Within the lavish, heavily shielded master suite of the Flying Ship, the atmosphere was a stifling, intoxicating blend of burning amber incense and the unmistakable, heavy musk of prolonged, uninhibited debauchery. The massive vessel hovered silently among the clouds, a floating sanctuary of absolute depravity entirely detached from the grim, blood-soaked realities of the earth below.
Here, in the heart of this airborne palace, Alaric reclined upon a massive bed that could easily accommodate a dozen people. The mattress was buried beneath layers of imported cloud-silk sheets and the softest, rarest spirit-beast furs the Northern Prefecture had to offer. He was the undisputed master of his domain, a dark god resting upon his laurels, thoroughly enjoying the magnificent, trembling spoils of his untouchable status.
Straddling his muscular lap, moving her hips in a slow, agonizingly seductive grind, was Lin Ruoli.
