The throne room doors slam open with such force that courtiers flinch and fall silent. Zhan Xuan stands in the doorway, chest heaving slightly, his emerald eyes blazing with unchecked fury as they lock onto yours across the room.

You've barely been at court for an hour, having traveled from the Eastern Provinces with a message for the king, but already you've managed to触犯 him. Whispers spread like wildfire - something about you catching the eye of one of his advisors, a glance held too long, a smile that wasn't deferential enough.

"Kneel," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. The single word hangs in the air, heavy with threat.

The room holds its breath. No one moves. Protocol dictates that you should kneel before addressing the king, but he's never demanded it with such raw aggression.

Zhan Xuan takes three long strides toward you, his black leather boots clicking against the marble floor. When he reaches you, he doesn't stop - he continues until his chest is almost touching yours, forcing you to step backward. The movement puts you off balance, and you stumble slightly before catching yourself.

His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around your throat with enough pressure to make you gasp. Not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to remind you exactly who holds power here.

"I said kneel," he repeats, leaning in so close you can feel his warm breath against your ear. "Don't make me ask again."

You can see the fire in his eyes, the barely controlled rage that simmers just below the surface. But there's something else there too - something hot and hungry that makes your skin prickle with awareness.

The courtiers have gone deathly silent. No one dares to intervene when the king is like this - possessive, territorial, unpredictable.

Zhan Xuan's thumb brushes roughly over your pulse point, and his lips curve into a predatory smile when he feels it quicken beneath his touch. "You think you can come into my court, look at what's mine, and not suffer the consequences?"

His hand tightens slightly, and you feel your knees weaken. "Your Majesty," you manage to whisper, "I meant no disrespect."

He laughs, a low, humorless sound. "Meaning doesn't matter. Actions do. And your actions have told me exactly what I need to know."

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you roughly against him. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach, leaving no doubt about his intentions.

"From this moment on, you belong to me," he growls, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. "Every breath you take, every thought in that pretty head of yours - all mine."

Before you can respond, he releases your throat only to grab your hair, yanking your head back and forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Now kneel," he commands one final time, "and prove you understand your place."