Zoro and his Assassin

King

"Ask me to stay, darling," he says softly.

My heart won't survive when he walks out on me, I think to myself.

He sighs and kisses my tears away. "Give me an answer, please."

I sniffle, and he huffs a laugh, hugging me protectively. "How did you turn my heart into this twisted mess?" he mumbles into my hair. "Nothing but trouble."

We broke apart when there was a knock at the door. Kanav opened it to Samuel, who announced, "It is dinner time."

Kanav turned back to me. "I'll leave you to freshen up. You can join me in the yard for dinner. We need to discuss some things."

Once I was alone, I washed my face and tried to get my racing heart under control. I had come dangerously close to losing myself to Kanav.

I had always imagined about my first time, trying to imagine the kind of man who would be my first. But never in my wildest dreams did I envision a royal flirt. Still, maybe he was a good choice—after all, he would certainly know what he was doing, considering his reputation. That was a plus, right? I definitely didn't want someone as clueless as me.

I slap myself mentally. I didn't have time for all of this. I had to focus—I still had a lot of material to read and memorize.

I leave to find Kanav and my dinner. We talk about the plan. I was secretly hoping he would ask to come back to my room, but sadly he gets called off on some urgent state matter.

That night and the next morning pass without much happening. I stayed focused on reviewing the plans and deciphering the complex security details to ensure full coverage for the King. Even if I pretended to be a drunk party guest, I didn't think they'd let me waltz anywhere. My best bet was to either sneak in or use a distraction to gain access.

In the afternoon, as I was still poring over the maps and growing frustrated with the perfection of the security detail, someone knocked. Hoping it was Kanav, I opened the door.

It was my tailor and his entourage. They brought in three large boxes, and the tailor, looking impatient, gestured for his assistants to bring them inside. "Okay, Madam, we're short on time. Strip."

What the hell.

"Come on, Madam, I don't care about your tits. Just strip. Girls, help her," the tailor ordered.

Before I could react, I was surrounded by a team of very motivated women, all determined to remove my clothes. Within seconds, I found myself standing in the center of the room, covering my bits with my hands, too shocked to even scream.

The tailor opened the first box and pulled out a red dress—a shimmering, floor-length gown of fluid material. It was slipped over my head unceremoniously. Another girl lifted my feet and shoved matching heels on, while yet another pulled my hair into a tight bun, exposing my neckline. I was then roughly turned to face a full-length mirror.

I looked different, my expression a mix of shock and awe, but the overall effect was stunning. The red gown, though a bold contrast to my warm skin tone, made me look absolutely gorgeous.

No, it doesn't work. The tailor disapproves. "Are you crazy? I look like a fucking star."

"Yes, Madam, you do," the tailor says, "but you have the potential to look like an exquisite radiant moon. Just trust me and strip."

This time, I strip, albeit a bit self-consciously.

The second box is opened, revealing a black piece. My heart sings at the sight of the material. It's soft, flowy , and absolutely gorgeous. The dress is short and features a daring slit that reaches up to the top of my thigh, making me feel incredibly sexy.