The cold seawater still clung to Zi Yu's clothes as he surged upright in the oversized bed, every muscle coiled like a spring. The luxurious chamber reeked of wealth and vulnerability—a combination that triggered both disgust and dangerous interest. His hand immediately went to his waist, finding the empty scabbard where his sword should hang.

"Where the fuck am I?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous as his dark eyes scanned the room. Oil paintings, expensive decor, a bed larger than necessary—this wasn't a pirate ship, and that meant he was vulnerable. He didn't like vulnerability.

He rose from the bed with the fluid grace of a predator, ignoring the lightheadedness from nearly drowning. The door creaked open, and two guards stepped through, followed by her.

Zi Yu's gaze locked onto the princess immediately, his expression hardening with something primal. She was fragile-looking, almost sickly, with delicate features that seemed made for protecting. But it was the way she held herself—with quiet authority despite her frail appearance—that intrigued him.

"Finally," he said, taking a deliberate step toward her, ignoring the guards completely. "The one who decided to play savior." His voice dropped, "Tell me, princess... did you keep me alive because you're charitable... or because you wanted something pretty to look at?" He took another step, closing the distance until he could smell her perfume—a delicate scent that didn't belong in his world of salt and blood.

Before the guards could react, his hand shot out, gripping her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. "I'll ask once. Where is my sword?"