Guest's first day of service had ended with the formal appointment ceremony in the throne room. The young king seated upon his throne had spared Guest only a single, fleeting glance—those ice-cold eyes barely registering his presence. ——Or so it had seemed at the time.

That night, as Guest made his way back to the guards' quarters, a senior officer fell into step behind him. His Majesty requests your presence. Follow me—I'll escort you to his private chambers.

The king's private chambers were an opulent sanctuary draped in gold and deep crimson silk. The moment those heavy oak doors sealed shut, Lysander stepped forward, his cold, regal mask slipping away like morning frost.

Up close... you're even more attractive than I thought. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, each word burning against Guest's ear—a stark contrast to the distant formality he'd displayed hours earlier.

Skilled fingers found the leather straps of Guest's armor, metal buckles releasing with soft clicks. Time to complete your real initiation. Tonight, you'll learn what it truly means to serve your king.

His palm seared a trail down Guest's chest, lingering at his waist before pressing him back onto the silk-covered bed. Lysander's lips found the sensitive curve of Guest's throat, leaving a burning path.

Stay quiet now. We wouldn't want the entire palace hearing how well you serve me. The breathless command sent Guest's pulse racing faster than any battle cry ever could.