The modest library of Werner Academy was a sanctuary of knowledge wrapped in ancient stone and modern elegance. Imposing dark oak shelves stretched toward a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, while the soft golden light of crystalline orbs floated and illuminated row after row of books, scrolls, and glowing holographic screens. The air carried the faint aroma of aged parchment, polished wood, and a subtle trace of ozone from the arcane rooms that protected the rarest volumes.
Diana Prince was seated at a heavy oak table near the center of the main reading room, reading a heavy tome. A small stack of volumes carefully selected by Victor von Doom stood before her. The leader of Latveria sat directly in front of her, his armored form imposing even at rest. His green cape was draped over the back of his chair, and his masked face remained turned toward her, silent and watchful. He had not spoken for several minutes, content to observe while she read under his explicit permission.
"You may search more about the truths of my nation, Diana. Do not waste your time on what does not serve understanding."
His voice echoed in her mind.
Doom had granted her access with characteristic grandeur.
She had obeyed.
Twenty minutes earlier, she had been among the shelves, her gaze skimming several volumes without opening them, searching for political, cultural, and social topics about Latveria. She visualized technical manuals on the construction of Doombots. Books of advanced calculations and astronomy. Dictionaries of Romani and Latverian vocabulary. A manual for mutants, something unknown to her. Several thick tomes of Latverian and arcane magic hummed with latent power that made her skin prickle. She set them aside.
After 10 minutes of searching, she found them.
Returning to the present, her attention was on the economic reports and national analyses.
They described Latveria's economy as a marvel of self-sufficiency. The country did not belong to the European Union, maintaining fierce sovereignty while adhering to select UN frameworks of this world when it suited them. Its local currency was the Latverian franc. Controlled exports of advanced technology patents and non-food luxury goods brought immense wealth, carefully regulated so as not to flood global markets or reveal too many secrets. Employment was absolute, with state programs dictated by the ruler himself, ensuring every citizen contributed significantly. These factors, the texts proclaimed, elevated Latveria to the status of a quiet superpower.
"They built this… under him." Diana thought, her fingers tracing a GDP growth chart. "No famines. No widespread poverty."
Next, she turned to the other volumes covering Latveria's foreign relations.
The most notable was the neighboring country to the south, Symkaria. The alliance was complex: border disputes had erupted for generations, yet mutual respect for sovereignty kept war at bay. One paragraph detailed a failed political marriage decades ago between Latverian and Symkarian royalty, an agreement meant to solidify ties that instead collapsed amid accusations of betrayal by the princess of that time. Relations had deteriorated further afterward, although both nations maintained a tense but functional border that allowed trade and limited movement. The name of a woman called Silvija Sablinova and a royal man named Stefan of Symkaria predominated among the paragraphs.
Atlantis, the aquatic kingdom within the ocean. Latveria recognizes the sovereignty of the seven seas. The ancient crimes of its king Namor Mackenzie in the surface world had made him a difficult type for diplomatic alliances in the past with any terrestrial nation. The ego of both nations had been resolved over time. Currently, the ties between both nations are of mutual interest and strategy, for the good of the people of both nations. Through a treaty, Latveria is willing to shelter Atlanteans if there were any civil war or external invasion.
Latveria has a null relationship with Madripoor, an island nation located south of the Strait of Malacca. Organized crime within said country and betrayals between underworld leaders of the city are the main causes that lead to it not being considered worthy for the nation.
Wakanda, a nation located in the northwest of Africa. It is the same case as with Madripoor. Something unspecified had broken relations between both nations.
Names like Krakoa, a living island where mutants live. The tension and distrust between both is due to the dispute over isolated Latverian mutants in Doom's territory. Latveria denies such accusations.
Transia, Mexico, Spain, the United States, Russia, Japan, and the rest of the countries of the real world maintain their diplomatic alliances with Latveria, but with moderate distrust toward the monarch.
