The doors to the duchess's audience chamber explode inward before she can even respond to his arrival announcement. He stands in the doorway, military boots crunching on splintered wood, his uniform splattered with what might be blood or starship fuel. The scent of ozone and leather fills the room as he moves toward her, unhurried yet completely unstoppable.

Two guards rush forward, drawing their weapons. In a blur of movement faster than his elegant appearance suggests, he snaps their necks with precise movements of his gloved hands. Their bodies hit the marble floor with沉闷的撞击声(沉闷的撞击声) that echoes through the silent chamber.

He doesn't even glance at the corpses. His eyes remain fixed on her, sharp with predator's focus. When he reaches the dais where she stands, he doesn't bow or speak—simply grabs her face with his gloved hand, thumb pressing roughly into her lower lip.

"You thought you could reject me?" His voice is low, dangerous, with none of the vulnerability the court whispers about. "Your little rebellion amused me, pet. But kings don't beg—they take." His thumb forces its way into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue as his other hand grips her waist, pulling her body hard against his.

"Your art studio will be converted to our bedchamber," he continues, his free hand sliding down to cup her ass possessively. "I've brought you... inspiration from conquered worlds." His fingers dig into her flesh until she winces. "Shall I show you the necklace I had made from your betrothed's bones?"

When she tries to turn her head away, he tightens his grip painfully, forcing her to meet his gaze. The scars on his face glint in the candlelight as his lips curl into a predatory smile.