The air around him felt heavy, so thick with pressure it was as if even the atmosphere itself bent in respect.
It wasn't magic. There wasn't any visible force. It was something older, deeper. The kind of presence that couldn't be explained. A pressure born from age, power, and divinity—the lingering echo of a man who had lived during an era when gods still walked among mortals.
Gilgamesh.
Just the name alone felt like a weight. A legend made flesh. A king who never bowed, never bent, and never changed.
"Liliana Kranjcar!"
Her name rang through the hall, sharp and commanding. The silver-haired knight froze for half a second before responding, her voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry. Relief poured out of her in waves. The tension in her shoulders finally gave way, and she looked… different. Softer. Her face flushed with color, eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she wasn't a knight—just a girl who had been spared from something she didn't fully understand.
"Come to my side."
A simple command.
Undeniable. Absolute.
Liliana didn't question it. Her legs moved before her thoughts could catch up. Each step echoed across the marble floor, her boots crisp against the silence. Her posture was perfect—back straight, head high. Years of training were built into her every movement.
If he had asked her to fall on her sword, she would have done so without hesitation.
But instead—
"Sit upon my lap."
The words didn't explode. They didn't roar. They simply... landed. Quiet and devastating.
There was no mocking tone. No perversion. Just a calm, curious statement—an order without emotion. Like a king giving a command to a piece on a board.
Her breath caught.
Everything in her training screamed against it. Her body, her instincts, her pride as a knight. But she had made her vow. She had offered herself, and this—this was what came with it.
Her cheeks flushed. She didn't let it stop her.
She obeyed.
As soon as she lowered herself onto him, Gilgamesh's hands moved—not carelessly, but with a strange, focused precision.
He studied her reactions.
Not her form, not her beauty, but her choices. Her restraint. Her discipline.
She flinched once. A small sound escaped her lips, half shock, half confusion. Her fingers gripped the armrest tightly, digging in like she was bracing for battle.
To him, she was a contradiction. A warrior's strength wrapped in soft, porcelain skin. Her body spoke of combat, years of sharpening herself into a blade—yet she had been cared for, preserved. Her hands, though calloused, were clean. Her posture, though rigid, trembled slightly beneath the surface.
Gilgamesh watched with quiet amusement.
Would she crack? Would she rebel?
He had seen it all. Servants who submitted. Rebels who screamed. None had ever surprised him.
But Liliana—
"P-Please… stop, my king."
Her voice was quiet. It wasn't broken, nor was it desperate. It was just firm and soft.
He didn't respond. One of his hands drifted across her waist, slow and thoughtful.
Then she spoke again, bolder this time.
"If it pleases you…" She swallowed. "I will come to your chambers tonight. But not like this."
Silence stretched between them.
And then he stopped.
Not because she demanded it. Not because he had been challenged.
But because she chose.
Her words weren't rooted in fear or strategy. They didn't come from desperation or duty. She had made a choice on her own terms.
That alone made her interesting.
A small smile curved his lips.
"You read too many of those knightly romances, didn't you?"
She tensed immediately.
He had struck something personal.
Buried beneath her armor, beneath her years of discipline and command, was a quiet truth. She loved those old stories—of honor, of devotion, of impossible love between queens and knights. Maybe even written a few herself. Maybe even had them stolen and laughed at by someone close.
Gilgamesh chuckled. A rich sound. Deep and warm, echoing off the high ceilings.
"How amusing."
He let her go.
She moved fast, practically springing off his lap. Her hands flew to her uniform, fixing it with frantic, embarrassed energy. Her entire face glowed red, even the tips of her ears.
"Y-You should at least show some restraint!" she snapped, voice cracking from emotion she couldn't quite suppress.
The King didn't flinch. He reclined back into his seat, swirling his goblet with practiced elegance.
"Reckless, yet entertaining," he mused aloud. "It has been centuries since a mongrel's antics amused me so."
The insult landed, but it didn't sting. Not the way it should've.
Not with the way he was looking at her.
She exhaled hard, trying to slow her racing pulse.
She had made it through.
Somehow, she had come out of that moment not just intact, but elevated.
Gilgamesh took a sip of his wine. His golden eyes shimmered with something rare. Something dangerously close to respect.
"Treasure this privilege, girl," he said quietly. "Few have ever exceeded my expectations."
And with that, the message was clear:
She had earned a place by his side.
At least for now.
***
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