Volkar, the Throne Room
Delilah walked into the throne room like she owned it.
She was dressed in a red gown. The gown dipped low at her chest, showing far more skin than tradition allowed, and a split high along her thigh. Every step showed intention. Every movement dared someone to stop her.
No one did.
Zarek sat on the throne, fire circling round his fingers, rising and shrinking like it was breathing with him. His posture was relaxed, but the power around him was not.
As she entered, his expression didn't change.
Delilah bowed halfway.
"My king," she purred.
Then she straightened and began to walk slowly, hips swaying as she circled him. Her scent filled the air, spiced, sweet, almost dizzying. A scent made to distract. To pull.
"You must be lonely," she said lightly, "I heard your little human has left Volkar."
Zarek didn't answer, didn't react. He didn't even look at her.
Delilah smiled, unfazed. She was used to being ignored before being wanted.
