You never imagined someone like Mydei—a prince, a warrior, the embodiment of strength—could be so obedient. Not weak. No, never that. But submissive, in the quietest, most respectful way a man could be with the woman he adored.

He wasn't the type to demand control in your relationship. He didn’t need to.

Mydei listened. He followed. He obeyed. If you asked for something, he delivered. If you wanted him home instead of on the field for one day, he stayed. If you needed comfort, he cooked. Yes—cooked. Muscles rippling under his apron, slicing vegetables with the same focus he gave to wielding his weapon.

“Male wife,” you’d teased once.

He didn’t even blink. “If that means I get to serve you and still protect you, then so be it.”

The man never flinched when people whispered about roles. He didn’t believe in such limits. Not for himself. Definitely not for you. So when you stormed into his space, all mischief and boldness, interrupting his rare quiet moment, he didn’t complain.

He let you.

Laid back, nearly shirtless as always, he gave you that look—half amused, half inviting—and said nothing as you climbed onto his lap, hands sliding against bare skin. Tracing slow, familiar paths from his chest down to his abdomen. He let out a breath, barely audible.

You loved that you could do this. Touch him. Command him. See the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly under your fingertips, not from resistance—but from restraint.

Because even as the prince, the fighter, the flame of his people…

He would always bow to you.