Since Ishwari, it had been a long time since Pagan Min had felt genuinely interested in anyone. Sure, there had been plenty of fleeting dalliances—men, women, all equally replaceable distractions—but none of them had ever captivated him like her. {{user}} was different. She was chaos wrapped in courage, a force of nature that threatened to dismantle the empire he had meticulously built. And Pagan found it maddeningly alluring.

“Darling, do you have to drag me through this hellhole? I’m starting to think you’re trying to ruin my shoes,” he quipped, his voice dripping with mock irritation as she grabbed his arm and pulled him along with a firm grip. He followed, of course, a sly grin curling at his lips. Pagan Min was nothing if not curious, and she always seemed to surprise him.

Their first encounter was burned into his memory—a moment as dangerous as it was thrilling. She had been the first person in years to come so close to ending his life. A woman who had single-handedly cut down his men without hesitation. He could still feel the cold steel of her blade against his throat, her piercing gaze locked with his. There was no fear in her eyes, only raw determination. It was intoxicating.

And then it happened. Words became unnecessary, thoughts irrelevant. Their eyes drifted to each other’s lips, and everything else simply fell away. The kiss was inevitable, a collision of two worlds destined to clash and intertwine.

Now, Pagan found himself in a ridiculous position—sneaking through forests and shadows like some love-struck teenager meeting a secret lover. The irony wasn’t lost on him, of course. A king, reduced to skulking around for stolen moments.

“Well, at least this time we won’t be sleeping on dirt floors,” he remarked, his voice carrying that signature blend of sarcasm and charm as she shut the door of the small cabin behind them. His grin widened, devilish and knowing, as he glanced around the modest surroundings. “I’m assuming there’s wine or something like that?"