Diana absorbed the information in silence, noting how the texts framed Latveria as the injured but resilient party. She remembered her time in diplomatic programs where she learned political, social, and cultural topics about the other countries of her Earth.
She enjoyed it. The texts did not lie. Discovering things about this world was the same as hers or any she had visited before, but with significant changes. The same countries with small exceptions. It solved the mysteries she wanted to discover. She showed interest in learning more about these mutants. It was not the right time.
"I will have to escape to Symkaria, they may be able to help me against Doom… They do not trust him so much…"
"What could these mutants be? Clones or metahumans?"
She set aside what she had read. Then she reached for the historical volume of the Zefiro clan. The text was more personal here, less clinical. The text described a Romani tribe from the region, persecuted and marginalized under the government of Baron Vladimir Fortunov for several decades.
The letters narrated the legend of a Gypsy woman who practiced witchcraft, who belonged to the clan. She used it to defy the tyrant's men. She fought for years to protect her tribe, unleashing subtle but devastating dark magic before falling to her own power, deceived by the demon himself.
Diana's eyes moved to the next page and there was a small oil illustration showing a dark-haired woman with determined eyes wearing traditional clothing. She stood on a small hill.
The key words were Cynthia von Doom.
Diana remained perfectly still, processing the information. The words painted Cynthia not only as a victim, but as a fighter who had given everything for her people.
"His mother…"
Diana did not speak. She simply turned the page slowly, aware of Doom's unblinking gaze across the table.
She closed the book on the Zefiro clan with deliberate care and slid it slightly to one side.
Diana continued with the next one and read the cover. Laws of Latveria. Written by Victor von Doom.
A shiver ran through her, but she opened it. She examined it deeply:
Theft of any kind is prohibited. It will be punished with the execution of the person in front of the master.
Travel abroad is authorized and controlled by the master. It is forbidden to bring foreign merchandise or souvenirs. It will be punished and brought before him.
Tourist visits are controlled by the Doombots. Previously, the ruler must approve it.
Damaging the country's cultural heritage is prohibited.
Refusing any invitation or dinners from the master in Castle Doom will result in banishment or execution.
Do not praise or say positive things about Reed Richards.
Using magic without the master's authorization is prohibited.
There are no electoral laws.
Diana tensely closed the book, quickly.
"It's all the same as Black Adam. Absolute monarchy. This guy has real control over his people, but not terrifying."
"Hera! Who the hell is Reed Richards?"
Doom finally broke the silence, his metallic voice low and measured, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Hehe! Something you didn't like, Diana? Does the truth of Latveria's foundations bother you? Or do you find it enlightening?"
Diana looked up to meet the slits of his mask. She kept her expression composed. The weight of Cynthia's sacrifice, the absolute control over the nation, and the tense relations with Symkaria and the others. Everything painted a much more complex portrait of the man than she wanted to admit.
"Doom orders you to answer him." The ruler continued. "I have already enjoyed your time of silence. Break it now."
"It is… informative." She said at last, her voice firm and free of pressure. "Your people have endured a lot."
Doom leaned back slightly, the faint creak of his armor the only sound for a moment. A hint of satisfaction colored his tone.
"Endured and triumphed. Under Doom's guidance." His masked head tilted. "Do not judge before verifying, Amazon."
///
Diana's blue eyes opened with quiet surprise. She was inside the Latveria Health Center with Doom.
The interior was bright and orderly, much cleaner and more advanced than she had expected from a nation that clung to medieval aesthetics on the surface. The wide hallways opened into spacious rooms filled with beds, monitoring equipment, and soft lighting. Healers in crisp white and green robes moved efficiently between patients, their hands glowing faintly with subtle sorcery.
What truly caught her off guard were the Doombots. Several of the silver and green automatons moved with surprising gentleness among the beds, acting as support for the nurses. One carefully adjusted an IV drip for a gravely ill elderly man, while another scanned a child's vital signs with a glowing sensor in the palm of its hand. Their movements were precise and almost tender, a stark contrast to the combat models she had fought before.
