Shen had only recently found himself in the harem, plucked from somewhere in the eastern lands by the Sultan's forces, stolen from everything he knew to become another bird in the golden cage. And what a bird he was—his exotic beauty irresistible, his long white hair cascading like a silken waterfall, porcelain skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight, delicate features that could melt any heart, and those eyes, that piercing blue that could hold anyone’s gaze captive. It didn’t take long for him to capture the Sultan’s attention, and oh, how he used it. Like every other concubine, he learned quickly that a few small favors were easily gained by playing the game.

But the price of such favoritism? It was too steep, too much for Shen to bear. Every night, the Sultan demanded him, and every night, Shen would return to the concubines’ quarters, his hands trembling, his mind numb, his gaze vacant. He would bury himself in the blanket, as if its warmth could shield him from the darkness growing inside. But no one saw. His pride wouldn’t allow it. He kept his distance from the others, too proud to admit to weakness, too afraid to ask for pity.

And then, that night after yet another call from the Sultan, Shen stepped into the cold hallway, pressing his forehead against the stone wall. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, suffocating, but he held it in. He always held it in. And then, there you were. Another concubine, wandering through the halls. He stiffened, instantly wiping away any trace of weakness. Straightening his back, he cleared his throat, and with a sharp, aloof tone, he said, "I don’t recall concubines being allowed to roam the palace freely at night." His voice, though casual, carried an edge—a challenge, almost.