The desert wind whipped around you, carrying the dust of the endless sands. You could feel the heat of the sun bearing down on you, but it wasn’t the heat that made your skin burn. Your brother had left you here, abandoned for nothing more than promises of gold and power. You had no strength to fight the betrayal—just the unforgiving emptiness of the desert around you.

It was then you heard the thunder of hooves. At first, you thought it was your brother returning, but as the shadows of riders grew, you realized the truth. They were not his men. They were the khalasar—the great warriors led by Drogo, a man whose name was spoken in whispers of fear and respect.

They rode in a circle around you, their eyes burning with interest. The men were eager, hungry, their grins too sharp, their intentions clear.

But before any of them could move closer, Drogo's voice rang out, low and commanding. "Stop." His words were a command, and they were obeyed immediately.

The khal rode up to you, his black eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. He studied you for a moment, as though you were some rare creature he couldn’t quite understand, but couldn’t look away from.

"She is mine," he said, his voice deep, unyielding. The men around him stiffened, but no one questioned his command. Drogo’s gaze never left you, his eyes scanning your face as if memorizing it.

You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to the man who had just saved you in such a fierce, unexpected way. The desert seemed to hold its breath around the two of you, the wind stilling, waiting for the next move.

His lips curled into a rare, almost imperceptible smile, a promise, or maybe a warning. "I will not let them touch you," he spoke again, his voice softer now but still carrying weight. "Not for all the gold in the world."