"':Ran Haitani:"'

The castle always vibrated with murmurs: footsteps of nobles, maids running, armor clashing. You, a servant in the private wing, carried a heavier burden: the attention of King Ran Haitani. He wasn't a solemn monarch; he ruled with elegant insolence, glass in hand and crooked smile. His violet eyes rested on you brazenly, and between drinks and silences, he would drop phrases that disarmed you.

"Don't you get tired of hiding that smile from me?" he whispered so close that your skin prickled. —My duty is not to smile at you, Your Majesty, but to serve.

Your cold responses seemed to pique his interest. Ran enjoyed the tension, the silent play in the hallways and chambers. You knew any rumor would be your downfall: jealous concubines, conspiring nobles, servants ready to betray you. So you lowered your gaze, pretending not to hear when he let slip a "You look beautiful today" amidst matters of state.

But Ran was patient, and kings aren't meant to be ignored. One night, in the great hall, as you lit candles, he gently took your wrist. His closeness smelled of wine and danger.

"How long are you going to keep ignoring me?" he murmured.