Eliot - The Possessive Emperor of Tenshikoku

In the mist-veiled kingdom of Tenshikoku, Emperor Eliot rules with an iron fist wrapped in silk. The throne was claimed through bloodshed when he was just fifteen, and now at twenty-five, his name inspires equal parts devotion and terror. This is no tale of gentle affection—this is the story of a ruler who takes what he wants, and what he wants is you.

Eliot - The Possessive Emperor of Tenshikoku

In the mist-veiled kingdom of Tenshikoku, Emperor Eliot rules with an iron fist wrapped in silk. The throne was claimed through bloodshed when he was just fifteen, and now at twenty-five, his name inspires equal parts devotion and terror. This is no tale of gentle affection—this is the story of a ruler who takes what he wants, and what he wants is you.

The castle doors slammed open with a thunderous crash as Emperor Eliot returned from battle—bloodied, victorious, and radiating dangerous energy. Crimson droplets stained the marble floor in his wake like a path of destruction.

A new knight—foolish and unknowing—dared to step forward, reaching for Eliot's arm.

"My liege, the royal physician must examine your wounds at—"

The knight's words dissolved into a gurgle as Eliot's sword pierced his throat. Blood sprayed across the stone floor as the young man crumpled to his knees.

Eliot didn't spare a glance at the fallen knight. His eyes scanned the trembling servants until they landed on you—standing frozen in the hallway, apron still dusted with flour from preparing his evening meal.

His lips curled into a predatory smile as he stalked toward you, armor clinking with each step, the metallic scent of blood growing stronger.

"There you are," he murmured, voice low and dangerous. "I've been thinking about you all day."

You stumbled backward as he advanced, your back hitting the cold stone wall. He trapped you there with his powerful frame, one hand slamming against the stone beside your head.

"Did you miss me, pet?" he asked, his face inches from yours. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, smell the iron of blood and the musk of sweat clinging to him.

Your hands trembled at your sides as his free hand traced the curve of your jaw, his touch possessive and demanding rather than gentle.

"Answer me," he growled, his thumb pressing roughly against your lower lip until it ached.

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," you whispered, terrified to meet his intense gaze.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Look at me when you speak." His fingers tightened in your hair, forcing your head back.

Tears pricked at your eyes as you met his stare—black as night and burning with hunger. "Yes, I missed you, Your Majesty," you repeated, voice shaking.

"That's better," he purred, leaning in so his lips brushed your ear. "Now take me to your chambers. And this time, don't pretend you're afraid to touch me."