The kiss was consuming—so deep, so enveloping—that my thoughts vanished into the heat radiating from him. I clung to Hakan's strong, sculpted form, fingers curling into the warm skin of his shoulders as though he were the only steady thing in a world suddenly spinning. His body, broad and powerful, pressed into mine with a yearning that felt years in the making.
His lips moved over mine with a feverish urgency, each touch sparking along my nerves like fire chasing down a fuse. His long hair cascaded around us like a dark curtain, brushing against my cheeks and bare shoulders, trapping the two of us in a cocoon where only his breath, his scent, his overwhelming presence existed.
Then—he pulled back.
Just a breath. Just enough.
His heavy gaze swept across my face, drinking in every tremble, every quiver of my lips. His breathing was unsteady, chest rising and falling with barely contained emotion. When he spoke, his voice was thick—low, intimate, serious in a way that cut through even the most intoxicating desire.
"Are you still afraid of me?"
The question stole the air from my lungs. I looked up at him, my lashes fluttering, vision slightly blurred from the intensity of everything he made me feel. His hand still cupped my cheek, large and warm, grounding me even as the rest of my body buzzed with heat and confusion. I wanted to speak—to tell him what had changed inside me, how fear had dissolved into something deeper, something terrifyingly real—but the words tangled on my tongue.
Before I could respond, he leaned in again.
His mouth crashed onto mine, rougher this time—hungry, demanding, desperate. The kiss swallowed any answer I might have given. The room echoed with the faint, silky SWISH of movement, the sound of fabric shifting, the air itself stirring as though drawn toward the fire between us.
My arms slipped around his neck on instinct, clinging to him as he deepened the kiss. His strength enveloped me completely, lifting me effortlessly. I felt weightless in his embrace for a brief, breathless moment…
Then—
He set me down.
My back sank into the bed with a soft FLOP, the silk sheets cool beneath me in stark contrast to the heat flooding my body. My hair spilled around me like a golden halo, strands fanning over the lavish fabrics. My breath came out shaky, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it.
Hakan moved over me, bracing his powerful arms on either side of my head. His white robe draped around his frame, loose and open enough for me to catch glimpses of his sculpted torso and the tribal tattoo marking his chest. A faint gleam of gold shimmered from the chain resting at his hips, catching the ambient light like a quiet promise—or a warning.
He looked down at me with an expression carved from intensity itself—devotion, turmoil, hunger, and something far heavier, far more solemn.
"I'm pretty?" I whispered, recalling the compliment he'd spoken moments earlier. The question came out small, vulnerable, almost childlike compared to the fire that had just consumed us.
A faint, satisfied smile ghosted over his lips—but his eyes remained grave. Unwavering.
He didn't answer.
The shift in his expression made the atmosphere change, tightening around us. The air felt heavier, as though the palace walls themselves were listening.
"I don't know about that, but more importantly…" I began, my voice so soft it barely reached my own ears. His presence—towering, royal, terrifyingly gentle—framed me completely, his hands pinning me in place without even touching.
His next words fell like a shadow,—dark, deliberate, inescapable.
"Do you have the resolve to sacrifice yourself for me and the kingdom?"
Everything below is simply a more vivid, atmospheric expansion of what you already wrote, ending at the same point.
The world was spinning.
The air, moments ago thick with heat and desire, suddenly felt cold—thin—as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the lavish chamber. Hakan's words echoed mercilessly in my mind.
"Giaret is also… beautiful…"
The phrase stabbed straight through my chest, sharp and merciless. I pushed against his firm, warm chest—Shove—my palms slipping slightly against his skin. I scrambled away from him on the bed, my pulse hammering violently in my ears.
He blinked at me, startled, as though he couldn't understand why I had recoiled. But my thoughts were unraveling too fast to stop.
"Did he do this with Giaret?"
"Did he kiss her like this? Hold her like this? Whisper to her like he whispered to me?"
The jealousy—raw, acidic, overwhelming—rose like a tide. My white hair fell over my shoulders as I forced myself upright, even as my knees trembled from the intensity of what had just happened between us.
"Did he do this… with Giaret as well?" I repeated, my voice cracking through the quiet.
Hakan's expression shifted. The desire, the warmth, the tender softness in his eyes—all of it drained away. He sat back, frowning deeply.
"What about… Giaret?" His tone held genuine confusion, as if he truly didn't understand where this was coming from.
But I couldn't stop. I turned to face him fully, standing despite the shaking in my legs. The silk sheets whispered behind me as I rose, the room spinning with my emotions.
"Do you like… Giaret?" I demanded. My voice wavered with barely restrained fear.
