The war room stank of sweat and sex and dominance. The desk was a battlefield—scrolls crumpled, ink smeared, treaties stained by heat and ruin. The map beneath Lily's stomach was unsalvageable—creased, soaked, and dripping where his climax had splattered across continents meant to be conquered.
Yen adjusted his trousers, movements calm and methodical as if nothing had happened. His cock, still damp from her body, twitched once before he tucked it away. The bruises he'd left on her skin were already blooming.
He picked up the scroll he'd been reading before fucking her across it and shoved aside the ones too soiled to use. The parchment stuck slightly to his fingers from sweat and something else thicker.
"Burn those," he said coolly, without looking at her. His voice was flat, businesslike—as though the last half hour hadn't been raw, brutal degradation.
His gaze flicked to the untouched teapot.
"Serve me tea."
Behind him, Lily weakly slid off the desk. Her legs gave out for a moment—thighs trembling, knees knocking—but she caught herself. She squeezed her thighs together, wincing slightly at the stickiness seeping down between them, and reached for her discarded handkerchief. Silent, dutiful, she wiped the mess from her skin with shaking hands, dabbing at the wet trails on her inner thighs, the curve of her hip, the back of her knees where it had trickled. She didn't speak. She didn't even breathe loudly.
She bowed low.
"Yes, my lord."
And then she moved—slow, limping just slightly, collecting the teapot and tray with robotic grace. The red around her neck was still fresh from his fingers. Her hair was mussed, strands stuck to her cheek with sweat.
She left without another word.
Yen didn't spare her a glance.
Instead, he flicked the edge of a new scroll open and leaned back in his chair, bringing his hand to his temple with an exhausted sigh. His other hand rested lazily on the desk, tapping once against the map that still bore the ghost of her breath.
Moments later, she returned.
The tray trembled in her hands—barely noticeable, but he saw it. Of course he saw it. He always did.
She poured the tea delicately, every movement precise, eyes lowered, lashes still damp. The scent of it curled into the air—jasmine, faint and calming. She placed the porcelain cup beside his right hand, careful not to touch any of the parchment.
But she was trembling. Just enough.
A smear of tea bled over the edge of the cup. It touched the corner of his freshly unrolled scroll.
A drop of golden liquid ruined the edge of a decades-old treaty.
Yen's shadows moved before he did.
They snapped.
A long black tendril lashed across the room—CRACK—and slammed the teapot out of her hand. The porcelain shattered across the marble floor, splashing hot tea in every direction. The fragments skittered like bones. Steam curled up in sudden puffs.
Lily flinched.
She didn't scream. She didn't speak.
She dropped to her knees and immediately started gathering the shards with bare fingers, ignoring the way one sharp piece sliced her palm. Blood welled up, but she kept picking up the broken pieces—quiet, obedient, trembling.
Yen didn't look at her. He clicked his tongue.
"Out."
That one word was quiet. Detached.
Lily paused only for a second—one heartbeat of shame—and then bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor.
"Apologies, my lord."
She gathered the tray with what shards she could carry and hurried out of the room, the cut on her palm staining the edge of the wood.
"Stupid bitch," Yen muttered once she was gone. The insult landed like stone, final and unmoved. He didn't spit it. He didn't shout. It was just truth. Disappointment, bored and tired.
He picked up the half-full teacup she had managed to serve before her mistake and drank it all. His lips didn't even touch the place where it had spilled. His throat worked in a long, slow swallow, his silver eyes unmoving, staring at the fresh scroll he would now have to rework from scratch.
"Jang!" he barked.
The side door creaked open. A young man scurried in, already clutching a cloth.
"Yes, my lord!"
"Clean this mess. And bring another pot."
"Of course, my lord."
Yen leaned back in his chair and watched as his attendant scrubbed up the shattered porcelain and the amber stains of tea. The blood from Lily's hand had left a faint mark on the tray—he saw it, and said nothing. Let it dry.
He ran a thumb down the bridge of his nose and finally exhaled.
She'd been loud again.
Too loud.
And careless.
His fingers tapped against the desk. Once. Twice.
The shadows around him stirred, coiling gently like smoke, like vipers resting after a kill. They obeyed mood, not command. They lashed because they could feel his disappointment before he even spoke it.
And Lily had felt that lash too, hadn't she?
He could still see the way she flinched. Her shoulders tensed like she was bracing for another hit—but there was no second blow. He didn't need to strike again. The silence was enough punishment.
Her obedience was still intact.
But her edges were fraying.
She should've known better than to fumble in front of him.
Still...
He reached for the bloodstained cup. Stared at it for a long moment.
Then he licked the rim.
A single drop of her blood clung there, hidden in the tea.
His tongue swept over it slow. Thoughtful.
His mouth curved—not quite a smile. Something darker. Something closer to hunger.
She would learn.