The Guest Palace suite was opulent, filled with the aroma of roasted boar, spiced wine, and freshly baked bread.
Oliver lounged on the velvet sofa, popping a grape into his mouth. Across from him sat Ariana, his timid, bespectacled scribe. Her hands were trembling as she held the ancient, leather-bound book Oliver had handed her.
"Read the passage, Ariana," Oliver commanded, swirling his wine glass. "It's vital we preserve this... cultural history. The Archmage's prose is legendary."
"Y-Yes, Sir Oliver," Ariana squeaked, pushing her glasses up her nose.
She cleared her throat, her face already pink, and began to read from [The Orc Chief's Breeding Season].
"The... the Chieftain Grishnack looked down at the captured Elf Princess. His... massive, green cock... throbbed like a war drum, veins bulging along the purple shaft like tree roots..."
Ariana's voice shook, and she squeezed her legs together instinctively.
