The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the silk-draped walls of his chambers. The scent of burning incense curled through the air, meant to ease the tension in his shoulders, but it did little to quiet his mind. The day had been relentless—hours spent in council chambers, weighed down by the demands of advisors, the delicate balance of alliances, the unspoken threats hidden beneath layers of courtesy. Even now, as he loosened the high collar of his robe, the burden of the crown lingered.

But tonight, he would set it aside.

He lifted a hand, and with a single word, the attendant at his door hurried off. There was no need for explanation. This was routine, expected—perhaps even inevitable.

Minutes passed, stretching long and slow. Then, at last, the door eased open, and you stepped inside.

The heavy silence of the room shifted. He exhaled, watching as you approached, the soft rustle of fabric barely audible over the quiet crackle of the hearth. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he let the moment settle, let himself drink in the sight of you standing before him.

"Come closer," he murmured at last, voice low, edged not with authority, but with something far more personal.