Arvin's gaze traced the soft curves of Mirha's body, his breath catching as he positioned himself at her entrance. But doubt gripped him—he knew thrusting into her now, with her so intoxicated and fragile, could cause her real pain. He froze, heart pounding with restraint.
Mirha tilted her head back, her eyes hazy from the wine, meeting his with a vulnerable plea. Her lips, plump and reddened from their fervent kisses, parted slightly as if inviting him closer.
Yet Arvin pulled back, shaking his head. He couldn't risk it, not like this. Gently, he scooped her into his arms, her warm weight cradling against his chest as he carried her toward the marble tub. The rain outside had eased to a gentle patter, but they were both drenched, water sluicing over their skin.
He lowered her into the steaming water first, then slid in behind her, the cool stone contrasting the heat of their bodies. Mirha settled between his thighs, her back pressed to his torso, her head lolling against his shoulder. The light-headed fog of alcohol still clung to her, making her movements languid and trusting.
A soft hum escaped her lips, a melody weaving through the quiet rhythm of the rain. Arvin said nothing, simply enveloping her in his embrace. One hand glided along her arm in slow, soothing strokes, while the other gripped the tub's edge, anchoring them both.
Her voice emerged clearer now, the slur fading as sobriety crept in. 'Your Majesty,' she murmured, 'I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused. I can feel the haze lifting... I can return to my duties if you'd—'
'No need,' Arvin cut in softly, his tone firm yet tender, silencing her worries as he tightened his hold.
The warm water enveloped them, its gentle lap against the marble edges seeping into Arvin's overheated skin, easing the fire that had raged through his veins. It cooled the urgent throb between his legs, grounding him in the moment's quiet intimacy rather than the pull of desire. Mirha stirred faintly in his arms, her breathing evening out as the alcohol's grip loosened, sobriety sharpening her senses just enough to bring a wave of emotion crashing over her.
A soft sob escaped her lips, muffled against his chest. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling hot down her cheeks to mix with the bathwater. She curled tighter into him, her body trembling not from cold, but from the vulnerability of the night—the wine's haze lifting to reveal the raw ache of her submission, the weight of her unspoken fears and longings.
Arvin's hand paused on her arm, then resumed its slow caress, thumb brushing away a tear that clung to her lashes. He didn't speak,Exhaustion claimed her swiftly; her eyelids fluttered shut, her humming melody fading into the steady rhythm of sleep. Her head rested heavy on his shoulder, her chest rising and falling in peaceful surrender.
Arvin lingered there, the rain's distant murmur the only sound beyond her soft snores. He traced idle patterns on her skin, content to watch over her in the dim light filtering through the steam.
The first rays of dawn filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the Emperor's chambers, casting a soft, golden glow over the sprawling bed. Mirha stirred slowly, her body enveloped in the most comforting warmth she had ever known. It was Arvin's arms wrapped around her, strong and secure, holding her close as if she were the most precious thing in his vast empire. She froze, not daring to move, her mind flooding with the shame of the previous night. How had she left her own chambers in such a state—desperate, lost, seeking solace in the Emperor's private domain? The memory burned, making her cheeks flush even in the quiet morning light.
She lay there, perfectly still, deciding to pretend she was still asleep. It was the safest way to avoid any awkward explanations, to slip back into oblivion until she could gather her thoughts. But then Arvin's voice broke the silence, low and gentle, laced with a warmth that made her heart ache.
'Good morning,' he murmured, his breath brushing against her hair.
Mirha's eyes widened beneath her closed lids, but she couldn't help the soft whisper that escaped her lips. 'Morning.' The word slipped out unbidden, and she mentally cursed herself. She was supposed to be sleeping, feigning ignorance to this intimate moment. Now she had given herself away.
Carefully, she shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to steal a glance at his face. Arvin's features were relaxed in the morning light, but her gaze caught on his lower lip—swollen and marked with a faint bite from the chaos of the night before. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest. She had done that, in her frenzy, and seeing the evidence now only deepened her remorse.
Arvin's eyes met hers, sparkling with amusement as a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. He reached up, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of her jaw, not pressing for more but simply acknowledging the moment with that easy confidence of his.
Arvin's chuckle faded into a soft, reassuring smile as he propped himself up on one arm, his dark eyes locking onto Mirha's with unwavering gentleness. He could see the turmoil swirling in her gaze, the way her fingers twisted the sheets nervously. 'It's not bad at all,' he said, his voice steady and low, like a balm for her frayed nerves. 'I'm glad you came to me. You don't have to feel ashamed for needing comfort—especially not with me.'
Mirha's heart pounded, but she held his stare, absorbing his words. He reached out again, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead before continuing. 'I'll visit your chambers tonight,' he added casually, as if it were the most natural plan in the world. 'We can talk more then, or just... be together.'
Inside, panic clawed at her chest—a whirlwind of fear and anticipation twisting her stomach into knots. What if she couldn't face him properly? What if her desperation from last night repeated itself? But on the outside, she managed a small nod, her lips pressing into a thin line of composure. 'Alright,' she whispered, barely audible.
Satisfied, Arvin leaned in to press a light kiss to her temple before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood, the sheets falling away to reveal his naked form in the morning light. Mirha's eyes flicked downward involuntarily, catching a brief glimpse of his thick cock hanging heavy between his thighs, soft but imposing. Heat flooded her face, and she slapped a hand over her eyes, squeezing them shut as if she could erase the image from her mind.
Arvin paused, glancing back with an amused glint in his eye, but he said nothing, pulling on a simple robe before striding toward the door. He stepped into the antechamber and called out softly to the attendant waiting beyond. 'Mayora, come in and help the Precious Concubine prepare for breakfast.'
Moments later, the door creaked open, and Mayora entered with her usual quiet efficiency, carrying a basin of warm water and fresh linens for the morning bath. Mirha sat up fully now, the sheets clutched to her chest, her skin still flushed from the night's restlessness. As Mayora approached, Mirha's words tumbled out in a stuttered rush. 'N-nothing happened,' she blurted, her voice high and defensive, as if the attendant could somehow peer into her secrets.
Mayora paused, her eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth. She set down the basin and covered her mouth with one hand, a soft giggle escaping. 'I know, my lady,' she replied gently, her tone light and knowing. 'If something had, you wouldn't be walking quite like that this morning—still graceful and untouched.'
Mirha's blush deepened to a fiery crimson, spreading from her cheeks down her neck. She ducked her head, mortified, but Mayora moved forward without hesitation, helping her from the bed and guiding her toward the bathing area. The warm water soothed Mirha's tense muscles as Mayora assisted with the final rinse, then dried her off with soft towels.
Once clean, Mayora selected a flowing gown of deep emerald silk, its fabric whispering against Mirha's skin as she slipped it on. The neckline dipped just enough to accentuate her collarbones, and the skirt draped elegantly over her hips. As she fastened the last tie, Mayora spoke again, her voice warm and reassuring. 'It's alright anyway, my lady. You are the Precious Concubine—his favor is yours by right.'
She stepped back then, admiring her work with a nod before dipping into a respectful bow. 'Enjoy your breakfast,' Mayora said simply, then turned and slipped out of the room, leaving Mirha alone with her thoughts.
Taking a steadying breath, Mirha smoothed the gown and headed toward the dining hall, her footsteps echoing softly in the corridor. The weight of the coming night lingered in her mind, a mix of dread and quiet hope propelling her forward.