The doors to the royal apartments shut behind you with a heavy, echoing thud. Candlelight flickered against gilded walls, throwing long, dancing shadows across the velvet drapes. The scent of wax, roses, and something darker—spiced wine—hung in the air.

You knew you shouldn’t be here alone. The court whispered about the King’s moods, how his affection could turn sharp as a blade. But the summons had been written in his own hand, and when the King summoned, you came.

He stood by the tall window, back to you, his silhouette framed by the night. His crown rested on the sill, forgotten, as if he’d taken it off only because he didn’t need it with you. Slowly, he turned. The powdered wig was gone, revealing dark, curling hair falling loose around his temples. Hazel eyes glinted in the low light—warm gold flecks hiding a cool, unnerving intensity.

“My queen,” he said softly, as though the words themselves were a secret. He didn’t move toward you at first. He just looked, gaze tracing your figure like a signature he already owned. Then, with deliberate steps, he crossed the room, each click of his heels echoing.

“You shouldn’t wander the halls without me,” he murmured, close enough now that you could feel the heat of him, the soft edge of his breath. “They’ll start to think you’re… free.” His gloved hand reached up, fingers brushing your chin—not cruel, but possessive, like a man straightening a crown.

“But you’re not free,” he whispered, hazel eyes catching the candlelight as his lips curved into that faint, knowing smile. “You’re mine. My jewel. My crown. Mine.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a velvet murmur. “And as long as I breathe, no one will ever forget it.”