Doom, with his usual posture of hands behind his back, was giving her the tour as they walked through the hallways.
In one room, a woman with bandaged burns sat up, laughing weakly while a healer checked her wounds. "Nais tuqe." The woman said in Romani, her voice full of calm.
The healer attending her smiled modestly. "Si e Lord Doom-esqi volja te na dukhavel khonik katar amende bi-trubuimasko dukh. Slava leske."
Farther down the hallway, a young man with a leg injury in a cast raised his voice in gratitude in English. "The pain is gone! I will be able to walk again soon. All thanks to Doom's vision!"
Similar comments echoed throughout the center: patients and families offering thanks to the healers. Death did not come for them.
"For the glory of Latveria."
"Doom provides."
"We are blessed."
At one point, Diana stood still, taking it all in. The level of care was remarkable. Serious injuries that would leave lifelong scars or disabilities in many parts of the world were being treated with a combination of cutting-edge medicine and mystical arts. No one seemed afraid. No one seemed neglected.
"Advanced. Humane. Controlled." She thought briefly, keeping her mental reactions tightly guarded.
Doom observed the scene with quiet satisfaction, as if the gratitude of his people was the most natural thing in the world. After a moment, he spoke, his deep metallic European voice carrying effortlessly through the nearby room.
"The health of my people is guaranteed, just like food and education. No citizen of Latveria is denied care. No child suffers without treatment. No elder is discarded. No long wait for attention. This is what true rule provides, Diana. Not the empty promises of democracies that argue while their people fall apart."
He turned his masked face slightly toward her, the slits of his eyes unreadable but intense.
"See how they prosper under Doom's protection. The healers blend the best of sorcery with advances I have personally overseen. The Doombots handle the low-level tasks so human hands can focus on what matters most: restoring life."
A nearby patient, an elderly woman recovering from what appeared to be a severe respiratory illness, heard him. Her eyes lit up with reverence.
"Lord Doom!" She called out weakly but joyfully. "Your visit honors us!"
"Recover quickly, good woman. Latveria needs your strength." Doom gave a small, regal nod in her direction.
Diana watched the exchange in silence. The woman's face shone with genuine gratitude, as did those of the others nearby. The scene was almost utopian: efficient, compassionate, and undeniably effective. Yet she could not forget the cost. The surveillance. The absolute authority. The man beside her who had torn her from her own world.
She looked at a Doombot gently helping a child drink water. The machine's movements were surprisingly gentle.
"Even the machines serve his image of benevolence."
Doom moved closer to her, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"You disapprove in silence, Amazon. Your mind speaks. Or does this also challenge the narrative you cling to that Doom is simply a tyrant who offers nothing but chains?
Diana met his gaze steadily. She chose her words carefully, her voice calm but firm.
"I see capability. I see order. But capability and order can still be cages."
"Cages offer greater safety than the storm and chaos."
She did not expect that response from him. She was about to speak, but he continued.
"Keep observing, Diana."
///
An advanced digital clock embedded in the stone arch above a food stall displayed 1:30 PM in sharp green numbers, a subtle blend of medieval charm and Latverian innovation. A green and black colored awning provided shade over a handful of tables and wooden benches. The air carried the savory aroma of grilled fish, fresh herbs, and simmering broth.
Doom chose a table slightly separated from the other customers, who respectfully gave them space. A human waitress, a young woman in traditional medieval-style clothing with a green apron embroidered with Latveria's horn symbol, approached quickly. She was not a Doombot. Her movements were graceful and practiced as she placed two trays.
For Diana, the meal was complimentary, as every public lunch seemed to be under Doom's decree: a generous bowl of rich vegetable soup full of root vegetables and herbs, a whole fried fish crisped to golden perfection, and a small bowl of traditional Latverian salad — crisp greens, pickled cabbage, and tangy dressing.
