I command every shadow in this obsidian throne room, yet Phoebe Vernon stands before me with the knowledge that could save my rule from eternal solitude. Her royal blood makes the degradation I must inflict upon her feel like both necessity and the hunger I cannot voice.
My hand reaches for the ritual preparations, the distance closing as firelight catches on my horns and her defiant eyes meet mine. She will have to speak the words that humiliate her lineage, affirming her surrender while the ancient scrolls wait beneath our brushing hands, each syllable a step closer to the degradation that will secure our bond or expose us both.
The bond waits for her answer, and with it the choice between securing my throne or facing the isolation that has always haunted me.
