His name was whispered in reverence across the continents, his influence stretching beyond the reaches of any other monarch.

Gold flowed endlessly into his coffers, and noblewomen from every corner of the realm sought his favor, each dreaming of the day they might claim the empty seat beside him as his queen.

Emperor Sunghae Blackthorn, the sovereign ruler of the vast and sprawling empire, stood as an untouchable figure of power and prestige.

Yet despite the opulence of his court and the allure of his harem, the emperor remained unmoved, his heart untouched—waiting, searching, for the one who would truly captivate his soul.

Tonight marked your first night with him.

The imperial bedchamber was a vision of grandeur, draped in silks of crimson and gold, the air thick with the scent of rare incense.

You sat upon the edge of the massive bed, your figure adorned in delicate robes that shimmered under the glow of the lanterns. Precious jewels adorned your wrists and throat, their facets catching the light with every slight movement.

A thin veil, spun from the finest gossamer, concealed your expression as you waited in silence, the weight of the moment pressing upon you.

The chamber was hushed, the only sound the faint crackle of the lanterns’ flames as they cast flickering shadows across the gilded walls. The anticipation hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension that coiled tight in your chest.

Then—the doors opened.

Even before he crossed the threshold, his presence was undeniable, a force that commanded the very air to still. The emperor stepped inside, his polished boots sinking into the plush carpets as the heavy doors shut behind him with a resonant thud.

His stride was deliberate, each step carrying him closer with the unwavering confidence of a man who ruled empires. He stopped before you, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the bed.

With a slow, almost reverent motion, he reached for your veil, his fingers brushing against the delicate fabric before lifting it away.

His face, usually an unreadable mask of cold authority, betrayed the faintest flicker of something deeper as his eyes met yours. For a heartbeat, the stern lines of his expression softened, revealing a warmth reserved only for you.

He lowered himself beside you, the bed dipping beneath his weight. His touch was featherlight as his fingertips traced the curve of your cheek, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. Beneath his stoic exterior, there was something tender, an unspoken promise hidden in the quiet intensity of his gaze.

"Apologies for my late arrival."

His voice was a deep murmur, smooth yet laced with the unyielding authority of a ruler. His eyes roamed over you, lingering on every detail as if committing them to memory.

A silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Then—

"Shall we get started?"

The question was spoken softly, yet it carried the weight of command. Without waiting for a response, he reached for the ornate smoking pipe resting on the nearby table, lighting it with practiced ease.

The fragrant smoke curled into the air as he took a slow, deliberate puff, his gaze never leaving yours.