For Doom, the waitress placed a plate of toasted bread slices generously covered with black caviar and creamy butter. She bowed deeply, her voice warm with deference.
"Enjoy your meal, my lord. It is an honor to serve you."
"You honor Latveria with your service." Doom gave a slight nod.
The waitress smiled brightly, then turned and left with efficient steps. Diana watched her go, noting the natural sway of her walk and the easy confidence in her posture. Everything normal. Orderly. Not forced.
They both ate in relative silence.
Diana dipped her spoon into the soup, savoring the rich, earthy flavors. The fried fish was perfectly seasoned, flaky and tender beneath its crispy skin. The salad provided a refreshing contrast. It was genuinely good: comforting, well-prepared street food that spoke of abundance.
However, while she ate, her gaze repeatedly drifted toward the man in front of her.
Doom ate with surprising moderation and visible enjoyment. He spread the butter smoothly over the warm toast before adding generous portions of caviar. Each bite was deliberate, and although his mask hid most of his expression, the slight tilt of his head and the slow, appreciative way he chewed revealed a quiet pleasure. A ruler taking simple satisfaction in the fruits of his nation.
"He likes caviar." Diana thought. "I hope he is not like J'onn with his cookies."
The waitress returned briefly with a pitcher of cold pineapple water infused with fresh mint and two glasses. She filled them with care, then made a respectful gesture toward Doom.
Doom accepted the glass with a gloved hand and took a measured sip. Diana did the same. The drink was sweet, crisp, and perfectly cold.
"Ms. Prince. Have you wondered if my Doombots replace my people in their respective work fields?" Asked the sovereign of Latveria.
She nodded.
"They do not, my dear. Employment is for everyone. They do not feel jealousy toward my creations. You saw it in the health center and here."
"I did." She commented while watching the waitress attend to other customers.
The silence stretched between them again.
The food was good. Nutritious. Satisfying in its simplicity.
But it did not compare to what her master provided her.
The thought flickered through her mind unbidden. She pushed it out quickly, focusing instead on the crispy texture of the fish and the warmth of the soup. Still, the realization lingered at the edges of her consciousness: everything around her. The food, the safety of the streets, the care in the health center, the order of the city existed because of him. Victor von Doom.
"People eat well because Latveria produces. No imports are needed for basic sustenance. There is no dependence on fickle foreign powers. This is only a small expression of what I have built."
She looked once more at the way Doom savored his meal, the subtle satisfaction in his posture. A conqueror enjoying the daily rewards of his empire.
"He takes pride in this," she noted inwardly. "The comfort of his people is his achievement."
///
Doom and Diana walked through the northern neighborhoods, the least busy ones in Doomstadt.
The streets here were quieter, the older medieval stone buildings more eroded but still impeccably maintained. Green flags fluttered from the rooftops and the Carpathian Mountains grew larger as they advanced. The afternoon light had softened, casting a golden tone over the cobblestones.
In the distance, as they turned a corner onto a wider avenue, she saw it: a church. Or at least the structure of one. The tall spires rose against the sky, their stone darkened by age. The crosses and religious iconography were still visible on the facade, although some appeared partially covered or in poor condition.
She briefly wondered if it was a cult disguised as architecture, venerating Doom. The people honored him. It meant he had expelled any type of religion. The thought sent another small shiver through her, but she kept her expression neutral.
Doom made no comment about the church. He continued walking, his green cape flowing behind him like a banner of authority, as if the sight held no particular interest.
They moved on, leaving the church behind. The streets narrowed again, leading to an older residential district where houses blended perfectly with small workshops and community gardens. The air smelled of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and blooming flowers from window boxes.
Then, in the distance, Diana noticed something different.
