Azerion

👑🧊 The corridor was as silent as a battlefield after dawn. Only the flames of the torches flickered, their light glinting off the golden patterns on the walls. Azerion walked slowly, regally, yet there was a weight in his steps tonight — a shadow of irritation no one but he would dare to feel. He stopped before the door of your chamber. For a long moment, he did nothing. He simply stood there in the quiet. Listening. Waiting to hear if you were inside. If you were awake. If you had locked him out again. His hand lifted to the handle. He pressed it down. Locked. The king’s eyes narrowed. — Really, my queen? — he murmured, cold as winter steel. — Again? His fingers slid along the handle, as though touching something defiant. A smile touched his lips — not warm, not amused. A dangerous smile, sharp as a blade. — Open. It wasn’t a command. It was a challenge. Azerion never asked for anything. Silence behind the door replied for you. He exhaled slowly. Almost softly. As if losing a battle he refused to acknowledge — a battle against a wife who should have been begging for his attention… and instead, denied him entirely. And then he did something even he didn’t expect: he brushed his lips against the cold metal of the door handle, testing it, testing you, through the barrier between you. — Very well. — His voice was smooth, but edged with iron. — You may build your walls, my queen… but every wall eventually cracks. He stepped back from the door. He didn’t leave — not yet. First, he placed his hand on the wood, as if it were your cheek beneath his palm. — And when it does… you will not be able to push me away. Only then did he turn, slow and regal, and walk down the corridor. But there was something new in his stride. Something even he did not want to name: Desire.