The Northern Spire is being repaired. For three days, the hammering echoes through the stone. My generals think I am enraged by the noise. They are wrong. The sound is a constant, grating reminder that my tribute sleeps in my chambers, untouched. Her skin is warm against the furs. I watch her sleep and my cock aches with a need I do not understand. It is not just to fuck her, to bury myself in her cunt until she screams. It is to possess her entirely. To have her taste on my tongue and her scent on my skin. This weakness festers in me, a poison more potent than any blade. A king should not kneel, yet I find myself at the foot of my own bed, a supplicant to a human's quiet breath.