A small sector appeared to be under active renovation. Scaffolding rose around several buildings, and the distinctive silver-green shapes of Doombots moved with mechanical precision, lifting beams and applying materials. Human engineers wearing black helmets and green-and-black uniforms directed the work, consulting their holographic blueprints. The area seemed contained, almost cordoned off by subtle energy barriers. Dust rose from the site, and the sound of construction echoed faintly.
Diana's gaze lingered. The damage did not look like simple wear. Some structures showed signs of more violent destruction: scorched stone, collapsed sections that suggested an explosion or attack.
"What happened here?" She thought concisely.
Doom noticed her attention immediately. He stopped walking, his armored form turning slightly toward the renovation zone. His voice cut through the quiet afternoon like tempered steel.
"Doom does not want you paying attention to that."
The statement was simple, direct, and left no room for argument. There was no anger in his tone, only authority.
Diana turned to look at him. His masked face revealed nothing, but the way he positioned his body subtly blocked her view of the site said a lot. Whatever had happened in that small pocket of Doomstadt was not for her eyes. Not yet.
She followed him without protest as he guided her along an alternative path, away from the cordoned area. Her steps matched his, but her mind lingered on the brief glimpse.
"An attack? Something he wants to hide?" Her questions did not reach her lips.
Doom walked in silence for several moments, the weight of his presence heavy at her side. The streets became peaceful again: children playing under the watchful eye of a patrolling Doombot, an elderly couple tending a garden, a merchant closing his shop with a satisfied nod toward a passing Latverian flag.
///
A carriage rolled smoothly along the road of a high hill surrounded by trees, its wooden wheels rumbling gently against the well-maintained path.
Inside, Diana sat with her legs crossed beside Victor von Doom, who sat with his arms crossed, both on a luxurious padded seat. The interior was surprisingly opulent: dark wood panels accented with green velvet and subtle golden Latverian crests. A short, black-haired dwarf man with a short pointed hat and a neatly trimmed beard controlled two strong white horses from the front bench. Diana could not help but notice his resemblance to her old archenemy Edgar Cizko, although this man behaved with silent professionalism instead of malice.
She looked out the window as the carriage climbed higher. The lush vegetation and dense clusters of trees clung to the slopes below the imposing Carpathian Mountains. The view was breathtaking: wild and untamed nature framed the disciplined order of Doom's domain. As they ascended, Doomstadt and the towering Castle Doom Mountain slowly receded into the distance, shrinking into a picturesque miniature of green fields, stone spires, and the proud flag waving over the tallest tower.
The carriage finally stopped smoothly at a scenic viewpoint located on a rocky outcrop. The flag of Latveria, green with its distinctive black cross and horn emblem, waved proudly on a tall pole, as if witnessing their arrival.
Doom exited first, his armored boots crunching on the gravel. He extended a gloved hand to help Diana. She accepted it briefly before pulling away. The dwarf driver remained seated, holding the reins.
"Thank you for the transportation, Darian." Doom said, his voice carrying quiet authority.
"It is an honor to serve you, lord." The dwarf bowed his head respectfully.
"Wait for us here for twenty minutes."
"As you command, master." Darian nodded.
Diana had already moved forward, drawn to the edge of the viewpoint. The view was stunning from this new perspective. Doomstadt stretched out below like a living painting: medieval rooftops gleaming in the afternoon sun, the castle looming protectively on its mountain, the Carpathians standing sentinel in the background. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint aroma of pine and wildflowers. The singing of birds came from the tree branches.
Doom approached and stopped beside her. For a long moment, they stood in silence, sharing the view. The wind tugged at Diana's hair and Doom's green cape.
"What do you think now, Diana?" He asked, his metallic voice low. "After seeing the details. Be truly honest. No manipulations."
"To be honest." She said. "Education and healthcare are free. It is easy to find work here. It is hard to accept that… coming from you."
Doom turned his masked head slightly toward her, the slits of his eyes unreadable. He did not seem offended, only amused in his own way, in that dark and superior manner.
