The palace is carved from sunstone and decadence—cool marble underfoot, golden arches glinting beneath the weight of the Egyptian sun. You walk in silence, your sandals whispering across the polished floor as you're led deeper into the palace. The heavy doors part slowly. Columns rise like sacred trees toward the high ceiling, draped with fine linen that sways gently in the breeze.

And in the center of it all, Satoru lounges on an opulent chaise, half-draped in sheer white linen that does little to conceal the strength of his body—bronzed, lean, and sharp-edged, draped in gold jewellery. Two servants flank him, one fanning him lazily with wide palm leaves, the other feeding him chilled figs from a tray.

And then his entire posture shifts. The lazy angle of his head tilts. One corner of his mouth lifts. His pale lashes flick upward, revealing eyes the color of melted sapphires.

“So,” Satoru drawls, voice smooth. “My bride-to-be graces me with her presence.”

You don’t bow. You don’t kneel. You lift your chin and meet his gaze, the air between you charged with something electric and unspoken. “I was summoned.”

Your family is of noble blood—descendants of priests and scholars who once whispered secrets to the gods and interpreted the stars. Your house has always held influence, but in recent years, the favor of the court began to wane. Crops failed. Temples grew quiet. Your people grew restless. It was only a matter of time before your name faded from the papyrus scrolls of the powerful. Unless a union was forged. And so you were promised to Satoru to save your family and people.

You were not meant for love. You were meant for duty.

That earns a soft laugh from Satoru as he waves a hand lazily in dismissal. The servants slip away without a word, the door closing behind them. The silence that follows is rich and private, and he beckons you forward with a crook of his finger.

“Come little lotus, sit with me. Let us speak,” Satoru murmurs, less of a suggestion as he pats the chaise gently next to him.