There were a total of six chambers in the area reserved for the king. Three rooms were the sleeping chambers; one was a bathing room, the other was the lounge area where the king would also take his meals, and another was a private room reserved for emergencies. Because sleeping in the cabins with the crewmen would be unsafe for a woman, they assigned Meliše the private room.
Not that those men could even touch her, given how powerful she was. One wrong move and she'd be sending those men straight to Tartarus.
She scanned the area and finally caught sight of Ceremus' room. Making sure the coast was clear, she walked up to the door and knocked lightly.
There was no response at first, and so she knocked once more, a little more forcefully this time.
She heard a sigh from inside the room, followed by the sound of footsteps. The door opened, revealing the striking man with his muscular chest exposed, his hair effortlessly pulled back and a book in hand.
"What is it Hael, I thought I told you I wanted to be alone?" He said, but stopped himself when he realized the person outside of the door was not the guard, but in fact Meliše.
His frown deepened as he stared down at her, his expression unreadable. But Meliše knew exactly what he was thinking. What is this woman doing here? She had to force herself not to laugh as she put on an innocent mask.
"Can I help you?" The king asked her, his tone sounding impatient.
Meliše pursed her lips. He doesn't sound too pleased to see me. She thought.
"I was just wondering if I could get my hands on some milk for my son." She said, using the story she had concocted as an excuse to talk to him.
Ceremus lifted a brow when he heard this. He was unsure as to why she would ask him, of all people, whether she could get more milk. It's not like he was hoarding it for himself.
"You could've asked anyone in the crew for some milk if you wanted some." He said as he eyed her suspiciously. "Why come to me?"
The directness of his words took Meliše aback and felt her face flush with shame. Nothing was going her way, and that thought alone was enough to make her waver a little. Ceremus was unlike any other man she'd encountered, and it was hard to tell what he was thinking most of the time. Before coming down to earth on this assignment, she had done a little research and became acquainted with his behaviour and patterns over the years.
He was a well-known philanderer, and he often appeared with a different woman in his arms. He wasn't particularly picky with the women he picked, either. He was willing to sleep with her as long as she was pretty enough. So why is it that even after seeing her, he wasn't interested in the slightest?
Despite her doubts, she quickly composed herself. It wasn't like her to worry about such things, and even if Ceremus was acting unlike her expectations, she wasn't going to let this minor setback faze her. She was Meliše, a powerful sorceress and an even more powerful temptress. No man could escape her grasp.
Like hell I'm going to let this spring chicken get the best of me, she thought.
"Of course, my mistake. I must be more exhausted than I thought." She laughed—a soft and soothing sound that was enough to calm even the turbulent of souls. A natural sounding laugh that was carefully crafted by the seasoned temptress, but unbeknownst to her, Ceremus wasn't the least bit affected by it.
"Well, then, I do not wish to keep you, but I wanted to express my gratitude once more for allowing my son and I to board your ship."
"Like I said before, there is no need for thanks. "If that is all—" he began, closing the door, but the woman stopped him.
"Please, allow me to express my gratitude to Your Majesty." She said as she approached him, her soft hands lightly brushing against his upper arm.
She stepped closer, her fingers gliding along the king's arm. Ceremus didn't pull away. That was a good sign.
Ceremus' eyes glanced down at her hand, and his frown deepened. Since he hadn't rejected her touch, Meliše took it as a sign to press on further. She let her touch travel, fingertips brushing the firm muscle of his chest. His body was warm beneath her palm, a solid presence against her own. She looked up at him, letting her lips part just so, inviting, expectant.
Her doe-like eyes looked up at him innocently, but carried a hint of desire in those orbs. If it wasn't obvious to Ceremus before, it was now apparent that Meliše was trying to make advances at him. Making the king feel conflicted.
Ceremus was a healthy young man in the prime of his life. Faced with a beautiful woman with a supple and ample body, ready to give herself to him, would've sent him wild with lust and desire. Ceremus wouldn't have hesitated to accept her enticements. He could already picture a version of himself who would've devoured her right then and there, but for reasons he was well aware of, he didn't. He couldn't.
Meliše, on the other hand, thought of Ceremus as the shy type. A passive man who needed to be led, and so she gently pushed him into the room, her hands never leaving his body.
Just as she was about to remove the clothes hanging on Ceremus' lower body, his hand caught her wrist.
The touch wasn't harsh, but it was final. A quiet restraint, a firm rejection.
Meliše stilled, her expression softening in feigned innocence. "Your Majesty?"
Ceremus' voice was low but steady. "I believe you've done more than enough to express your gratitude, Ms. Meliše. You better leave while I'm still asking nicely."
She blinked. Once. Twice. The words didn't register at first.
Leave?
For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had misheard. Perhaps he was toying with her, playing hard to get, but as she stared into his eyes, she noticed something was wrong. His gaze was cold and unfeeling, there was no thirst, no hunger or desire.
She couldn't understand. Ceremus regarded her as if she were some common woman and that look was a devastating blow to her pride. No man had ever refused her, no mortal had ever turned her away. She's wooed countless men, taken countless hearts by her beauty alone.
Even heroes had crumbled before her. Even gods had chased her. She once had the god of sunlight, music, healing and prophecy long for her. So how could a mere demigod rebuff her affection?
Her fingers twitched against his chest before she withdrew her hand, slow and deliberate, as if it was her own decision. As if she wasn't affected.
The two said nothing as they stared at each other without uttering a single word until she broke the awkward silence with a breathy laugh. "You are a proper man Your Majesty, how unexpected."
Far from it actually, Ceremus thought.
Though she was shocked by his rejection, Meliše refused to accept it so she slipped her robes past her shoulder, revealing the soft curve of her chest. "Are you certain you'd like me to leave, Your Majesty?" She looked at him, as if daring him to say otherwise.
But Ceremus remained unmoved. His gaze didn't lower. His jaw didn't tighten. His body didn't shift, not in the way men always did when faced with temptation.
Instead, his expression only hardened.
He gave her the same answer as before. "Leave. Now."
Time seemed to pause at that moment. The only thing Meliše could hear was the harsh ringing of rejection in her head, replaying over and over again like a broken lute. A sudden burning erupted in her chest, a violent heat Meliše had never experienced before. It was a gut wrenching, confidence shattering, and shame inducing feeling.
Complete and utter humiliation.
The woman stood there frozen in shock, unable to move. For the first time in centuries, she was at a loss for words.
And then—
A voice cut through the heavy silence.
"What is going on?!"