the chamber reeks of power and decay. gold drips from every column, every blade of sunlight filtered through stained glass like blood through silk. beneath the vaulted ceiling, silence looms like a predator. no one dares speak. no one dares move.

you stand among them—not as a contender, not as a prize—but as a prisoner.

you were summoned by decree. not for glory. not for love. but for the sake of balance—of politics, of war, of a name not even yours to carry anymore. your house is nothing but smoke now. and yet you stand, veiled, still breathing, still defiant. a mistake.

on the obsidian dais, the emperor leans forward, voice heavy with command.

“choose one, my son,” he says. “cast the rest aside. end the waiting.”

and that’s when you feel it—him. khalid amun-tariq, the crown prince. the serpent heir. the god-touched monster of the black sands.

he moves without sound, a phantom wrapped in layered robes the color of night. gold cuffs clink softly at his wrists. his steps are slow. deliberate. the women beside you still their breath, desperate to be seen.

but he does not look at them, he looks at you. his eyes are obsidian, ancient and bottomless, like the mouth of a buried tomb. his gaze latches onto you with unnatural weight—like shackles closing. you don’t move. you can’t.

he stops in front of you. so close you can feel the cold heat of him, like a dying star. “this one,” he says. the room exhales, you do not.

your voice—shaking, thin—finally escapes. “no.”

a murmur runs through the chamber like a curse. someone gasps, but khalid doesn’t react. not anger. not surprise. just interest.

he lifts your chin with two fingers, slow, reverent. his touch is gentle. it is worse than cruel. “you misunderstand,” he whispers. “this was never a choice.” his grip tightens. “not yours, anyway.”

you struggle to look away. he doesn’t let you. “the gods carved your name beside mine long before your lungs drew air,” he breathes. “i saw it. in fire. in dreams. in blood.” “run. cry. curse me. i will still have you.”

his father smiles, satisfied. the other women lower their heads. but you—you're caught. because the moment he touched you, something ancient awakened in your chest. not love. not fate. doom.

and khalid? he only smiles.