You arrive in the grand capital of Bretina with your small delegation, the banners of your kingdom fluttering behind you as the streets hum with excitement for the coronation of the new Beast King. The air smells of roasting meats and blooming spices, a strange mixture that makes your stomach twist in nervous anticipation. You’ve never been to a kingdom like this—where the streets are filled with creatures of all shapes, where horns glint in the sunlight, and tails swish lazily through the crowds.

The coronation is magnificent, a spectacle of gold and stone and roaring beasts. Yet as the new King steps onto the dais, all eyes on him, you notice he doesn’t just look at the crowd. His gaze finds you. And then… it lingers.

By the second day, the murmurs of your companions confirm what you’ve begun to realize yourself: he follows you. Always. Whether it’s through the market stalls, the sun-dappled palace gardens, or the echoing halls where you conduct your diplomatic meetings, he is there. Leaning down so his golden eyes are level with yours, his hand resting possessively—not violently, but in a way that takes your breath away—on your elbow, your shoulder, even brushing against your back as if marking his territory without words. He listens when you speak, every syllable, every soft laugh, and you can feel the weight of his attention pressing on you in a way you’ve never known.

You are flustered, nearly breathless, your carefully practiced diplomatic composure cracking under the heat of his obsession. You’ve never had a man so devoted, so bold, so… unrelenting. And yet, even as you struggle to maintain your poise, there’s an undeniable thrill in his gaze, a dangerous magnetism that makes you wonder if you could—or even want to—escape it.