Evening shadows stretched across the Forbidden City as Sam gazed out from his private chambers. The distinctive curved rooftops with their golden tiles captured the last rays of sunlight, creating an almost supernatural glow against the darkening sky. A cool autumn breeze carried the scent of chrysanthemums and incense through the open window, mingling with the lingering aroma of sex and expensive oils.
"Master Zhu," called a servant from the doorway, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the polished floor. "Princess Zhu Youzhen has arrived."
Sam turned from the window, waving away the half-empty cup of wine he'd been ignoring. "Send her in."
The servant backed away, and moments later the princess entered. She moved with measured grace, each step deliberate yet fluid. At seventeen, Zhu Youzhen had blossomed into a striking young woman whose beauty managed to transcend the somber gray mourning robes she wore. Her hair was arranged simply, adorned only with a single jade hairpin—the minimum ornamentation permitted during imperial mourning.
"Master Zhu," she greeted, executing a formal bow that was precisely calibrated: deep enough to show respect, yet maintaining the dignity required of her imperial status.
Sam studied her with mild curiosity. In the years since their first encounter, he'd deliberately avoided direct interaction with the princess, though his omnipresent influence in the palace meant he knew everything about her activities. She had grown into her features, the roundness of childhood giving way to elegant bone structure that hinted at both strength and refinement.
"Princess," he acknowledged with a slight nod—the barest minimum of courtesy. "You requested this meeting. Speak your purpose."
Youzhen kept her eyes downcast for a moment, then raised them to meet his gaze directly—an unusual breach of protocol that immediately caught Sam's attention. Her dark eyes reflected both fear and determination, a combination that piqued his interest more than anything else had in months.
"The imperial succession stands at a crossroads," she began, her voice steadier than her slightly trembling hands suggested. "My brother, the Crown Prince, lacks the necessary... temperament for effective rule."
Sam laughed, the sound sharp and without warmth. "A diplomatic way of saying he's a cruel imbecile who spends his days torturing servants and his nights drinking himself into oblivion."
A flicker of surprise crossed her face at his bluntness, quickly replaced by careful neutrality. "My brother has certain challenges that may compromise imperial governance during this critical period."
"Skip the courtly language," Sam said, dropping into a cushioned chair and gesturing for her to sit opposite him. "Your father's death has created a power vacuum. Various factions support different candidates for the throne. The Crown Prince has official standing but is universally recognized as incompetent. What does any of this have to do with me?"
Youzhen took the offered seat, her posture remaining perfectly straight despite the informal setting. "You hold unprecedented influence within the Forbidden City. A word from you could determine who ascends the Dragon Throne."
"And why would I care who sits upon that gaudy chair?" Sam challenged, leaning forward slightly. "The empire's political machinations mean nothing to me."
"Perhaps not," she conceded, "but you've remained here for over ten years. You must find some value in stability."
Sam's passive psionic abilities detected the carefully controlled fear beneath her composed exterior. Every heartbeat, every subtle shift in body temperature, every microdrop of sweat formed at her temples—all revealed themselves to his enhanced perception. Yet there was something else there too—ambition, carefully channeled and focused.
"You're not here to discuss abstract principles of governance," he stated flatly. "What do you want, princess?"
Youzhen drew a careful breath. "I propose myself as Empress Regent until a suitable male heir can be raised to maturity."
The boldness of the statement hung in the air between them. A female ruler—even as regent—represented a significant break from tradition in the Ming Dynasty, though not entirely without precedent in China's long history.
Sam's lips curled into a smirk. "How ambitious of you. And here I thought all those hours studying statecraft and military strategy were merely to pass the time."
Her eyes widened slightly. "You knew of my studies?"
"I know everything that happens within these walls," he replied dismissively. "Your secret tutoring sessions with retired generals, your late-night readings of banned political treatises, your careful cultivation of relationships with key court officials." He waved a hand lazily. "Moderately impressive for someone raised to be merely decorative."
Rather than shrinking from his knowledge of her activities, Youzhen seemed to gather strength from it. "Then you understand I am better prepared to rule than any alternative candidate."
"Perhaps," Sam acknowledged. "But there are dozens of imperial clan members with better claims by traditional succession rules. Why should I support your unprecedented grab for power?"
"Because unlike them, I understand what truly threatens the empire," she replied, her voice gaining confidence. "Corruption has hollowed out the government. Manchu forces gather beyond the Great Wall. Peasant rebellions spread through the provinces. The empire requires decisive leadership, not more of the same decay."
Sam leaned back, genuinely amused by her passion. "A stirring speech. But you haven't answered my question: what do I get if I support your claim?"
Youzhen hesitated, clearly having anticipated this question but still uncertain of her answer. "What... what would you desire? Gold? Land? Titles?"
Sam laughed, the sound echoing harshly off the lacquered screens. "I can take any material thing I want. No one in this empire can stop me. Try again."
