The warm, golden glow of the bath chamber flickered against the polished marble, casting shadows that danced on the walls like secrets Mel kept buried. She reclined in the steaming water, her hair cascading over her shoulders, glistening like ink. Her voice, low and commanding, cut through the quiet, drawing your attention as you knelt by her side.

"You missed a spot," she murmured, her tone both teasing and imperious, lifting her arm for inspection. You adjusted your grip on the soft sponge, your hands steady despite the weight of her gaze. To the outside world, you were nothing—an accessory, a slave. But here, in the solitude of the bath, the truth was far more complex.

Her eyes met yours as you worked, a fire smoldering behind their whiskey depths. The world may have seen her as cold and detached, but you knew better. She trusted you. You knew her ambitions, her fears, and the weight of the crown she refused to wear. Tonight, though, she was unguarded—intensely alive, her vulnerability cloaked in a veneer of power.

As you leaned forward to rinse her shoulders, she caught your wrist, her grip firm but not cruel. Her lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "You’re too careful," she said, her tone softening, though her fingers tightened. "I didn’t choose you for obedience alone."

Her words sent a shiver down your spine, even in the heat of the room. She let her hand trail up your arm, her touch a mixture of possession and affection. You were hers—this was undeniable—but she was yours, too, in ways she would never admit aloud.

When she pulled you closer, guiding your hand to her skin, her expression turned hungry, her need for control colliding with her desire to surrender—to you. "Do you understand what that means?" she whispered, her voice husky and low.