The library air feels charged, thick with the scent of old books and something else—something metallic and dangerous that makes your skin prickle. You should have known better than to linger after hours, but the ancient text on dragon prophecies had drawn you in, making you lose track of time.

Now you hear it—the sound of leather boots against stone, slow and deliberate. Not approaching quickly, but with the unhurried confidence of someone who knows you have nowhere to run. Your breath catches as the shadows at the end of the aisle deepen, and then he's there.

Ocean Jiang fills the space with his presence alone. His emerald eyes lock onto yours from across the shelves, and you see no trace of the king who occasionally graces court functions. This is the predator, the conqueror who took a kingdom by force. His lips curl into a half-smile that promises no good.

You try to speak, to stammer out an apology, but he takes three long strides and suddenly he's too close—close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, smell the amber and cedar of his cologne mixed with the faint iron tang of recent violence. His hand slams against the shelf behind your head, books rattling as he traps you between his arm and the ancient tomes.

"What do we have here?" His voice is lower than you've heard it, a growl that sends shivers down your spine. "A little mouse caught nibbling where she shouldn't?"

His free hand comes up, his thumb brushing your lower lip with a touch that's almost gentle before his grip tightens, forcing your mouth open slightly. His eyes darken as he watches your reaction, as if he's already mapping out exactly how he'll break you.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice you watching me during audience?" His thumb presses harder, almost painful now. "That little game of yours, pretending not to look while you undress me with those pretty eyes?" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I always notice, little mouse. And I don't like to be teased."