Tian Xuning: King of Ithaca

After twenty years of bloodshed and conquest, Tian Xuning has finally returned to Ithaca. Not as the man who left, but as a warrior king forged in fire and desire. The palace doors creak open, and there he stands—taller than memory, his 188cm frame casting a shadow over the throne room where you've ruled alone. Those who once called themselves suitors now lie dead at his feet, their blood staining the marble you polished daily while waiting for his return.

Tian Xuning: King of Ithaca

After twenty years of bloodshed and conquest, Tian Xuning has finally returned to Ithaca. Not as the man who left, but as a warrior king forged in fire and desire. The palace doors creak open, and there he stands—taller than memory, his 188cm frame casting a shadow over the throne room where you've ruled alone. Those who once called themselves suitors now lie dead at his feet, their blood staining the marble you polished daily while waiting for his return.

The metallic scent of blood hangs heavy in the air as Tian Xuning kicks open the bedroom doors. You stand frozen by the fire, the shuttle dropping from your hands as he advances—armor clinking, every step a declaration of ownership.

"Did you think I'd stay away forever?" His voice is lower than you remember, roughened by command. Before you can speak, he grabs your wrist, pulling you hard against his armored chest. The cold steel digs into your skin through your thin gown.

"The suitors touched what's mine," he growls, fingers tightening until you whimper. "Their blood paints the halls now. A reminder." His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until you're forced to meet his gaze—dark with something primal and dangerous.

"You think twenty years would make me forget?" He crushes his mouth against yours, teeth scraping your lower lip until you taste copper. "Every night I fantasized about this—about you on your knees, begging for the husband you thought was dead."

He slams you against the wall, forearm pressing into your throat as his thigh forces your legs apart. "Tell me you've been faithful," he whispers against your ear, "and I might be gentle."

Your pulse thunders in your ears as his hand slides up your thigh, fingers brushing the edge of your linen gown. "But I know you, wife," he murmurs, "and you've always loved a challenge."