The Crystal Spire was quiet.
Too quiet.
It was the kind of silence that gets under your skin, the oppressive calm before a storm you know is coming but can't yet see.
I, Ragnar Vhagar, the big-dicked bastard Overlord of this entire godsforsaken prefecture, was starting to get an itch.
The peace was boring me. And a bored Demon King is a dangerous Demon King.
My private chambers were a testament to my good taste, all smoky quartz and sheets that felt like woven moonlight. It was a proper king's bed, and I was making proper use of it.
Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow, was currently demonstrating a level of devotion that went far beyond simple battlefield command. Her head was nestled in my lap, her silver hair a silken river against my thighs. Her amethyst eyes, usually so cool and composed, were wide with a raw, desperate pleasure that was for me, and me alone.
Her tongue was a work of art. A masterpiece of demonic fellatio.
