The sun cast golden streaks across Serapha's skyline as the desert city stirred awake. Rising from the golden sands like a crown of opulence, its alabaster towers gleamed beneath the cloudless sky, and the air buzzed with the low hum of distant markets preparing for the day's commerce. Within the city's luxurious district—where wealth dripped from every sandstone arch and silk curtain—life unfolded with deliberate elegance. Nobles strolled along sun-warmed streets, their laughter like the chime of distant bells as they passed merchants displaying wares of silk, spice, and gemstone beneath crimson awnings.
It was in the heart of this gilded realm that Crocodile intended to make his statement.
Sineka had just taken her final sip of tea when he spoke.
"Get dressed."
She glanced up from the porcelain teacup, the faint traces of cinnamon still lingering on her tongue. Across the breakfast table, Crocodile sat with his usual air of unshakable authority, his cigar resting between his fingers as a thin wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling. His amber gaze met hers—steady, unyielding.
"We're going out."
Sineka arched a brow. "Out?"
"Yes. You and I, in public."
The weight of his words settled between them like fine desert dust.
Sineka studied him carefully, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of the teacup. Though the past few weeks had been marked by his constant presence—through sleepless nights, shared meals, and whispered reassurances—this was the first time he'd suggested something beyond the gilded walls of his estate. This was not mere companionship. This was something else.
"Is there a particular reason for this sudden excursion?" she asked, her tone measured.
Crocodile took a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke that lingered between them like a veil. His eyes never left hers.
"So you never doubt it again."
Her breath caught in her throat.
There was no mistaking the meaning in his words.
So she would never doubt that she was his.
The room fell into a hush, broken only by the faint crackle of the fireplace. A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind, but none found their way to her lips. Instead, she set her teacup down with slow deliberation and rose from her chair.
"I'll get ready."
The sun blazed high above Serapha's streets as Sineka walked beside Crocodile, her arm tucked neatly into the crook of his. Though the air hummed with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and silk banners fluttered in the breeze, the city's pulse seemed to slow with each step they took. Conversations faltered as nobles paused to observe them, their whispers rising and falling like the distant murmur of the tide.
Sineka felt the weight of their gazes—curiosity from the men, envy from the women—woven through the fabric of expectation that clung to this district like perfume on silk.
No one approached. No one dared.
The statement was clear enough.
She was his.
The gown Crocodile had chosen for her left no room for misinterpretation. Draped in deep crimson with accents of molten gold, the fabric clung to her curves with deliberate elegance, flowing around her legs like liquid fire. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists, ears, and fingers—delicate yet unmistakably extravagant—a stark contrast to the heavy rings and sharp-edged accessories that Crocodile wore with such ease. Together, they cut a striking figure: the infamous Sir Crocodile and the woman who now walked at his side.
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A Bride for the Desert King | Crocodile
Fanfiction"Marry me," she commanded, almost. Crocodile narrowed his eyes at the impertinence of the woman who stood in front of him. "Ara," he heard Ms All Sunday mutter amusedly. "Who are you?" "Sineka Duskblade," she replied.
