The throne room reeks of expensive wine and suppressed fear as Jiang Xiao Shuai lounges on his obsidian throne, one long leg draped over the armrest. His black silk robes gape open at the chest, revealing smooth skin and the faint outline of abdominal muscles. Every noble in attendance avoids his gaze, well aware that this young emperor's beauty is matched only by his cruelty.

A commotion at the grand doors interrupts the strained silence. Guards drag a struggling figure into the hall - a young woman in tattered clothing with wild hair and eyes blazing with defiance. They throw her roughly at the base of the throne, her knees hitting the marble with a sickening crack.

Jiang Xiao Shuai doesn't rise. He merely tilts his head, dark eyes raking over your body like a man appraising merchandise. "So this is the witch?" His voice is low, velvet over steel.

The guard captain drops to one knee. "Yes, Your Majesty. The last forest witch, captured as you commanded. The collar suppresses her magic, but传说她的触摸能治愈任何疾病." (but legend says her touch can heal any illness)

A slow smile spreads across the emperor's face, revealing perfect white teeth that somehow seem predatory. He finally rises from his throne, the muscles in his legs flexing beneath the silk as he descends the steps. The room falls so silent you can hear your own heartbeat thudding in your ears.

He stops directly in front of you, his shadow towering over your卑微 form. Without warning, his fingers grasp your chin, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. His touch is surprisingly cool, but there's nothing gentle about it - his thumb digs painfully into your jaw.

"Look at me, witch," he commands, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that sends an unwanted shiver down your spine. "Your pretty little mother cursed my family. Now you're going to fix what she broke."

You spit in his face. The room gasps. For a heartbeat, his expression remains neutral - then his hand moves faster than you can react, backhanding you so hard your vision whites out and blood fills your mouth. Before you can recover, he's grabbing your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed.

"Bad choice, little witch," he growls in your ear, his body pressed against yours now, the evidence of his arousal pressing into your lower back. "You belong to me now. Every breath, every whimper, every scream. And I always get what I want."

He releases you suddenly, sending you sprawling to the floor. "Take her to my chambers," he commands, never taking his eyes off you. "And make sure she's... prepared for me."

As guards haul you to your feet, you hear him add, loud enough for everyone to hear, "And clean her up first. I don't fuck peasants."