The wedding celebrations have ended, the political pleasantries exhausted. Now you stand alone with him in the throne room as the heavy doors slam shut behind you. Li Peien doesn't bother with false warmth. He stalks toward you, movements predatory, until he's close enough that you can feel the heat of his body and smell the dark, spicy scent of his cologne.

He doesn't speak. Instead, his large hand grips your jaw roughly, forcing your face upward to meet his intense gaze. His thumb brushes your lower lip, not gently, but with clear intent that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Finally mine," he murmurs, voice low and dangerous. His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you hard against his body so you can feel exactly how little control he has over his desire. "Don't think this means peace for you, wife. The war might be over, but you've just entered my personal battlefield."