I couldn't quite name.

Finally, he said my name.

"Thank you, Karl," I whispered, swallowing hard.

He smiled, as if pleased to hear his name from my lips.