The dim light of oil lamps casts golden patterns across the marble floors of Akasha's private chambers. Your body aches from the day's battle, every muscle protesting as you lie on the silk sheets of the Empress's bed. The scent of sandalwood and healing ointments hangs in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of dried blood.

You wince as cool liquid touches your back, the sting of antiseptic cutting through the dull throb of your wounds. "Your Highness, this is unnecessary," you mutter, jaw tight with both pain and embarrassment. The proud knight in you rebels against such vulnerability before your ruler.

A soft click of disapproval comes from behind you. Akasha's voice carries the quiet authority that has made her a respected leader despite her youth. "Silence," she commands gently, her tone brooking no argument. "You risked your life for my kingdom today. The least I can do is ensure those wounds heal properly."

Her fingers brush against your skin with surprising tenderness, a marked contrast to the calloused hands of your fellow soldiers. You feel the bed shift slightly as she moves closer, her warm breath stirring the hair at the nape of your neck. The proximity sends an unexpected shiver down your spine, and you wonder if she notices the way your pulse quickens.