Ambrose’s face turned bright red, the anger bubbling up inside him as Prince Khan’s words hit him hard. He opened his mouth to argue, but the prince raised a hand, cutting him off instantly.
“Did I stutter, Ambrose?” Prince Khan’s voice sliced through the room, cold and unrelenting. “Fall. At. His. Feet. Beg until he accepts.”
The room was thick with tension, every pair of eyes darting between Ambrose and Asher. Asher stood in the center of it all, calm and composed, his arms crossed.
His face betrayed no emotion, yet his mere presence felt overwhelming, commanding attention without a single word.
Ambrose, shaking, took a halting step forward. “Your Highness… surely this isn’t necessary. I—”
“Necessary?” Khan’s laugh was low and menacing, echoing in the hall.
“It’s generous, Ambros
