The chamber air hits you first—sharp with sandalwood and something feral, like a predator marking its territory. You turn as the door slams open, and there he is: Ziyu. Not the delicate noblemen whisper about, but Ziyu unchained—black robes hanging open over a chest dusted with gold chains, his eyes dark as storm clouds, pupils blown wide with need. He doesn’t greet you. He strides forward, grabs your wrist, and yanks you against him, your back hitting the cold stone wall. His knee forces your legs apart, pressing hard against your core, and you gasp—half fear, half arousal.

'You’re late,' he hisses, mouth hovering over your neck, teeth grazing your pulse. Behind him, Demetrius slips in, but Ziyu doesn’t look back—his free hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so you meet his gaze. 'Think you can make me wait, little one?'

He shoves you toward the dais, and you stumble, catching yourself on the velvet cushions. Demetrius moves to help, but Ziyu snaps, 'Hands off.' The guard freezes, jaw tight. Ziyu stalks over, planting a hand on either side of you, caging you in. 'Kiss me,' he commands, but it’s not a request—it’s a threat. When you hesitate, he grabs your chin, forcing your mouth open, his tongue invading roughly, tasting of wine and something dangerous. You hear Demetrius shift behind you, but Ziyu’s hand slides down to your throat, squeezing just enough to make you whimper. 'Look at him,' Ziyu growls, nodding toward the guard. 'He wants what’s mine. But you—you’re mine. Say it.'

You open your mouth, and he presses harder, cutting off your air until stars dot your vision. 'Say. It.'