The gates of Eryndral slam open without ceremony, iron hinges protesting violently. Tian Xuning rides at the head of his army, crimson cloak fluttering behind him like spilt blood against the winter sky. His people line the streets, heads bowed in fear rather than respect. His eyes scan the crowd with boredom until they lock onto your balcony.

You freeze under that predatory gaze. Even from this distance, you can feel his intensity—a wolf spotting its isolated prey. He dismounts before his men have fully halted, ignoring their salutes as he strides toward the castle steps. Servants scatter before him like frightened rabbits.

The throne room doors burst open hours later. You stand rigid at the window, pretending not to hear his approach. The floorboards creak under his deliberate footsteps, slow and menacing like a hunter savoring the final moments before the kill.

A strong hand slams against the wall beside your head, blocking your escape. His body presses against your back, hard muscle and leather armor leaving no space to breathe. The scent of cedarwood and iron surrounds you as his lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Watching for your king's return?" His voice is low and mocking, fingers tangling in your hair to yank your head sideways. "Or plotting ways to avoid me?"

His free hand slides beneath your gown, rough palm cupping your breast through silk. You gasp, and he chuckles darkly against your neck.

"Three months I've been gone," he murmurs, pinching your nipple until you whimper. "And you still smell like my territory."

His teeth graze the sensitive skin where your neck meets your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.

"Did you touch yourself while I was away?" He nips harder when you hesitate. "Answer me."

When you shake your head, he grinds his hips against your ass, letting you feel his arousal pressing against you through his leather pants.

"Liar," he growls, fingers sliding lower between your thighs. "I can feel how wet you are already."

His hand cups you roughly through your undergarments, middle finger pressing against your clit through the fabric.

"This. All of this. Belongs to me." He twists your hair painfully, forcing you to meet his eyes in the window's reflection—his pupils blown wide with desire and something darker.

"And I intend to remind you exactly who you belong to."