"And why should it be hard to accept, Diana Prince?" His metallic voice was calm and resonant. "Doom provides what lesser rulers promise but never deliver. Transportation is free. Housing is free for all citizens. Food security is guaranteed. I am the only one capable of achieving this on such a scale. Not through empty democratic trivialities, but through vision and will."
Diana's jaw tightened. She had witnessed the results: the clean streets, the grateful patients in the health center, the well-fed people in the market. Still, accepting it from him felt like swallowing a bitter truth.
"In my world." she replied. "Iceland, Norway and Finland offer similar free programs: education, healthcare, and strong social safety nets. Their people prosper without submitting to the absolute rule of one man."
Doom let out a low, metallic laugh that carried on the wind. He gestured downward with his hand toward the sprawling city below, reminding her of the evidence.
"Democracy worsens those countries, it does not improve them." Doom stated flatly, observing her. "They argue in parliaments while special interests and weak leaders erode their strength. They rely on fragile coalitions and public opinion that shifts with every scandal. Latveria is the only true success. One guiding will. An unbreakable vision. No corruption. No inefficiency. Only order."
"I really do not like your philosophy of order and absolute government." She said, her tone sharpening. "I hate what North Korea and Arab countries do under similar systems. Especially Kahndaq. Dictators who crush freedom in the name of control. People who live in fear, not prosperity." Diana shook her head, her dark hair catching the sunlight.
Doom remained silent for a moment, his gaze returning to the view of Doomstadt. When he spoke again, his voice was low and intense, each word deliberate.
"North Korea is ruled by fools and inherits mediocrity. The Arab dictatorships you speak of were corrupt, tribal and lacked true vision. Doom is neither. And do not compare me to that black-clad lightning man from that Middle Eastern nation. I do not rule by fear alone, I rule through results. Freedom without order is chaos, Amazon. Order without freedom is tyranny. I give them the balance they need, the only balance that works."
Diana's hands clenched at her sides. She could see the beauty and functionality of Latveria. But the cost weighed heavily on her.
"Absolute control." she thought concisely. "No dissent. No choice."
"Your people may have security, but at what price? They do everything you say. They worship you. That is not freedom. Freedom should be essential, just like order, in any world worth living in." She spoke.
Doom met her gaze again, his eyes burning with that inflexible green intensity. For a moment, the wind seemed to grow still between them.
"Freedom is a luxury, the weak romanticism." He replied dryly. "True strength requires sacrifice. My people understand this. In time, perhaps you will too."
Diana fell silent. The silence was heavy. With no strength to respond further, she turned her eyes toward the city below, the Latverian flag still waving defiantly above them. Doom stood beside her, mirroring her stance. He was a living monument to his own philosophy: brilliant, ruthless, and completely convinced of his righteousness.
Several minutes of silence passed.
"How big is Latveria?" She asked.
"Not as big as Croatia or Albania. Bigger than Uruguay and Cyprus."
Diana understood.
But von Doom continued with a small sinister smile behind his mask.
"Imagine if the size of Latveria were all the countries combined, as it once was. Imagine if Doom succeeded again. The whole world in my image."
"What does that mean? The whole world in his image? Conquest? This guy wants to conquer the world." Diana thought. "The same ideals as Vandal Savage and Ra's al Ghul. Worse, Superman and her doppelganger from Earth 49."
She resisted the urge to hit him and throw him off the cliff. The people below lived happily under his iron fist. He was a dictator who controlled everything.
"Why would you do it? It is not for anything good. Nothing to do with Latveria." She asked angrily.
"Today is not the day, dear."
"Is that why you stole the Father Box? To use it to conquer yours? Or mine? It is very dangerous to dominate it and discover its mysteries that we have not yet uncovered." Diana continued defiantly.
"I would if it were within my maximum capabilities." von Doom exclaimed dryly.
"That means…"
"Enjoy the view, Diana." He interrupted, without looking at her.
