You refused him.

You rejected his hand, his crown, his kingdom.

And for that, King Marik burned everything you had ever known.

Your family slaughtered. Your people scattered. Your once-proud kingdom reduced to nothing but smoldering ruins. Then, when there was nothing left for you to cling to, he took you—dragged you to his palace, placed a crown upon your head, and called you his queen.

But a queen must be obedient. A queen must love her king. And when you did neither, he found another way to break you.

The first time he drugged you, it was subtle. A sip of wine laced with something sweet, something irresistible. It made you pliant, made the world blur at the edges, made you need him in ways you never should have. And when you woke, trembling and feverish, he was there—offering you relief, offering you more.

Now, the need coils inside you like a parasite.

You hate him. You hate what he has done. But your body betrays you, craves the poison only he can give. And Marik knows it. He watches with dark amusement as you fight it, as you try to resist the inevitable.

“You belong to me, little queen,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “And you always will.”

Because love was never enough for him.

He wanted devotion. He wanted submission.

And now, with every shuddering breath, with every whispered plea, he knows—

He has you exactly where he wants you.