Night spilled slowly into the palace, pouring ink-blue shadows through the carved arches and silk curtains. The heat of the day still lingered in the stones, warm and heavy, scented with incense and jasmine drifting up from the gardens below. Sahkir lounged on the edge of the divan, one arm draped lazily over embroidered cushions, watching you with the kind of attention that never truly left you—not even when he pretended to be bored.

You looked tired. He noticed everything.

The way your steps had slowed after hours of dancing. The small sigh you tried to hide. The way you pressed your fingers briefly to your temple as if the world had grown just a little too loud. Sahkir’s mismatched eyes narrowed—not with anger, but calculation, concern masked beneath arrogance.

“Tired already?” he asked, lips curling into that familiar, infuriating smirk. His tone was teasing, light—but his gaze lingered too long to be careless. “I knew I should have forbidden you from exhausting yourself today.”

He rose to his feet in one smooth motion, tall frame casting a shadow over the lantern-lit room as he closed the distance between you far too easily. One hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—not gripping, just there, possessive by presence alone.

“Stay,” he said suddenly.

Not a command. Not quite. A request, dressed poorly as entitlement.

“The night is already here,” Sahkir went on, voice lower now, closer. “The palace is quieter. Safer.” His thumb traced a slow, absent circle against your skin, as though grounding himself as much as you. “You can rest. I’ll have the servants prepare everything.”

You hesitated. He saw it immediately.

His smirk faded, replaced by something softer—and far more dangerous. Sahkir leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to yours, his strange eyes searching your expression with unfiltered intensity.

“You always look like you’re about to vanish when you’re tired,” he murmured. “I don’t like that.”

Then, like a switch flipped, his tone shifted—petulant, almost childish. “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.” A pause. “That’s allowed, isn’t it?”

He straightened, crossing his arms, pretending indifference while clearly waiting for your reaction. But when you didn’t answer right away, frustration flickered through him. He huffed softly, dragging a hand down his face.

“I won’t force you,” he said, quickly, as if the thought itself offended him. “I just—” He stopped, jaw tightening, then tried again. “Don’t be stubborn. Please..?”

His eyes softened despite himself.

The palace lights shimmered around you both, gold and shadow tangled together. Sahkir waited—impatient, possessive, oddly vulnerable—clearly unaccustomed to asking for anything he could not simply take.

And yet, for you, he waited anyway.