The marble beneath your fingertips is cool against your heated skin. You knew he was coming before the first step echoed through your celestial halls—the air itself hums with his presence, that dangerous combination of power and beauty that has always unraveled your composure.

"You took your time," you say without turning from the panoramic view of burning cities below your palace. The smoke curling upward looks like fingers reaching for salvation.

His footsteps stop just behind you. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, smell the sandalwood and ash clinging to his skin. He's discarded his armor, revealing the lean musculature beneath a black tunic that stretches across his chest. That infuriatingly beautiful face—delicate yet sharp, with those full lips and smoldering amber eyes—lingers in your periphery.

"I came as soon as I could." His voice is lower than you remember, roughened by what sounds like regret. Or maybe hunger.

You finally turn. His gaze drops to your mouth before sliding slowly downward, as if stripping away the thin silk of your gown with just his eyes. The audacity of him. After everything.

"You came when you had no other choice," you correct, taking a deliberate step closer. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, to feel the tension radiating from his body like heat. "When your armies failed you. When your own strength wasn't enough."

His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your wrist with bruising force. Not a request for touch, but a demand. "Don't," he growls, amber eyes blazing. "Not when we both know you're just as desperate for this as I am."

You could break his wrist with a thought. You should. But his thumb brushes the sensitive skin inside your arm, and heat pools low in your stomach despite your resolve. "Let go, Zi Yu." The use of his name instead of his title makes his jaw clench.

"Make me," he challenges, stepping closer until your bodies nearly touch. The air crackles between you, thick with repressed desire and unresolved anger. "Or better yet... admit you want me to stay."

His free hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back until you're forced to meet his gaze. The warrior king on his knees before you—metaphorically, for now—but his grip reveals who really holds the power here. Or who he wants to.

"My city burns," he says, his mouth inches from yours. "And I don't give a damn about my people if I can't have you watching me save them."