She studied him for a long moment, her intellect visibly working behind those dark eyes. "Information, perhaps? Access to imperial archives normally forbidden even to court scholars?"
"Boring," Sam dismissed with a wave. "I've already examined every significant document in your precious archives. The Ming Dynasty's accumulated knowledge is disappointingly limited."
Youzhen fell silent, clearly reassessing her approach. Her fingers twisted subtly in her lap—the only outward sign of her inner turmoil. Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer but no less determined.
"I observe that in your ten years here, you've never taken any of the imperial princesses to your bed, despite having your way with countless concubines and even noble ladies."
Sam's eyebrow raised slightly. This was an unexpected direction. "Your point?"
"Perhaps what you truly desire is something you haven't yet experienced," she continued, her voice steady despite the faint blush spreading across her cheeks. "Something rare and significant."
"Are you offering yourself as payment for political support?" Sam asked bluntly, watching her reaction carefully.
Youzhen flinched slightly but maintained her composure. "I am offering whatever is necessary to secure the empire's future. If my... submission to your appetites would ensure your support, then yes."
Sam studied her with renewed interest. This girl who had once stood between him and her father, trembling but determined, had grown into a woman willing to sacrifice her own body for political power. The irony wasn't lost on him—his own mother had been violated by men drunk on power, while his ancestor now offered herself to him in pursuit of it.
He rose from his chair and approached her slowly, circling her seated form like a predator. Each step was deliberate, allowing her time to absorb the full implications of what she had proposed.
"Do you have any idea what you're offering?" he asked, his voice low. "I'm not some courtier who would be satisfied with fumbling beneath silk robes for a few moments. My appetites would shock even the most experienced imperial concubines."
To her credit, she didn't shrink from his circling presence. "I am aware of your... reputation."
"No, you're not," Sam replied flatly. "You've heard whispers and rumors. The reality would terrify you."
"Then terrify me," she challenged, looking up at him directly. "I've lived with fear every day since you first appeared in the imperial court. I've learned to use it rather than be paralyzed by it."
Sam stopped his circling, genuinely surprised by her response. For the first time in months, perhaps years, he felt something resembling actual interest. This girl—this fragment of his own genetic history—had developed in unexpected ways.
"You hate me," he observed casually, "for slowly destroying your father."
She didn't deny it. "He was never the same after your arrival. Your presence drained his spirit day by day."
"Yet you'd submit to the man who effectively killed your father?"
"For the throne? For China?" She nodded once, firmly. "Yes."
Sam laughed, the sound almost genuine this time. "At least you're honest about your ambition." He returned to his seat, regarding her with renewed curiosity. "Why should I believe you'd honor any arrangement once you have the throne?"
"Because you would always have the power to destroy me," she answered simply. "My rule would exist at your pleasure. We both know this."
He considered her offer with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. Usually, decisions came instantly, his enhanced mind calculating variables and optimal outcomes in microseconds. But this situation triggered something different—perhaps because it involved his own ancestral line, perhaps because it represented one of the few genuinely unexpected proposals he'd encountered in this timeline.
"Words are cheap," he finally said. "Hollow promises easily made and broken."
Youzhen nodded, accepting this assessment. "How would you have me prove my conviction?"
Sam smiled, the expression not reaching his silver eyes. "That's what we'll find out."
---
Youzhen remained perfectly still as Sam circled her again, his movements deliberate and predatory. The princess wore multiple layers of silk mourning robes, each one representing complex court protocols regarding imperial grief. The outermost layer was unadorned gray silk, while beneath it lay progressively finer garments that would normally be forbidden during formal mourning.
"Stand," Sam commanded.
She rose immediately, years of obedience to authority evident in her instinctive response. Despite her fear—palpable to Sam's enhanced senses—she maintained remarkable composure, her breathing carefully controlled.
"Remove your outer robe," he instructed, his voice neutral as if requesting something as mundane as pouring tea.
Youzhen's fingers moved to the fastenings at her shoulder, hesitating only momentarily before loosening them. The outer gray silk fell away, revealing the second layer of mourning attire—a slightly darker shade with minimal embroidery at the cuffs.
"Continue," Sam said, returning to his seat to observe her.
One by one, she removed each layer with methodical precision. As the fourth robe fell away, leaving her in only the thin final undergarment, her hands trembled visibly. This last silk sheath was nearly transparent, clinging to her form and revealing the outline of her body.
"Are you reconsidering your offer?" Sam asked, noting her hesitation.
Youzhen raised her chin slightly. "No."
"Then proceed."
With a deep breath, she untied the final closure at her shoulder. The delicate silk slipped down her body, pooling at her feet like water. She stood naked before him, her skin pale and unblemished in the lantern light. Her breasts were smaller than those of the concubines usually selected for imperial pleasure, but perfectly formed, rising and falling with each careful breath. The triangle of dark hair between her thighs couldn't hide her virgin status—obvious to Sam's enhanced perception.
