Misbah joined as the sixth member of the Shimizu household. Before him, Hiroki had taken four other concubines: Zichen, Yuzu, Aki, and Furong.

  For the remainder of the novel, half of the story followed Hiroki's machinations at court—her strategic victories, her crushing defeats, and the shifting alliances and betrayals that marked her relentless climb toward power. The other half dwelled within the walls of the Shimizu residence, tracing the slow, venomous bloom of Misbah's integration into the household.

  The Cornaulian boy would purposely breach decorum, “forgetting” to pay respects to Zichen in the morning and letting his gaze slide past the higher-ranked concubines without the proper bow. Each time her concubines would compin about him, Hiroki would simply dismiss them and tell them to be patient with Misbah, for he came from an uncivilized desertnd after all.

  To Hiroki’s pleasant surprise, Misbah was far more well-read than she had expected from a man. Though it was terribly improper for a man to concern himself with court affairs, Hiroki found herself sharing her frustrations with him after long days at the pace. She would pace before him, recounting some minister's betrayal or the Queen's “foolish” decision to listen to her opponent’s idea, and Misbah would listen in silence. Occasionally, he would offer a few carefully chosen words, and Hiroki would blink, struck by the unexpected insight, and incorporate his suggestion into her pns.

  Yet, the peace, no matter how fragile it appeared, existed only on the surface. Behind closed doors, the war continued with no respite.

  “Look at you,” Hiroki purred, her breath hot against Misbah’s throbbing length, slick with her saliva. “Your body is always honest, even when that stubborn mouth of yours refuses to be.”

  He squirmed beneath her, his legs weaker than water as she licked and tasted him possessively. Her strong, calloused hands pried his thighs wider and held them in pce, keeping him open just for her.

  “You brute,” he said, his words biting despite his trembling voice. “You animal. You know nothing—ah!”

  A loud moan escaped him as she took him in her mouth again, working him faster, deeper. His back arched from the bedding when he felt her swirl her tongue around him, his hips lifting instinctively toward the heat. She sucked harder, and he cried out, fisting his hands into her hair. He could feel himself climbing more and more toward that glorious edge—

  But then, she suddenly stopped.

  He whimpered when she released him. The sound was pathetic, and he knew it, but he was so close—so unbearably close that the cessation of sensation was almost painful. He looked at her through gssy eyes, his expression caught between confusion and desperate, humiliating need.

  She smirked. With one hand slowly stroking him, keeping him suspended at the edge, she leaned down until her lips—the same lips that were just wrapped around him—brushed against his ear.

  “Beg me,” she whispered. “Beg me to take you.”

  He gritted his teeth, his face burning with heat and defiance. He tried to form words, but every time he opened his mouth, she would choose that precise moment to tighten her grip and stroke faster, and his voice would dissolve into a helpless moan. The coil of pleasure in his belly grew more painful the longer she held him at the precipice.

  Desperation finally overwhelmed pride. He grabbed her wrist with both hands, halting her tormenting touch. She arched a brow, her smirk widening.

  Then, he lifted his head from the pillows, his face flushed crimson, dark strands of his hair sticking to his glistening skin. He fixed her with a furious gre, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of frustration.

  “...Take me,” he breathed. Then, louder, he demanded, “Take me, you bastard!”

  At that, Hiroki threw her head back and let out a rich, triumphant ughter. Then, as if granting mercy, she finally hovered above him, positioning herself, and sheathed him inside her all at once.

  She watched him arch instinctively, squirming and crying out each time she lowered herself onto him. When he tried to cover his face with his hands, she caught both of his delicate wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head.

  “Little flower,” she murmured against his ear, “you cim you hate me, yet you moan louder than a whore in heat when you’re inside me.”

  Misbah shivered beneath, gring at her despite his current state. “I hate you,” he said between gasps. “I detest you. I swear to the heavens, I will kill you with my own hands!”

  “Oh?” Hiroki’s free hand traveled upward, finding a sensitive bud on his chest and pinching it between her fingers. He gasped, and she felt him pulse inside her, the bud hardening impossibly more from her fondling. “You say that. And yet it seems you are the one barely alive right now.”

  He cried out when the hand that pinned his wrist moved to tease his other nipple. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, more embarrassing sounds coming out as she tortured his top and bottom at the same time. “I hate you. I hate you. I want you dead. I will kill you. Hiroki Shimizu, I will kill you one day.”

  “And I look forward to that day,” she chuckled, her hips beginning to move faster.

  The concubine’s decration dissolved into incoherence after that, only broken sylbles and desperate sounds from the overwhelming sensations. She watched him come apart beneath her, the hatred in his eyes transmuting into only demands for more, until finally, with a sharp cry, he spilled his essence inside her, clutching onto her like a lifeline.

  This little viper was as sweet and addictive as poisonous nectar. She simply could not get enough of the sight of him surrendering beneath her, as if he had always belonged there, as if his body had known what his mind refused to accept.

  It was like this almost every night. He would decre his intent to kill her, sometimes even acting on it—a hidden bde beneath his pillow, a vial of poison concealed in his sleeve—and each time she would subdue him and cim his body. And each time, despite everything, he would succumb.

  As a result, the jealousy and resentment among the other concubines festered like an untreated wound. Ever since the new boy had arrived, Hiroki had been spending the majority of her time with him. In the mornings, she would drag Misbah to her office and make him sit silently beside her while she reviewed documents, his presence required for no apparent reason other than her whim. At night, no matter how te the hour, she would visit his chambers, and the rest of the household would lie awake, wondering when their wife would finally come back.

  pangmida