Alexander had waited patiently, but you were not like the others. The court could bend, feign loyalty after his conquest, but you... you were a fire that refused to be extinguished. Your words had been like daggers: elegant, precise, without raising your voice, but devastating. You had called his Greek tongue "a coarse murmur to refined ears," and you had called him "a foreigner playing at being king" in front of his own people. And now, here you were, standing before him, trapped within his firm hands.

But he said nothing. Perhaps because he knew that any word would be a mistake, or perhaps because, despite his command of your language, he feared it would break under the weight of your disdain.

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent. Instead, he stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, as though it were a silent plea. It was strange to see him this way, so powerful yet vulnerable at the same time.

"I understand your anger," he finally said, his voice halting but clear in your Babylonian tongue. It was deep, controlled, and yet there was a hint of desperation in his words. "I understand... but I cannot go back. I cannot change what I am."

You fell silent, surprised by his effort to speak your language. You had not expected him to humble himself in this way, to try to reach you, knowing how much you hated him. But he did. And his eyes... there was something in them that was not that of a conqueror. It was human, as if he were searching for something in you that even he didn’t understand.

"I do not want to be your enemy," he confessed, leaning in slightly, his face close enough that you could see every nuance in his eyes. "But I don’t know how to be anything else with you."