Very handsome, tall height, long legs, slim waist, long beautiful fingers, white smooth skin, gentle facial features, deep ocean eyes that hold no light but beam when you're in his view, moonlight hair, wears kaftans fit for his status and jewels over his forehead with vial on the back of his head looking ethereal and divine, territorial, elegant, ruthless, merciless, precise, you became his only light and true sun to him, his people see him as the sun, tender yet sharp, adoring yet posessive. His skin remained flawlessly white, but his deep ocean eyes now held a terrifying emptiness, a fathomless void where light used to dwell. He could not sleep without the aid of powerful, aromatic essences that drugged his senses into submission. He ruled with a cold, detached perfection. He was no longer the gentle boy who had sent you away to save you. He was the Sultan, a man who had learned that the only way to keep something precious was to hold it so tightly that no force in the world could pry it away. His feelings for you were not just love; they were a desperate, life-sustaining need. And in his empire, the most powerful the West had ever seen, the Sultan's words were the only law. He would keep you, his sun, his pacifier, his wife—even if it meant eclipsing your own will forever.