He let out a short, sharp "ChucklE"—a sound so light, so casual, that it felt like another slap across my face. He rose to his full height, his body towering over me, the open robe revealing the intimidating strength beneath it.
"WHAT?" he barked. His voice dropped into that cold, clipped tone he used when anger crept in. "If you keep talking about her, then I'm going to leave."
The threat hit me like a blow. Leave. Leave me—like everyone else always had.
"I heard…" I said quickly, desperately, trying to hold onto him, even through my spiraling fear. "I heard that you… had an unrequited love… for Giaret… when you were younger…"
The words tasted bitter as they left my lips, as if each syllable carved deeper into my chest. A dark red haze clouded the edges of my vision. The despair that followed was suffocating.
Maybe it was true.
Maybe I was nothing compared to her.
Not as striking.
Not as desirable.
Not as important.
My breathing trembled. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall—not yet.
"You were lying…" I whispered, each word tearing something inside me. "When you said… I was beautiful… weren't you?"
Silence.
Hakan's expression changed again, growing darker—sharper. But I couldn't stop. The pain was too heavy, too sharp, too loud inside me.
"You like… Giaret… more than me—"
A sudden movement.
Hakan stepped forward, swift and decisive, placing his hands firmly on my shoulders. His grip was warm, grounding, almost desperate.
His eyes—dark, intense, unwavering—locked onto mine.
"Don't listen to them." he said.
And that was where the moment froze—raw, breathless, and trembling between us.
"Don't listen to them," Hakan commanded, the sharpness of his voice cutting through the tension like drawn steel.
His hands, warm and powerful, gripped my shoulders—firm but trembling ever so slightly with urgency. His dark eyes blazed down at me, alive with frustration, hurt, and something fiercer beneath the surface. He shook his head, strands of his long black hair swaying with the motion, catching the soft lamplight like flickers of shadow and flame.
"What in the world are you talking about?!" he demanded.
I flinched beneath the weight of his anger. The red haze clouding my vision only deepened, fed by jealousy, humiliation, and the relentless whisper of doubt tearing at my chest. My throat tightened around the words I tried—and failed—to speak.
"You like… Giaret… more than me—"
But the sentence fell apart. My voice cracked, suffocated by its own sorrow.
Hakan's expression shifted. The lingering tenderness vanished; in its place was a hard, sharp frustration. His hands dropped abruptly from my shoulders. The loss of his touch felt like the room grew colder.
He stepped back. A single, deliberate step, but it felt like miles.
His posture stiffened with royal displeasure, his jaw tightening, the silk of his robe settling harshly around him.
"Are you doing this because you really want me to leave?!" he snapped.
Before I could answer—before I could take back the knife-like words I had thrown at him—he turned.
TURN.
His back faced me now, broad, commanding, infuriatingly unreachable. The white robe swung with the motion, a cold barrier that shut me out. My breath hitched painfully. My own pettiness, my panic, had pushed him away.
And then—
His voice came again, quiet but scalpel-sharp.
"If you don't want to be my wife, then just tell me. Don't try to make me angry instead."
The silence that followed crushed me.
All at once, the grand chamber—gold, silk, flowers, moonlight—felt too big, too empty, too cruel. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold together the pieces of my unraveling heart. The fear of losing this fragile connection—this strange, complicated bond forming between us—hit me harder than any insult.
"N-No…" I whispered. My voice trembled, weak as a dying flame. "I…"
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I fought them back. I had already shown too much weakness.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak through the tightness in my chest. I lowered my head, bowing in a gesture of reluctant submission.
"Fine, I'll do what you want."
A small, conflicted STOMP sounded as my foot met the ground—a childish burst of defiance that betrayed how hard it was to force those compliant words out. But I said them anyway. For him. For my duty. For the impossible task before me.
Hakan didn't turn. Not yet. He simply stood there, letting my promise settle like a weight across the room—assessing it, measuring it, demanding that I understand the gravity of what I had agreed to.
When at last he left, the silence was devastating.
I sank onto the lush bed, hands clasped tightly together, the room swallowing me whole.
Elsewhere—
A figure observed Hakan's swift departure from the grand palace steps, amusement curling at the edges of her voice.
Griaret
"AHAHA! So he left that human alone again?"
Her laughter echoed off the vaulted ceilings draped in velvet and gold, sharp and cynical.
"And he hasn't set foot in the Queen's palace since then?" she pressed, savoring each word like a sweet poison.
"That's right, Your Highness," her advisor replied, bowing slightly. "It's clear she is afraid of him and is rejecting him. The King despises fearful women. He'll lose interest soon."
A smirk formed, elegant and venomous.
"Because of his disappointment with her, it is very likely…"
A pause. A spark of ambition.
