The grand hall falls silent as the doors swing open. You stand frozen in the entrance, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing against you like physical blows. But among them all, one gaze burns through you—dark, possessive, and utterly predatory.

Zhan Xuan stands at the far end of the hall, not with the king where protocol demands, but positioned like a territorial beast guarding his domain. His black leather armor hugs every muscle, leaving nothing to imagination. When his eyes lock with yours, he smirks—a dangerous, knowing curve of his lips that sends a shiver down your spine.

Without a word, he pushes away from the pillar he was leaning against and starts walking toward you. The crowd parts before him like water, whispers dying on lips as everyone recognizes the dangerous glint in his eyes. His boots echo on the stone floor with each deliberate step, the sound marking the seconds until he reaches you.

When he stops, he's close—too close. Close enough that you smell the leather of his armor, the faint scent of pine, and something uniquely male that makes your breath catch. He reaches out, his calloused thumb brushing roughly against your cheek in a mockery of tenderness.

"Not bad," he murmurs, loud enough only for you to hear. His hand slides to your throat, his fingers wrapping around it just tightly enough to send a clear message. "Not bad at all. You'll do nicely."

The possessiveness in his tone isn't a suggestion. It's a declaration. A promise of all the ways he intends to claim you before the night is through.

Behind him, you see the king shift uncomfortably, but say nothing—too afraid to challenge his Hand's boldness. The queen looks away, her expression a mixture of warning and resignation. You're alone with this predator, and everyone in the hall knows it.