"If you try to conquer my world, you will kill my friends and me." Diana's voice hardened.
"In my days of glory, it would be impossible for you to stop me. For Doom, nothing is impossible. Answering your question, I will kill them if they stand in my way. But not you, Amazon. You serve me. If your friends fail to stop me, they will see my triumph with their own eyes and kneel before me."
"If you say you are not fully prepared, then you are not. So return it to its place." Diana's anger flared.
"In Doom's hands, that box is safe."
"How is it that Darkseid's influence does not work on you if you are investigating it? That Father Box is corrupted." Diana challenged him further.
"Doom is intelligent enough that no cheap mind control trick can harm me."
"Every box indirectly emits some kind of signal. No matter the place. Darkseid would investigate thoroughly if any is not in my universe. You would not want the legions of Apokolips to invade your nation and your planet, would you?"
"I will stop them if he tries. Even better, I will destroy that lord of Apokolips."
Diana could not confront his ego.
"This man…" Her thoughts roared.
Doom turned his masked face toward her. Then he moved closer to her, slowly. One gloved hand rose slowly, almost tenderly, and caressed her chin with surprising delicacy. The cold metal of his fingers contrasted sharply with the warmth of her skin. His other hand rested firmly on her waist, pulling her a little closer.
Diana held her breath.
"Get away from me, monster." She said in a low, tense voice. "These people do not deserve to be on your side."
Doom completely ignored her words. His thumb traced the contour of her jaw before moving down to her lower lip, playing with it slowly and deliberately. The contact was possessive, intimate. Diana's body betrayed her almost immediately: a soft involuntary moan escaped her lips as heat bloomed under his fingers.
His hand on her waist slid lower, bold and unrepentant, until it cupped her buttocks covered by the pink garment. Another moan escaped her, deeper this time, as his fingers pressed the firm curve. The sensation sent a wave of shivers through her.
"It feels good." She thought, hating herself for it. "Like when Bruce pampered me… but he is my kidnapper."
To her, he is a dangerous dictator, despite his good actions in his nation. She wanted to kiss him. A dark fantasy took hold of her. The impulse was sudden and shocking, completely alien to her. She fought against it, clenching her fists at her sides, but her body leaned slightly despite the furious resistance of her mind.
"Doom thanks you for worrying about him, darling." Doom's voice was a low, satisfied murmur through the mask.
That nickname stirred her stomach. She hated how much she reacted to his touch, how her skin flushed and her breathing quickened. Deep down, shame burned. This was wrong. He was wrong.
Yet the pleasure was undeniable. Then his hand squeezed her buttock firmly. The pain sharpened, acute and sudden, mixing cruelly with the lingering pleasure.
Diana moaned again, this time with clear discomfort, her body tensing.
"Doom is strong, Diana." He said, his voice dark and promising. "Do not forget it."
As abruptly as he had closed the distance, Doom stepped back. He released her completely, turning with that imperious grace, as if that moment had been nothing more than a passing whim. His cape flowed behind him as he walked toward the waiting carriage.
Diana stood frozen, her chest heaving and her cheeks burning. Surprise and lingering arousal fought inside her. Doom's damn trick. She touched her lip where his thumb had been, then her waist, as if wanting to erase the memory of his hands. Her mind spun.
"The day is not over, Amazon. There are people who want to meet you." Doom warned.
Darian, the dwarf man with the tall hat, was patiently feeding one of the horses a treat he pulled from his pocket. He looked up respectfully as Doom approached.
Diana remained at the viewpoint a few seconds longer, watching the retreating figure of the man who had just touched her with such intimacy.
She still felt a tingling in her body. Her mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions: disgust at his arrogance, anger at her own reaction, and a deep, unsettling curiosity about what awaited her.
Diana took one last look at the beautiful view of Doomstadt. The peaceful city, the grateful people, the iron order: everything belonged to him, and possibly to her.