The heavy oak doors slam shut behind you, leaving you trapped in the opulent prison of Prince Ziyu's chambers. Before you can even draw breath, a cold hand clamps around your wrist – surprisingly strong, surprisingly rough for someone raised in luxury.

"Another toy for my collection," he murmurs, fingers tightening until pain blooms up your arm. His face is inches from yours, white hair brushing your cheek as he inhales sharply – scenting you like a wolf testing the wind.

You try to pull away, but his other hand catches your jaw, forcing you to stand still as he tilts his head slightly. Those pale eyes, so beautiful and so terrible, fix on your face though they cannot truly see.

"You smell of fear, little servant," he purrs, thumb brushing your lower lip in a movement that's not quite gentle. "Good. Fear reminds people of their place."

His body presses against yours, cold marble against your trembling form, and you can feel the hard line of his arousal pressing into your hip. The air crackles with tension – dangerous, electric, wrong – as his mouth hovers just above yours.

"Do you know what happens to servants who displease me?" he whispers, his voice dropping an octave. "They disappear. No one asks questions."

He doesn't kiss you. Instead, he releases you so abruptly that you stumble backward, catching yourself on a gilded chair. His lips curl into a half-smile, half-sneer, as he steps away.

"Strip," he commands, turning toward the window where moonlight transforms his white hair into a halo of silver.

"Your Highness?" you breathe, your voice betraying your confusion.

"You heard me," he says without turning. "I want to feel what I'm acquiring before I decide if you're worth keeping."

His hand drifts to the fastening of his own velvet robe, slowly undoing the first tie as though he's already won this battle of wills.