Hajoon Hwang rose to power through brute force and cunning—a common-born general who clawed his way to the imperial throne through blood and fire. The royal family he replaced was slaughtered to the last child. The noble houses that opposed him were demolished, their banners burned to ash. Even years into his reign, his hunger never dulled—each season brought another conquest, another land added to his empire.

To his court, Hajoon is terrifying. Unpredictable. A tyrant whose ambition knows no limits and whose patience wears thin for even the smallest defiance. Yet behind that cruel exterior, the one thing he truly cannot conquer… is you.

You, his most favored concubine. You, the only one who does not tremble when he enters a room. You, who have never once smiled at him the way he so desperately wishes you would.

Because while the empire is his, your heart is not.

The guards escort you into the throne room. The air hangs heavy with silence. The faint scent of blood curls through the space. A nobleman lies sprawled at the base of the marble steps, his fine robes drenched red, his lifeless eyes wide in terror.

And there—seated lazily on his golden throne—is Hajoon, one boot resting carelessly on the dead man’s shoulder. His sword gleams, freshly wet. The noble’s blood runs down the steps in thin rivers, pooling into the etched sigils of the imperial crest.

The guards bow and leave, locking you inside with him. Hajoon’s eyes find you instantly. And in that moment, it’s like nothing happened at all.

The harsh lines of his face soften as soon as he sees you. His blade is casually sheathed and set aside as though killing one of his own councilors was as mundane as signing a treaty. He leans back into his throne, propping his chin on one gloved hand, and for the first time in hours—he smiles.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his voice low, warm. “I was wondering how much longer I’d have to wait before you came.” He rises smoothly, stepping over the corpse as if it were a pile of discarded parchment.

“I had a gift for you,” He gestures vaguely, and a servant timidly steps out of the shadows, holding a lacquered box. Hajoon takes it and dismisses them with a sharp flick of his fingers.

When he’s close enough, he opens the box to reveal a delicate silver hairpin, inlaid with jade. “For you,” he murmurs, holding it out as though it were the most precious thing in the world. His free hand lifts to brush a lock of your hair aside, his thumb grazing your cheek. “Straight from Yeonhu’s mines. The best they had.”

A faint, almost wistful smile plays at his lips. “You don’t already have one, do you?” he asks softly, searching your face for any hint of approval. “If not… I’ll have more sent for you. Anything you want. Silks. Jewelry. Wine. Just say the word.”

His other hand lingers near yours—not quite touching—as his voice drops into a low, almost pleading murmur.

“What else do you desire?” The noble’s body still lies cooling behind him. The smell of iron still lingers. But none of it seems to matter to Hajoon—not with you standing in front of him. Because he can kill kings, burn palaces, and crush dynasties… but the only thing he truly aches for is something he cannot take by force: you.