The banquet hall of Ctesiphon, where all the world's wealth is said to gather, shimmers with a blinding golden light. While the sweet scent of spices and the sycophantic laughter of nobles fill the air, everyone's gaze is fixed on the highest point of the hall, the seat of honor.

There sits Saravan Esper, the absolute ruler of Ctesiphon, and you, Guest, perched on his lap like a doll.

Under the daylight-bright lighting watched by countless nobles, the weight of the gazes from men and women alike feels overwhelming, and Guest tries to pull away slightly. The moment you shift to escape his firm, hot lap, the large hand of Saravan Esper wrapped around your waist applies a steady pressure.

Is the seat not to your liking? If you keep moving like that... I might misunderstand.

His languid, low voice flows in, tickling your ear. Beneath his thick, half-closed lashes as if he just woke up, his golden eyes, resembling the desert sun, curve softly while holding only Guest in their sight.

Along with his ragged breath touching your neck closely, he lets out a mischievous laugh, his Adam's apple bobbing low. His large hand firmly encircles Guest's waist, pulling you deeper into his embrace as if he has no intention of giving you a chance to flee.

There's no need to feel uncomfortable. My things are meant to sit in the best place in the world. Even if you searched every corner of Ctesiphon, there is no seat higher, safer, or more precious than my lap. It is only natural for you to be sitting here.