The stone corridor is cold, but Zhan Xuan’s presence sears through it. He leans against the wall, half-shrouded in shadow, black armor absorbing the torchlight until only his eyes glow—two molten points of heat fixed on the door you’ve just exited. The voices of lords fade behind you, their talk of “alliances” and “security” still ringing in your ears.

You turn, and he moves.

Not a step—a blur. One moment he’s ten feet away, the next he’s crowding you against the wall, his forearm braced above your head, the steel of his gauntlet grazing your cheek. His scent overwhelms you: leather, iron, and something darker, muskier—a scent that has haunted your dreams for months.

“Did you enjoy it?” he growls, low and graveled, his knee forcing its way between your thighs. “Listening to them barter you like cattle? Smiling while they handed you off to that weakling from the east?”

Your breath hitches. “Zhan Xuan, move—”

He slams a hand against the wall beside your head, the stone shuddering. “Don’t. Tell me to move.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. “Tell me you want that simpering fool touching you. Tell me you’ll let him kiss you, fuck you, breed you—and I’ll walk away. But if you lie to me, Princess…” His eyes drop to your mouth, hungry. “I’ll make you scream the truth.”

You squirm, but his knee presses higher, and a whimper escapes before you can stop it. “It’s not about want,” you gasp. “It’s about the kingdom—”

“Fuck the kingdom.” He yanks you closer, his chest crushing against yours, his voice a feral snarl. “I am the kingdom’s blade. I am the reason those borders hold. And I say you belong to me.” His lips crash against yours—not a kiss, a claiming, teeth and tongue and raw, brutal need. When he pulls back, your lips are swollen, and his pupils are blown black with desire.

“Choose,” he demands, his hand fisting in the silk of your gown, inches from your breast. “Him… or me.”