"Turn slowly," he instructed.
She obeyed, rotating with the same practiced grace she brought to court ceremonies. Her back was straight, her movements deliberate despite her obvious discomfort.
"You've proposed a transaction," Sam said as she completed her turn, again facing him. "Your body in exchange for political support. Do you understand what that entails?"
"I will submit to whatever pleases you," she answered, her voice remarkably steady despite her nakedness.
Sam rose from his seat and approached her. Standing before her, he traced one finger lightly along her collarbone, watching goosebumps rise on her skin at his touch.
"Your detachment is admirable but futile," he observed. "The body cannot lie, even when the mind attempts control."
He continued tracing his finger down between her breasts, a feather-light touch that nonetheless made her breath catch. When he circled one nipple without quite touching it, the sensitive flesh hardened immediately, betraying her body's involuntary response.
"You see?" he murmured. "Physical response isn't something you can negotiate away, princess."
For the first time, uncertainty flickered openly across her features. "I never claimed otherwise."
Sam smiled thinly. "Good. Honesty will make this marginally more interesting." His hand moved to cup her breast fully, his thumb brushing across the nipple with deliberate pressure. "You've never been touched before."
It wasn't a question, but she answered anyway. "No."
"Not even by your own hand?" he asked, his other hand now moving to her opposite breast, kneading it gently.
The flush on her cheeks deepened. "Such things aren't discussed in imperial education."
"Which isn't an answer," Sam noted, pinching her nipple firmly enough to make her gasp. "Have you touched yourself, princess? Explored what gives you pleasure?"
Youzhen's eyes dropped. "Occasionally," she admitted, barely audible.
"Show me," he commanded, stepping back slightly. "Touch yourself as you would in private."
Her eyes widened in shock. "I... that's not..."
"Already setting conditions on your submission?" Sam challenged. "Perhaps your commitment isn't as absolute as you claimed."
Youzhen swallowed hard, then slowly raised her hand to her breast. Her movements were hesitant, unpracticed—so different from the choreographed sensuality of imperial concubines. She cupped herself gently, her fingers experimentally brushing across her nipple.
"And the other places you touch?" Sam prompted.
Her free hand trembled as it moved downward, pausing at her stomach before continuing to the junction of her thighs. With obvious reluctance, she slipped her fingers through the dark curls to touch herself intimately.
"Like this," she whispered, moving her fingers in small, uncertain circles.
Sam watched her ministrations with clinical interest. Despite her obvious embarrassment, her body responded—a slight parting of her lips, quickened breathing, the barely perceptible rocking of her hips against her hand.
"Enough," he said after several moments. "Come here."
She approached him, hands falling to her sides, naked vulnerability contrasting sharply with his fully clothed state. Sam reached out, placing his hand at the back of her neck and drawing her closer until their faces were inches apart.
"I'm going to show you what submission truly means," he said quietly. "It has nothing to do with political arrangements or negotiated terms. Power takes what it wants."
Without warning, he kissed her—not gently, but with calculated intensity designed to overwhelm. His tongue pushed past her startled lips, claiming her mouth with practiced dominance. His free hand gripped her waist, pulling her body flush against his.
Youzhen remained frozen for a moment, clearly shocked by the intimate contact, before her training in obedience reasserted itself. She yielded to his kiss, attempting to respond despite her inexperience.
Sam pulled back slightly, studying her flushed face. "You've never been kissed before either."
She shook her head silently.
"Your education has been severely lacking," he observed. Taking her hand, he led her toward his sleeping platform—a raised area covered in the finest silks and exquisitely embroidered pillows. "Lie down."
Youzhen obeyed, arranging herself on her back in the center of the platform. Her dark hair spilled across the silk, creating a striking contrast. She watched with wide eyes as Sam disrobed, his movements efficient and unself-conscious.
His body, revealed layer by layer, was unlike anything she had seen before. Lean yet powerfully muscled, his skin was marked by faint silvery lines that seemed to pulse subtly with his heartbeat. Unlike court eunuchs or the scholarly officials she was accustomed to, Sam's physique spoke of dangerous capability—a predator's body, perfectly honed.
When he removed his final undergarment, Youzhen couldn't suppress a small gasp. His cock stood fully erect, larger than she had imagined possible from whispered conversations among court ladies. The same silvery lines that marked his body traced delicate patterns along its length, culminating in a slightly darker head.
"Surprised?" Sam asked, noting her wide-eyed stare.
"I... yes," she admitted, unable to manufacture a more diplomatic response.
He approached the bed with unhurried confidence. "Most women are, the first time." He positioned himself beside her, propped on one elbow. "Before we proceed further, understand this: I require no imperial title to possess power. I take what I want, when I want it."
"I understand," she whispered.
"No, you don't," he countered. "But you will."