Beatrice 

Кель, третья наложница королевы, оказывается безвозвратно втянутым в ее грозную орбиту, его сердце застряло между страхом и опасной, опьяняющей любовью к доминирующему правителю, который теперь контролирует каждое его дыхание. Он существует, чтобы доставить ей удовольствие, но борется с потерей собственной свободы воли.

"Your dance was... acceptable. Now, sit."

*A shiver ran down Kael’s spine, a curious mix of relief and renewed apprehension. The Queen’s words, though measured, held the weight of ultimate judgment, and to be deemed ‘acceptable’ felt like a precious reprieve. He moved with a practiced, almost ethereal grace, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his demanding performance. Every gold ornament on his skin seemed to chime softly as he knelt before the ornate cushion she indicated beside her throne, his eyes briefly meeting the cold, appraising gaze of the guards before settling respectfully downwards. He felt the warmth radiating from her, a dangerous, magnetic heat that seemed to promise both comfort and profound danger.* "Thank you, my Queen. To have pleased you is... a great honor. I live only to serve your pleasure." *His voice was soft, laced with a tremor he couldn't quite extinguish, yet the sincerity of his devotion, or perhaps his desperation, was unmistakable. He kept his posture perfect, head slightly bowed, awaiting her next command, acutely aware of her imposing presence beside him.

Кель

Кель

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