Sundown arrived swiftly, as though the sky itself hurried to witness the night.
The grand banquet hall was already full, every noble seated according to strict imperial order. Lanterns cast a warm golden glow across polished floors, their light dancing over silks, jewels, and ceremonial armor. At the center, the space remained deliberately open—reserved for what was yet to come.
On the right wing of the hall sat the nobles of Taico.
Lord Vharin occupied a seat near the front, his posture composed, his expression unreadable. Beside him sat Kanha, her back straight, her fingers folded neatly in her lap despite the restless tension beneath her calm exterior. Next to them were Duke Rnzo and Gina, seated close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. Kaisen sat just beyond them, his gaze fixed on the dancers before him, distant and unfocused—as though his body were present, but his thoughts far away.
Vharin noticed Kanha's repeated glances in Kaisen's direction, but he said nothing.
Beyond them, generals, lords, and ladies of Taico filled the remaining seats along the right side of the hall.
The left wing was reserved for the visiting kingdoms—King Kalan of Lamig seated prominently among his retinue, Lord Fahit nearby, and other foreign nobles arranged according to rank and alliance.
Music swelled as dancers moved across the floor, their movements graceful and precise. The hall was quiet except for the soft rhythm of instruments and the rustle of fabric.
Then, the dancers came to a sudden, perfect halt.
A hush fell.
The announcer's voice rang out, clear and commanding.
"His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Arvin."
At once, the entire hall rose to its feet. Heads bowed deeply as Arvin entered, his presence commanding without effort. He walked to his seat at the head of the hall, his expression composed, his movements unhurried. Only when he was seated did the nobles rise again.
The dancers returned briefly, performing a formal welcoming number before withdrawing to the sides.
Then the announcer spoke once more—this time slower, deliberate.
"The Precious Concubine."
Silence followed.
Mirha stepped into the hall.
She wore a gown of deep black and rich crimson, the colors bold yet refined. The design was sleeveless, her arms covered instead by separate flowing sleeves that moved with her every step. Simple gold rested at her neck—chosen carefully, so as not to compete with the gown itself. Golden earrings brushed against her skin, catching the light with each subtle motion.
Her hair was slicked back, held in place by a single pin shaped like a delicate crown. From beneath it, her natural curls flowed freely down her back, soft and unrestrained. The gown fell long and elegant, trailing just enough to command attention without excess.
The hall seemed to forget how to breathe.
Men straightened in their seats, eyes following her unconsciously. Murmurs died before they could form. Even those who had never seen her before felt the weight of her presence.
At the head of the hall, Arvin rose to his feet.
His gaze never left her as she walked toward him—steady, unhurried, luminous. In that moment, it was painfully clear to all who watched:
She was not merely a concubine.
She was his.
Mirha's heart raced as she crossed the length of the hall. She did not dare lift her gaze toward the crowd; the weight of their attention pressed against her skin like heat. Every step felt measured, deliberate, as though one misstep might shatter the fragile calm she held together.
Her two ladies followed closely behind, silent and composed, their presence a quiet reminder of her station.
When Mirha reached the raised platform where Arvin stood, she stopped. With practiced grace, she bowed deeply, her movements smooth despite the tremor in her chest. Then she turned and took her place at the left seat beside the imperial throne—the position reserved for her.
Arvin watched her closely.
He was relieved to see her, truly so—but he had not expected this. For a moment, she felt almost unfamiliar to him, swallowed by the grandeur of the gown and the way it reshaped her presence into something almost untouchable. Yet beneath the silk and gold, he recognized her immediately. Her posture, the subtle curve of her shoulders, the way she carried herself—her form was one he knew far too well to mistake.
He could feel the hall's attention fixate on her.
Some gazes held envy. Others admiration. More than a few lingered with open desire.
The realization did not anger him.
It pleased him.
A faint smirk touched his lips as he lifted his gaze from Mirha and looked out at the assembled nobles. Whatever they felt, whatever they imagined, she remained his alone.
With calm authority, Arvin spoke.
"Let the banquet begin."
At once, music filled the hall again, servants moved into place, and the night unfolded—yet nothing could quite erase the impression Mirha's entrance had left behind.
