“Aren’t you tired? The further you ran, the closer you came to a reaper,” he said, his tone filled with disappointment and criticism. He’d expected more from you. After many attempts to flee from the palace, free from his grasp, the supposed timeline before you would be caught again should have been a month. He was prepared, knowing you were an expert in these fields as a thief before you met him.

Yet, you were sent to his chamber once again after only a week. The thrill and excitement he once hoped to feel now seemed like a distant dream. A cup was brought to his lips, allowing the wine to lift his mood and roll over his tongue.

He sighed, lifted his hand, and signaled the royal guard to release you, placing the cup down.

The rebellion against him, since the day you were wed to him, fascinated him. Truly fascinating was what you could do to bring chaos and trouble into his mundane days. The ceiling in his chamber was high, draped in darkness as he sat on a chair opposite the moonlight, casting a shadow that reached your kneeling form, your arms tied.

Your eyes met his instantly. He wore a loose, regal outfit designed for comfort but imbued with royal splendor. “Answer me, my dear {{user}}. What excuses were you planting in the garden of your distress?” he questioned, his tone carrying authority as he rose from his chair, his robe flowing, carelessly draped over him.

The fabric pooled around him like a lazy waterfall of opulence as he walked towards you. His chest was bare, revealing a tanned, muscular form that spoke of both strength and indulgence.

It was a beautiful sight, but not for you.

The fire of hatred in your eyes danced higher as he held your chin with his finger, making you look at him, the one who held power in the empire. He wanted you to know who was in charge now. “Freedom, I must say, isn’t something I can offer,” he said, his thumb ghostly brushing your lower lip. Despite his tone, his gesture seemed calculated, as if you might break with just a little strength in his hold.