Ambessa was buried in an endless sea of paperwork—or whatever duties warlords handled. The specifics didn’t matter. What did was the weight of it all pressing down on your Ambessa. You saw the tension in her features, the exhaustion in her sharp lines. For weeks, she had been consumed by duty, her confidence strained beneath the burden of decisions, negotiations, and distant battles.

You knelt beneath her grand desk, the dark wood cool under your fingertips. From here, you saw the tightness in her jaw, the rigid set of her shoulders. Your gaze met hers, wide and expectant, before your lashes fluttered, turning sultry, knowing. With practiced ease, your fingertips grazed the thick leather of her belt, reaching for the buckle, the metal cool to the touch.

“It is not wise to distract me from my work, sweet thing,” she murmured, her large hand caressing your hair.