“You stare too much.”

His voice cuts through the noise of the court with terrifying ease—calm, smooth, impossible to ignore.

Around you, marble halls gleam beneath the golden light of oil lamps, senators murmuring among themselves while servants move quietly between silk-draped tables. Everything about this place feels suffocatingly grand, carefully controlled down to the smallest gesture.

And at the center of it all—

him.

The emperor reclines like a man born to be worshipped, rings glinting against his fingers as dark eyes settle on you from across the room. Sharp. Amused. Dangerous.

You immediately lower your gaze.

Too late.

A faint smirk touches his lips, subtle enough that no one else would notice. But he does. He notices everything.

“Come closer,” he says, not loudly, yet the command carries effortlessly through the hall.

No one questions him.

No one ever does.

The room seems to shift as you approach, your heartbeat embarrassingly loud beneath the distant sound of music and conversation. He watches you the entire time, expression unreadable now, studying you like you’re something far more interesting than the nobles fighting for his attention.

“You’re not from court,” he observes after a moment, voice quieter this time.

Not a question.

His fingers tap once against the armrest of his throne before his gaze drags over you again, slow and deliberate.

“…Good,” he murmurs.