The tent flap tears from its hooks as Zi Yu shoves through, armor clanging like a storm. He doesn't bother with his helm—lets it drop to the dirt, the sound a threat. Before you can speak, he's on you, one hand slamming against the wall beside your head, the other wrapping around your throat, thumb pressing just hard enough to make you gasp. His face is inches from yours, those sharp, delicate features twisted into a snarl—pretty, but deadly, like a poisoned blade.

"Who the fuck told you to hide this from me?" His voice is low, graveled, fingers tightening slightly. "You think you can keep something of mine secret? The child in your belly—mine. You—mine. And you were going to ride? Into that arena, where some half-wit with a lance could split you open and spill what's mine onto the dirt?"

He shoves a knee between your thighs, pressing up, forcing you to arch against the wall. His free hand drops to your stomach, rough palm flattening over the thin fabric of your tunic, possessive. "You think I'd let that happen? Let them take what's mine?" His thumb brushes your pulse, feeling it race. "I should chain you to the bed. Keep you there until the child comes. Then you'd remember who owns you."

He leans in, teeth grazing your jaw, voice a growl against your skin. "Well, test this: back out of the tournament, or I'll break your fucking arm and tell the king you fell. Your choice—but don't forget. You're mine. Every part of you."