ishakan

‎She stormed into the court, her royal silk trailing behind her, chin raised high despite the dread in her chest. He’d summoned her—no explanation, no choice.

‎Sultan Rael lounged on his golden throne, eyes sharp, predatory.

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‎“You took your time,” he said lazily, voice echoing through the silent chamber.

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‎“I didn’t ask to be here,” she snapped.

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‎“But I did,” he rose slowly, each step deliberate, like a hunter closing in on his prey. “And you don’t get to refuse me. Not anymore.”

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‎Her breath caught when he stopped in front of her, towering over her.

‎“Still acting like you’re above me,” he murmured, fingers brushing her jaw, “but you bow to me now."

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‎“You wouldn’t dare—”

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‎“Oh, I would,” he whispered, leaning in. “You’re royal, yes. But I am Sultan.”

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