After a ceremony that felt so sacred, Entya felt as though she had just finished a long marathon. Her legs felt slightly sore, her head was filled with the rhythmic beat of music and the fragrance of flowers. But amidst the exhaustion, something troubled her mind.

  Entya sensed a fundamental change in Nashr. The gaze of the King of Talrakia was now streaked with a simmering desire that he no longer bothered to hide. Beneath the vows they shared, an unspoken truth lingered, making her heart race uncontrollably.

  To Nashr, she was now far, far beyond a mere political contract.

  The fear that had been creeping in since that afternoon now haunted her. She feared Nashr would change his mind.

  If Nashr went back on his word, if the boundaries they had drawn were swept away, what would remain of her? That agreement was the only fortress protecting her heart.

  The peak of her anxiety finally hit when night arrived. With hesitant steps, Entya was escorted by handmaidens to the King's private chambers. The grand palace corridors felt like a labyrinth, each step bringing her closer to an uncertain fate.

  Would they be united in one room as a true husband and wife, or would Nashr politely keep his distance and let her return to her room?

  Just imagining both scenarios made Entya’s stomach ache and her cheeks burn.

  Entya racked her brain for a way to avoid getting swept up in the moment.

  'Should I act witty as usual? Try to laugh loudly? Or pretend to sleep as quickly as possible?'

  'Yes, that was a good idea. Pretending to sleep.' But she knew herself. Her breath would betray her immediately.

  The beautifully carved double doors swung open and then clicked shut by the handmaidens behind her, leaving Entya alone in a room that felt far too vast and far too quiet.

  That was when she saw him. The silhouette of a man standing in front of a large mirror, framed by the amber glow of the oil lamps.

  'I knew it.'

  'Just as I thought.'

  'How can I pretend to sleep if he is already there first?'

  A wave of heat rushed over her, turning her skin a vivid red from her head down to her feet. She rubbed her face in embarrassment and let out a long sigh. In front of the mirror, Nashr stood with his back to her. His wild maroon hair fell over his sturdy neck. His tall, large frame was draped in a loose silk robe, yet it still failed to hide the shape of his broad shoulders and slender waist.

  Without warning, Nashr's robe and upper garments slid down in one smooth, effortless motion, piling softly on the marble floor. It laid bare his athletic back muscles and the non permanent gold tattoos with patterns similar to Entya’s.

  "Nashr! Good heavens! Cover yourself!"

  Entya turned away impulsively, her heart throbbing in her neck. She stared at the stone wall which was suddenly very interesting, blush spreading across her face and ears.

  Behind her, she heard Nashr’s voice sounding as if he were holding back laughter. "I am used to sleeping like this, Entya. Wearing only trousers."

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Then sleep quietly!" she snapped, unable to look back. "Don't speak so calmly to me!" She pointed randomly. "I need something. A robe. The one over there. I will wear that."

  After the thick robe wrapped around her body like a shield, she realized it carried Nashr’s signature agarwood scent, causing the man’s eyes to glint with amusement.

  Entya turned back cautiously. Her eyes still avoided him, landing on the only safe thing to look at, which was the gold markings on Nashr’s wrist.

  "How do you remove those tattoos?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

  Nashr stepped closer, erasing the safe distance between them. He grabbed Entya’s hand, his touch warm and confident. "These tattoos?" His lips curved. "Ah, these are indeed specifically for the ceremony."

  He leaned down, dropping his voice into a husky whisper right in Entya’s ear. "According to ancient tradition... these tattoos must be removed by your partner. On the first night."

  His thumb rose, lightly touching Entya’s exposed collarbone. The brief touch felt like a small electric shock. The gold markings there dimmed, fading like light dust under his touch. Entya’s breath hitched.

  "So..." he whispered again, his amethyst eyes glowing with playful mischief. "You must show me everything so I can remove them."

  "WHAT? YOU'RE CRAZY!" Entya stumbled back, her robe billowing. Her face felt like it was exploding. "Impossible!"

  Her mind quickly remembered the location of other gold markings all over her body, including private parts, and blood instantly warmed her cheeks. "Truly, whoever created this tradition is clearly a pervert!"

  Nashr went silent for a moment, letting her panic linger for a few seconds that felt like a century, his eyes watching with teasing glint. Then, his composure broke. A burst of laughter escaped his chest, shattering the silence of the room.

  "I'm joking."

  "NASHR! Just you wait!" Entya grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it with all her might, fueled by her embarrassment. The pillow landed softly against the chest of the King, who was still laughing out loud.

  The laughter subsided, leaving a smile on Nashr’s face. He caught the pillow and placed it beside the sofa. "The tattoos will disappear when you bathe tomorrow morning," he said, his voice regaining its calm, though it still carried the warmth of his recent laughter. He pointed to the long sofa near the window. "I will sleep there. For now... it is better this way."

  Like a spell, all the tension in Entya’s shoulders dissolved. She sank to the edge of the bed, exhaling a sigh of relief for the first time since entering the room.

  On the sofa, Nashr lay on his side with his back to Entya. His laughter fade.

  He had not lied. The tradition regarding the tattoos was real. An ancient ritual often misunderstood, much like Entya’s protest. It was a rite that would be perverse if not accompanied by honor and trust.

  But the true meaning lay much deeper.

  The story was not about removing tattoos. It was a ritual to purify the soul. Every gold mark engraved on the skin carried a burden. Wounds from the past, regrets, stifling decisions, and shadows of the old self.

  The act of touching a partner’s skin with holy water to dissolve them served as a symbol of mutual forgiveness and the cleansing of their souls. A ceremony to undo their past selves. To be reborn pure, like a blank canvas. Ready to start a new chapter with the one they loved.

  It was not a perverse act, but a moment of total vulnerability before the only person they trusted to see them without any layers.

  Nashr closed his eyes. As he lay there, listening to Entya’s breathing slowly steady, Nashr’s thoughts drifted wildly.

  He imagined himself embracing Entya instead of that robe. He envisioned Entya without the thick fabric, left only with the gold markings on her skin, the sensation of his fingers tracing the softness of her skin.

  He began to feel insane.

  His body trembled, suppressing the surge of burning desire. The resonance humming between them didn't help either, as the intense energy pull only made things worse. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think about the royal budget, about agricultural reports, anything that could cool his blood.

  Entya was still adjusting to her adult body and to the demands of her new role.

  He knew Entya was not ready. He knew with certainty that Entya’s trust were far more valuable than forcing his will.

  Claiming her would be simple, but controlling his desire was a challenge. The ultimate test, however, was waiting for her, until one day Entya surrendered herself completely. Performing the ritual not out of obligation, but out of trust.

  "You are mine," his inner soul whispered to the silhouette on the bed.

  "But first, I will ensure that I am the safest place in your world."

  The night wind rustled through the window. On the bed, Entya slept soundly, in the embrace of her husband’s agarwood scented robe. And on the sofa, Nashr let the silence take over, letting their first night be defined not by desire, but by a boundary of trust they had built together.