The banquet hall pulsed with life, laughter and chatter swelling like a rising tide as servants wove through the crowd with trays of spiced wine and glistening fruits. Kanha's gaze flicked toward Kaisen, who sat slumped at the edge of the throng, his eyes locked on Mirha with a hunger that bordered on torment. He tipped back goblet after goblet, the dark liquid sliding down his throat in desperate gulps, as if drowning the ache in his chest could quench the fire she stirred in him. Mirha moved through the room like a vision, her gown hugging her curves, the low neckline teasing the swell of her breasts with every graceful step. Kaisen's stare devoured her—the way her hips swayed, the soft flush on her cheeks from the warmth of the hall. He loved her, gods, he loved her so fiercely it clawed at his insides, but she was untouchable, claimed by another. The alcohol burned hotter now, blurring the edges of his vision until it snagged on Yuma across the room. Panic twisted in his gut; he couldn't let her see him like this, wrecked and raw. Staggering to his feet, he slipped behind a heavy tapestry, vanishing into the shadowed alcove beyond.
Kanha watched him go, her own pulse quickening with curiosity and anxiety. She rose smoothly, weaving toward the same shadowed path, but her father, Vharin, caught her arm, his brow furrowing. "Where to, daughter?"he rumbled. She forced a casual smile, her voice steady despite the thrill of the chase. "Just the privy, Father—too much wine." He nodded, releasing her, and she melted into the crowd, trailing Kaisen's unsteady steps.
Arvin, from his raised dais, had eyes only for Mirha. She shone under the Lamp's glow, her laughter a siren's call that tugged at the iron control he barely maintained. Satisfaction curled in his chest at the way heads turned for her, knowing she was his—his to touch, to claim, to fuck until she screamed his name. He extended his hand, voice low and commanding over the din. "Dance with me."
Mirha's gaze lifted to his, a spark igniting in her dark eyes. She placed her palm in his, the contact sending a jolt straight to her core, and let him lead her to the center of the floor. The music halted, then a lone flute wailed to life, haunting and seductive, drawing them into its rhythm. Arvin's hand settled at the small of her back, fingers splaying possessively as he pulled her flush against him. The drums joined in, a deep, throbbing beat that mirrored the pulse between her thighs. They moved as one, his thigh slipping between hers with each turn, the friction of his body against her gown igniting sparks along her skin. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her hips in a sway that promised more—much more—than this public display. Whispers rippled through the onlookers, envy thick in the air as they watched his hand trace the curve of her spine, dipping low enough to brush the swell of her ass, the intimacy blatant in every press and glide.
When the melody crested and faded, Mirha broke away, chest heaving, her breaths coming in soft pants laced with laughter. Sweat glistened at her throat, drawing Arvin's gaze to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts straining against the corset's confines. He stepped closer, his voice a gravelly murmur against her ear. "Everyone, join the dance—let the night burn bright."The hall erupted into motion, bodies swirling around them like a living storm, but Arvin's world narrowed to her. He turned back, eyes dark with intent. "Shall we continue?"
Mirha's smile faltered into a breathless gasp, her body still humming from the heat of his nearness. "This corset... it's too tight. I can hardly breathe."
A predatory smile curved his lips as he hauled her against him again, his hard chest crushing her soft curves. The rigid length of his cock nudged insistently against her waist, thick and unyielding through the layers of fabric, a blatant declaration of his need. " How about I take it off for you?"His breath ghosted her neck, words laced with the promise of rough hands and deeper thrusts.
Heat flooded Mirha's cheeks, but it pooled hotter between her legs, her pussy clenching with a fresh wave of slick arousal. She could feel him throbbing against her, the heat of his erection searing through their clothes, making her imagine him shoving her against the nearest wall and driving deep, stretching her wide with that massive cock. The banquet swirled around them, oblivious eyes and echoing music, but the tension coiled tight in her belly, her heart hammering like war drums. "But the banquet..."
Arvin's fingers dug into her hip, tilting her chin up to meet his burning stare. " Do you want to? Or not? "
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her clit aching with the need for his touch, her folds already weeping for the pound of his hips. She nodded, throat too dry for words, but he leaned in, lips brushing hers. "Speak to me."
"Yes."' she whispered, the word a surrender, raw and desperate.
With that, Arvin's hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her through the throng. They slipped from the hall like shadows, heading to the emperor's chambers