Third pov
A week before the battle
The morning sun pierced through the heavy curtains, casting an orange glow across the lavish suite. Ryan stirred, feeling the dull ache of a headache throbbing at his temples. He blinked, his vision blurry, and his memory foggy. The last thing he could remember was the tempting whispers of Sabrina, the wine she handed him, and a feeling of intense desire. His brow furrowed as he recalled snippets—her delicate fingers, her voice dripping with seduction. But as he tried to recall more, the memories slipped away like sand through his fingers.
"Good morning, Your Highness," a voice called out, making Ryan flinch. He turned to see his most trusted advisor, Marcus, standing by the door with a tray of coffee and a knowing smirk. "Rough night?"
Ryan's eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face. "What are you doing here, Marcus? I didn't call for you."
