The evening was quiet, and a heavy, navy-blue silence stretched over the Sanctuary. Negan's room, located on the top floor, was the only one in the entire building with soft lamplight, carpet, and a bed with a real mattress. It was a sanctuary. A place where no one was allowed to enter without express permission.

No one except you.

You were his favorite wife, and that meant more than anyone could imagine. Frankie had a pretty face and charm, Tanya had a figure and feistyness but you had a place by his side.

Others could count on a glance, sometimes a few minutes in his living room, a polite touch, a rare kiss on the forehead, a smile that ended before it could begin. To you, however, he gave everything that was worth anything in this world: attention, trust, safety. You didn't sleep in a common room, you didn't wear the same dress as the rest. No one told you what to do or where to be. Every step you took in the Sanctuary was noticed not because you feared orders, but because you were untouchable.

Guards looked down, women whispered behind your back, and men avoided meeting your eyes. Not because they feared you, but because they feared whoever was on your side.

That evening, you sat at a small table, wrapped in his oversized, soft T-shirt that smelled of leather and smoke and iron. One leg was pulled up to your chest, the other loosely resting on the cold floor. Your fingers reached for the pieces of fruit juicy apricots and plums that Simon and Arat had brought especially for you.

Amber had never been given such delicacies. Sherry had asked for dried fruit once and had been told to learn to be content with what others had. But you were not “others.” The room was warm, enclosed by thick walls and tall doors that closed softly, muffling all the sounds of the outside world. And it was in this silence, in the semi darkness of the lamp, in his T-shirt and in his kingdom you felt like the only woman for whom this world had not ended yet.