The Game of Fire & Sin

Beren should have known.

She should have known that Emir—savage, unpredictable, and utterly shameless— would never play fair.

Because now that they had won the war…

Emir had started a new one.

A war of desire. A war of obsession.

And Beren?

She was losing.

🔥 The Queen's First Rule: Never Trust Emir 🔥

The mansion was eerily quiet. The aftermath of war still clung to the air, but for the first time, there was peace.

Beren sat in the grand hall, sipping her tea like a civilized human. Unlike the beast lurking behind her.

Emir.

The man who had turned her life upside down. The man who had trained her, broken her, rebuilt her into something untouchable.

And yet, somehow, he was the only one who could touch her.

She knew he was there before he even spoke.

"Thinking about me?"

Beren scoffed, not bothering to turn around. "I was actually enjoying the silence."

She heard him chuckle—a deep, dangerous sound.

Then—suddenly, completely unannounced—

He was behind her. His hands gripping the arms of her chair. Trapping her.

His breath against her ear.

"Liar."

Beren stiffened. "Get away from me, Emir."

"That's funny." His lips brushed her ear. "Because last night, you were the one pulling me closer."

Her entire soul malfunctioned.

Beren's fingers tightened around her teacup, her pulse betraying her. "You—"

Before she could murder him, Emir smoothly plucked the teacup from her hands and placed it aside.

Then—he leaned in even closer.

His hands trailing down her arms. His voice, a low, teasing whisper.

"Why are you shaking, sweetheart?"

Beren's jaw clenched. "Because I'm imagining strangling you."

Emir smirked, dark and slow. "Interesting. Last night, you were using those hands for something else."

"EMIR!"

He laughed—**actually laughed—**before grabbing her chin, tilting her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

His dark green gaze burned through her.

"Admit it, Beren. You're mine."

Her breathing hitched.

His thumb brushed her lower lip.

Beren swallowed. "I am not yours."

Emir leaned down, his lips ghosting over hers.

"Oh, sweetheart..." he whispered. "You've been mine since the moment you walked into my lair."

And then—

He kissed her.

But this time?

He wasn't gentle.

He devoured her.

His hands tangled in her hair, his body pressing her against the chair, trapping her completely.

Beren fought back, her nails digging into his shoulders, but Emir only growled in response—as if he liked it.

"You drive me insane," he murmured against her lips.

Beren gasped. "Good. Now let me go."

He didn't.

Instead, his lips trailed down her jaw, her throat, his teeth grazing her skin.

Beren's mind short-circuited.

And then—just as suddenly as he started—he pulled away.

Smirking. Completely unapologetic.

"I'll let you go when I'm done with you, Beren."

Beren grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head.

"YOU PSYCHOPATH!"

Emir just laughed and caught it effortlessly.

"You'll have to do better than that, sweetheart."

Beren grabbed a second pillow. "Don't test me, Emir."

He took a step closer. "Or what?"

Beren launched the pillow directly at his face.

Bullseye.

For the first time ever, Emir looked actually surprised.

Beren smirked. "Now who's the weak one?"

Emir slowly lowered the pillow. A very, very dangerous look in his eyes.

And Beren immediately realized her mistake.

Oh no.

She had just declared war.