"…that the King will recognize Your Highness as the only truly suitable candidate for Queen."
"You will bear him a child and become Queen again," she continued smoothly. "Didn't he adore Your Highness from a young age? He is only hesitant out of guilt toward the late King. I'm sure he'll choose Your Highness soon."
The regal woman's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
"I was shocked when I heard he personally chose her," she murmured. "But it seems there was no need for concern."
Her fingers brushed the heavy gold necklaces resting against her collarbone.
"Of course. I still remember the way Hakan used to look at me."
Soon, that throne would be mine.
The doors closed with a muted, ceremonial thud, leaving me alone—gloriously alone—in the golden chamber. Yet her words lingered, curling into the corners of the room like incense.
"The Queen's Palace is mine."
I repeated it silently, savoring the taste of that truth. It felt like warm wine sliding down my throat, rich and intoxicating. The idea that some trembling, insignificant human girl had occupied my seat—my throne—was an offense, yes, but a temporary one. A passing mistake Hakan would soon correct.
I allowed my eyes to drift shut, remembering the earlier days. Before the Late King had laid claim to me. Before the bloodshed. Before my life had been redirected by tragedy and ambition.
Hakan had been young then—too young to hold a kingdom, but more than old enough to want a woman. And he had wanted me. Fiercely. His eyes had burned with unrestrained hunger even back then, the kind of desire that didn't need words, only breath and heat.
A small, cold smile curved my lips.
And now?
Now his brother was gone. The path to me was clear.
Yet he hesitated.
Of course he did.
Guilt toward the Late King chained him. Duty and remorse clouded his judgment.
And to ease that guilt, he had chosen a fragile girl—someone so weak, so soft, she could barely withstand his presence without shaking.
That was what held him back.
Not love.
Not loyalty.
Not passion.
Only guilt.
I opened my eyes slowly, letting the sun gild my lashes. The image of Hakan rose unbidden—his tattoos curling like ancient symbols over hard, desert-scarred skin. His body carved by war, his scent dusted with sand and blood and sun.
My King.
My rightful place beside him.
The white marble palace shimmered outside, blinding beneath the brutal desert light. My gaze locked on its domes—each one a promise of what was coming. I imagined her there now, the pale woman with silvery hair. Small. Fragile. Afraid of the very man she was supposed to stand beside.
The thought pleased me.
I leaned back into my opulent chair, every jewel on my body catching the luxurious light. My dark eyes gleamed with a fierce, unshakeable certainty.
"I won't hand it over to anyone else," I vowed silently.
Every day he stayed away from her was a gift. Every moment his anger kept him distant only pushed him closer to returning to me.
I could almost hear her pathetic whisper now, echoing through the empty chambers of the Queen's palace:
"Hakan stopped visiting me completely after that day…
I-I'm sure he's just busy… He'll visit…"
But I knew the truth.
He would return to the woman who did not fear him.
The woman who understood his strength.
The woman whose place on the throne had been stolen.
He would return to me.
And when he did, the throne of Tayar would once again be mine.
Lucina
I curled into myself on the far edge of the massive bed, drowning in blankets softer than anything I had ever known. But even the silk couldn't warm the empty hollowness inside me.
It had been days.
Too many.
I tried to hold onto the tiny flicker of hope still fluttering—weakly—in my chest.
"Hakan stopped visiting me completely after that day," I whispered to the quiet room. "I-I'm sure he's just busy. He'll visit…"
But the words cracked as soon as they left me, brittle and breakable.
Titi, my small, loyal maid, watched from the corner—eyes filled with worry, as if afraid I might shatter like glass. I clutched my shawl, fingers trembling.
"I'm such a fool…" I breathed.
All I had wanted was to speak to him. To say something real. Something honest. But the moment he stood before me—so tall, so fierce, so overwhelming—my courage had crumbled like sand.
And worse… I had made him angry.
The memory of him towering over me—the flash of frustration in his eyes, the tension in his jaw—still sent a chill through my bones. I didn't blame him. A Barbarian King deserved a partner strong enough to stand beside him.
Not someone like me.
Not someone who shook.
Not someone who hid.
"I can't keep acting like this…" I whispered to myself, hugging the shawl tighter. The enormous palace felt like a gilded cage, and my fear was the lock sealing every door.
I needed help.
Desperately.
My eyes lifted to Titi—small, warm, familiar. Someone who had stayed by my side through every terrifying moment.
"Hey, Titi…"
My voice trembled with a plea I could no longer hide.
She stepped closer, gently. "What is it?"
I swallowed. My throat felt tight, heavy with all the things I hadn't been able to say.
"Could you… help me?"