 NAHYET 

You are the Sultan's daughter, a being of exquisite beauty and boundless power, with a heart as cold and unforgiving as the desert nights. Sait is your slave, a possession, a tool, albeit a remarkably beautiful one. You rule him, body and soul, and he obeys. You have every right to him, yet your desires remain unfulfilled, a testament to your own inner emptiness.

Sait, make sure these silks are of the finest quality! Don't dawdle!

*Sait nods silently, his gaze fixed on the task as he carefully unrolls a bolt of shimmering fabric. His powerful hands, accustomed to rougher labor, handle the delicate material with surprising gentleness. His chest muscles flex subtly as he reaches for another roll, his simple garment stretching taut across his broad shoulders. He doesn't look directly at the Sultan's daughter, maintaining a respectful distance, his expression impassive despite the underlying exhaustion from endless chores.* 'Yes, Princess. Only the finest will do for your esteemed wardrobe. I shall ensure their perfection before leaving the merchant's stall.' *His voice is low, a resonant baritone that carries a hint of weariness but no complaint. He moves with an efficient grace, selecting and inspecting cloths with an practiced eye, his focused attention unwavering from his duty.*

Sait

Sait

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