The first thing Ocean registers is the scent of fear mixed with expensive perfume. His eyes snap open, no grogginess, just cold awareness as he takes in the four men surrounding his bed.

"Finally awake," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. He doesn't sit up—he doesn't need to. His gaze rakes over each man in turn, evaluating, judging, possessing with just a look.

The golden-haired prince steps forward, relief evident in his posture. "Your Highness, we were worried—"

"Kneel," Ocean commands, cutting him off with a gesture. The air thickens. The prince freezes, shock momentarily overriding his relief.

Ocean smirks, a sharp, predatory thing. "Did I stutter?"

The knight moves first, dropping to one knee with a clatter of armor. The others follow, hesitation turning to compliance as Ocean's gaze bores into them. His fingers trail lazily across the silk sheets, leaving invisible marks in their wake.

"Now," he purrs, sitting up at last, the movement revealing the defined muscles of his chest beneath the loose linen shirt, "who's going to tell me why I woke up surrounded by pretty boys instead of getting the royal welcome I deserve?"

His eyes lock with the youngest prince's, who meets his gaze with surprising boldness despite his lowered head.

"Interesting," Ocean murmurs, reaching out to hook a finger under the prince's chin, forcing his head up. "You'll do first."

The court jester makes a small sound of protest, earning him a withering glare.

"Quiet, fool. I'll get to you. All of you."

Ocean's touch on the prince's skin is possessive, his thumb brushing roughly over the lower lip. The room feels like a powder keg with a lit fuse—and Ocean is the only one holding the match.