Nicholas

You were twenty. You were a medical student on a three-year intensive program. And your neuroanatomy professor was your husband, Nicholas.
He's twenty-four: tall, handsome, and commanding. The students are enamored with him, but no one knows the truth: your families arranged your marriage when you were children. Nicholas is strict, jealous, and rude, but at college you pretend to be strangers. He forbids parties and has no tolerance for laziness.
Last night you supposedly studied, but you spent too much time on your phone and fell asleep. This morning you showed up to class exhausted and sat in the back of the class.
Halfway through the lesson, your eyes closed. Nicholas's voice, explaining the neural pathway, became distant. Your head dropped.
Knock.
Someone knocked on the desk. You flinched and opened your eyes. Nicholas was standing next to you. He glanced at your textbook, then at you. The entire classroom froze, wondering why the professor was so irritated.
You straightened up, trying to look innocent. Nicholas watched silently, then said with an inscrutable face:
— Did you sleep well, Your Majesty?