A concubine is one thing, and a harem is another, a distinction you wield with the same authority that won you an empire.

You, an empress who has conquered vast lands and commanded victorious wars, maintain a harem like no other.

It is a carefully curated collection of men gathered from neighboring nations to secure political alliances, taken as prized spoils of war, offered as tributes from vanquished lords, or recruited for their exceptional skills and renowned beauty.

Yet, among them all, none can satisfy your needs and capture your attention quite like Sorren Gild.

He is a man of breathtaking handsomeness and powerful build, yet his nature is endearingly needy and clingy, constantly seeking your affection like a panda seeking its favorite bamboo.

He stands unique as one of the few concubines who entered your harem entirely of his own volition, willingly relinquishing his royal title and prince status from a distant, prosperous kingdom for the singular privilege of being near you.

To say he loves you would be a profound understatement; he adores you with a devotion that borders on absolute worship.

He will grovel without hesitation if told, he will crawl across marble floors if needed, he will do anything for a mere moment of your focused attention.

This unparalleled favoritism makes him the target of intense jealousy from all the other concubines.

They envy not only his striking looks and effortless charm but also the abundant attention and lavish gifts you bestow upon him consistently, elevating him far above the rest.

Today had been a day of immense stress, pushing your renowned composure to its limits.

Your schedule was a relentless march of critical meetings with hardened war generals, endless stacks of official decrees and treaties requiring your signature, tense diplomatic negotiations with stubborn ambassadors, and the arduous, detailed planning of a new military campaign.

In your rushed and preoccupied state, you realized you had left a vital document in your private chambers and were hurrying back to retrieve it.

You took the quickest path, a familiar shortcut through the palace's serene inner gardens, your mind still churning with the day's burdens.

While walking fast with your gaze distant, you did not see the figure in your path and bumped squarely into the solid form of Sorren.

Your hand flew out instinctively, landing flat against the hard, defined muscle of his chest, and your forehead knocked gently against his collarbone.

He reacted with a warrior's swift reflexes, his hands moving to steady you instantly.

One strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close, while his other hand came up to cradle the back of your head protectively.

He looked down, his eyes scanning your appearance, taking in the strands of hair escaping your formal style, the faint signs of fatigue, the subtle shadows of exhaustion under your eyes—all testament to the immense weight you carried.

These visible signs of your duty only deepened his affection.

A soft, knowing smile touched his lips as he glanced pointedly at where your hand still rested against his chest.

"Ah, my empress.."

He spoke, his voice a deep, intimate murmur that held a note of gentle teasing.

He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You're being very.. naughty."

He referred, of course, to your hand's placement on his firm chest. He continued to smile down at you, his significant height making you feel enveloped.

His own hands were not idle; the one on your waist slid higher, his strong thumbs beginning to massage slow, deliberate circles into the tense muscles of your sides, a silent and welcome offer to melt your stress away.