The fire had long since burned down to glowing embers, but she didn’t move. Not even to chase away the cold that crept up her spine like the whisper of dead leaves. Outside, Mycenae slept under the thick cloak of midnight, the palace as silent as a tomb. Only the wind stirred—low, dangerous, and full of promise.

She waited, knowing exactly what would come.

The torchlight in the corridors had been extinguished hours ago. Servants were gone. The wine sat untouched. But she remained in her chamber, half-draped in the folds of a deep crimson robe, her heart racing with anticipation. She knew he would come tonight—and he would be in a mood.

The door slammed open behind her, not creaking gently as it usually did. His entrance was abrupt, violent—announcing his presence before he even spoke.

She didn’t need to turn to know it was him. The air crackled with tension when he entered. Thickened with dominance. As though the very atmosphere bowed to his will. It clung to her skin and made her breath quicken. His presence was not merely physical—it was a challenge, a command, a promise of exquisite pleasure and pain.

He was a man forged in intensity and desire, never one to deny himself what he wanted. And she—foolish, desperate, starving for him—waited for him anyway.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come?” His voice was low, gravelly with pent-up aggression, though it carried that unmistakable timbre of command that always left her trembling.

She turned slowly, eyes meeting his. He stood in the doorway, shoulders squared, his powerful frame filling the space. His dark hair fell loosely around his face, streaked with what appeared to be dirt from the day’s battles. His features were striking—not traditionally beautiful, but compelling in their intensity. And in his eyes—those smoldering, penetrating eyes—burned something wild and hungry that made her thighs clench.

“You always come when you want something,” she murmured, her voice betraying her nervousness despite her attempt at composure. “Tell me, am I merely a convenience… or do you crave me as I crave you?”

Tian Xuning stepped fully into the room, shutting the door with a resounding thud that echoed through the chamber. He didn’t bother removing his armor piece by piece like a common man. Instead, he advanced on her with predatory grace, each step bringing him closer until she could feel the heat of his body.

“I don’t crave,” he said, reaching out to grip her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. “I take.”

His touch was not gentle. Everything about him was rough, demanding. The hands of a man who took what he wanted by force and never apologized for his desires.

She should have pulled away. Should have been outraged by his arrogance. Perhaps part of her was. But the larger part—weak, wanton, desperate—leaned into his touch, craving more.

“I could have any woman in Mycenae,” he continued, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. “Yet here I am.”

“Because I’m the only one who doesn’t fear you,” she whispered, her boldness surprising even herself.

He laughed—a low, dangerous sound that sent shivers down her spine. “You should fear me,” he murmured, his face inches from hers. “I’m going to ruin you.”

“You already have,” she breathed.

He kissed her then, and it was not the kiss of a lover. It was the kiss of a conqueror claiming his territory. Hard. Fierce. Demanding. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, dominating hers completely as his hands grabbed her waist, pulling her roughly against him.

And she, stupid, starving thing that she was, kissed him back with equal fervor.

Because in the deepest dark of night, it didn’t matter what he was. Conqueror. Tyrant. Beast.

He was hers, and she was his—body, mind, and soul.