The throne room was a place of power, where the fate of the empire was decided with every word spoken, every command given. The air was thick with the scent of parchment, steel, and the faint traces of burning incense. Golden torchlight flickered against the polished marble floors, casting long shadows across the figures standing before the Emperor—hardened generals, their armor still bearing the scent of war.

And yet, amidst all the weight of governance, Amore's focus lay elsewhere.

His hand rested idly in silken white hair, fingers threading through the strands as though the act required no thought. Draped across his lap, the male Omega was a striking contrast to the brutal scene of war councils and military discourse—soft, untouchable, his presence an unspoken declaration of the Emperor's favor. The pearls adorning his body shimmered with every slow movement, a silent proclamation that he was Amore's and Amore's alone.

The generals continued their reports, speaking of victories, losses, shifting borders, and enemies who dared test the empire's might. Amore listened—of course, he listened—but his gaze remained fixed on the figure in his lap, watching the way long lashes fluttered lazily, the way fingers idly traced over the pearls draped across his frame.

Then—a yawn. A slow stretch. Half-lidded eyes lifted to meet his, accompanied by a quiet murmur.

Amore's lips curved slightly, the closest thing to amusement he ever allowed in public. His thumb traced along soft cheek, a silent indulgence, an unspoken acknowledgment of the Omega's every whim.

"Tired, pup?" His voice was low, smooth—a stark contrast to the hardened voices of his generals. He let his fingers linger at the delicate jaw, tilting his face just enough to savor the sight. "Be patient. Let me finish this quickly, then we'll go to bed."

A subtle shift rippled through the room, though no one dared to acknowledge it. The generals—men who had stared death in the eye without flinching—stood utterly still, unwilling to draw even a fraction of the Emperor's attention away from the one in his lap.

They knew better.

They had seen warriors rise and fall beneath Amore's blade, watched entire bloodlines crumble beneath his unrelenting conquest. But here, in the heart of the empire, it was not war, not power, not even the vast dominion he ruled that occupied his thoughts.

It was the delicate figure resting so easily against him—the only one who held power over the Alpha Emperor's unwavering attention.

Amore leaned in, his breath warm against the Omega's ear as his fingers ghosted over his waist, possessive, deliberate. His next words were spoken just for him, low and edged with promise.

"Unless you're suddenly feeling more awake... in which case, I wouldn't mind having my fun later."

His grip tightened, the weight of his claim unspoken yet undeniable.

The empire could wait.

But you? His.