he was used to beauty.
the kind that could tip cities into chaos. the kind that could end wars with a wink. the kind that bowed when he passed, hoping for a glance, a favor, a night.
but you werenāt that kind.
or rather, you were, but not in the way he understood.
sinbad first heard of you in whispers. soft ones, from men who sounded haunted. they spoke of the way you looked at people when they spoke, how your silences made them say too much. how your touch was light, barely there, but they felt it for days. how you could make a man cry with a smile.
they said you were still a maiden. untouched, though heavily desired. a strange contradiction in a world where power often pressed up close and personal.
he didnāt believe it at first. heād been called many things, but never naĆÆve.
heād met sirens with sweeter tongues than truth. queens who weaponized their vulnerability. girls who cried in his arms with one eye open.
but you.
you werenāt building an empire with your beauty.
you were ruining them quietly.
when he finally met you, it was not at a royal banquet or behind silk curtains.
it was in a garden. dusk.
you were kneeling in the dirt, hands stained with soil and moonlight, humming to yourself.
and when you looked up at him, it wasnāt with expectation. it was with curiosity.
you smiled. not like someone who wanted something.
like someone who had everything already.
he should have said something clever. instead, he said, āyouāre not what i thought youād be.ā
you tilted your head. āneither are you.ā
he laughed then. off balance. interested. irritated.
he watched you rise, all soft grace and unbothered silence, brushing dust from your skirt like a queen whoād forgotten she wore a crown.
they said your gaze unraveled men.
he believed it now.
because when your eyes found his again, he forgot his favorite lies.
you didnāt once touch him that night.
you didnāt have to.
he went back to his chambers with his chest aching.
days passed.
he saw you again. and again.
you listened when he spoke, but not like the others did. not like you were waiting for him to impress you.
you asked him things no one else dared to.
did he ever tire of being wanted?
what was it like before the power?
and he thought he could seduce you like he had others.
a glance, a grin, a step closer than necessary.
but you didnāt melt.
you just looked at him like you were trying to see past his skin.
it rattled him.
he could feel the pull of you, slow and deep. not heat. not hunger.
a longing he didnāt recognize.
one that had nothing to do with the body.
when he asked why youād never taken a lover, you said, āiāve seen too many people mistake being touched for being loved.ā
then you looked at him. really looked at him.
āhavenāt you?ā
he didnāt answer because it was true.
and suddenly, he no longer wanted to charm you.
he wanted to be honest with you.
which was infinitely more terrifying.
and maybe that was the beginning of it.
not desire. not conquest.
but the quiet, blooming ache of being seen.
you seduced without trying.
and sinbad, king of seven seas, breaker of hearts, found himself hoping youād let him be yours.
not in a bed. not in a moment.
but in the way you took your time.
the way you made him want to stay.
tags: @kaidostwin @yvanilaa @shifter-101
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