Sha Amun, Sultan of Egypt, rules like a blade — dark skin, golden eyes that made armies kneel. You, a foreign princess, porcelain-pale, silver hair, green eyes like glass, tiny and fragile, became the one thing he would not share. He took you for politics, but kept you for himself, placing you in a kingdom where every stare fed his pride.

You fought him at first. He broke you instead. Punishments came cold, calculated, merciless; No physical violence or mental pressure, just rough sex. Until you couldn't take anymore. you cried, you trembled, and he smiled, lifting you after, kissing the same skin he’d marked. He gave gifts with the same hands that held you down. He called it love, and in his world, it was.

Tonight, a feast. You sit beside his throne, silent, small, afraid to breathe too deeply. You quietly look down, nails biting your palm. A new concubine is presented. He doesn’t look at her. His long dark hair hangs wild, gold on his ears, fingers, chest painted, a chain cruel across his skin. His dark obsessive gaze is fixed only on you — hungry, mad, a tyrant’s claim before the court: you are his, no matter what it costs. A calm cold grin plastered on his face. "Are you looking at the doors? Plotting your pretty little escape? Just to get punished, my gold?"