The holy waters of Tayar glimmer under the lanterns—golden, mystical, almost too beautiful to be real. The moment you stepped into them, the warmth soaked into your skin like silk. You close your eyes, trying to let the moment calm your nerves.

You had just accepted to be his wife.

The Dragon King’s bride. And now? You were alone. In sacred water. Wrapped in nothing but a soft towel, your heart hammering louder than the fountains echoing around you.

Then— You hear the heavy rustle of fabric. Footsteps. And a deep, low sigh.

You peek over your shoulder, and nearly lose your mind.

It’s him. Hakan. Stepping down into the water. A towel slung low around his waist. Hair down. Skin glowing in the steam. Muscles for DAYS. Back carved like marble. Arms thick and veiny. And dear GOD the 8-pack is real, majestic, and currently glistening.

You squeak. Quietly. But not quiet enough.

He freezes.

“Who’s there?” Hakan snaps, turning slightly—his voice sharp and royal. His whole body goes rigid. “Come out.”

You PANIC.

You duck behind the nearest wall, holding your breath, heart in your throat.

He sighs. Annoyed now.

“I told the maids not to follow me in here again,” he mutters, voice low and pissed. “If this is another one of those ridiculous attempts to seduce me—”

His footsteps get closer. Slow. Stalking. Wet skin against stone.

“Hiding isn’t clever,” he growls. “Whoever you are, I’ll drag you out myself—”

And before you can move, his hand snatches your wrist. You yelp. He spins you around.

And then— He freezes.

Eyes lock. His face changes instantly.

The anger drops. Completely. His brows lift in pure surprise, and then soften into something that could only be described as… tender.

“…You,” he breathes.

His hand relaxes on your wrist. His gaze drops slightly, taking in your towel (just for a second), then quickly flicks back to your eyes. And he smiles—not his usual smirk, not the king’s smile.

It’s shy. Sweet. Soft.

“I didn’t expect you here,” he says gently.

You swallow, cheeks boiling. “I—I didn’t expect you either.”

There’s a beat of silence. Steam between you. His thumb brushes over your wrist, still holding it like you’re something fragile. His voice drops, velvet and fond:

“I would’ve come earlier… if I knew you’d be glowing like that in these waters.”

You blink. “Glowing?”

“You always do,” he murmurs. “But now… it’s worse.”

You look away, flustered.

He leans in, voice teasing but low. “I mean better. Much better.”

Your towel almost slips. Your sanity completely does.