The Kingdom of Vaelcrest was dying, its once-mighty halls echoing with the ghosts of faded glory.
But the throne room clung to decadence like a lover refusing to let go—polished marble floors gleaming underfoot, walls draped in violet velvet that whispered against bare skin, the air thick with the cloying perfume of incense, smoke, and wine.
A headier scent lingered beneath it all, musky and intoxicating, like the aftermath of an orgy, raw and unapologetic.
Slouched on the throne like a goddess bored of worship sat Queen Sereya, her voluptuous form a vision of regal sin.
Her crimson gown parted daringly at her thighs, the fabric riding up to tease the soft, creamy swell of her mound, barely concealed, inviting forbidden glances.
Golden chains webbed across her ample chest and curved belly, glinting in the firelight, accentuating the generous swell of her breasts, her nipples faintly visible through the sheer silk.
