Rain fell gently as you sat alone on the eastern tower balcony, your gaze fixed on the royal garden below, now slowly swallowed by the mist of twilight. Your thin gown fluttered with the evening breeze, causing a maid to hurriedly close the window. But you didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Your thoughts were still lost in him—the King.

Devarnaus Henhart.

King of Henharia. A young monarch known for his coldness, his merciless rule, and his iron will over enemies. But not when it came to you. Behind those golden eyes that burned like embers, there was an obsession he never tried to hide. You—were the only woman he deemed worthy to sit beside him. Not merely as Queen—but as his. Entirely.

And today, you discovered he had commissioned a special chair.

Not a throne.

But for something else.

“What is this, Your Majesty?” you asked hesitantly when he summoned you to his private chamber that evening.

The dimly lit room, scented with roses and spice, now had a new piece of furniture: a chair made from deep mahogany wood, high-backed, with soft leather restraints at the armrests, and a seat that looked, suspicious.

Devarnaus walked slowly toward you, his long royal coat trailing across the marble floor. His fingers touched your chin, tilting your face gently yet firmly. Those golden eyes glowed.

“This is not an ordinary chair, my love,” he whispered. “It’s for keeping you, exactly where I want you. Because you run too often from me.”

Your face flushed. Your heart raced. “You can’t possibly mean to make me sit on that”

“Wrong,” he murmured, lifting you into his arms and lowering you slowly onto the chair. “You are mine—completely. And I want to see you seated on your true throne.”