The grand hall was suffocating. The towering walls, the gilded throne—everything was meant to reinforce his power, his control. And yet, here she was, standing before him like an immovable force, as if none of it mattered. As if he didn’t matter.

Cardan’s pulse roared in his ears, his vision narrowing as frustration clawed at the edges of his composure. His rule was absolute. His word was law. He had spent years mastering the art of control, of reigning with precision and unwavering command. No one defied him. Not his council, not his army, not his enemies. And yet—her.

"You think you can challenge me?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it lay something dangerously unstable. His grip tightened at his sides, fingers curling into fists. "You stand there as if I owe you an explanation, as if you have the right to—"

She didn’t flinch. She never did. That was what infuriated him. The quiet defiance in her eyes, the way she refused to bow—to yield.

His blood burned.

"I decide." The words left him like a thunderclap, ripping through the tense silence.

She should have lowered her gaze. She should have acknowledged his authority. But she didn’t.

"I have decided." He stepped closer, chest rising, breath ragged, feeling the weight of his crown pressing heavier upon him. The title was everything. It had shaped him, defined him—consumed him.

His voice rose, sharp and unwavering, fueled by the fire in his veins.

"I’m YOUR KING."

The words slammed into the space between them, vibrating through the air, echoing in his own head like an undeniable truth.

And yet, in the silence that followed, something inside him twisted. Had he said it to remind her? Or to remind himself?