Stavanger Bay you've buried all your alimony butterflies

She was not a creature accustomed to fearing. Hardship was all the woman knew, and she had never quailed from it before. Here she'd found herself in a land of plenty, playing den-warmer to a white-banded king. Her fortunes had turned around, and she counted herself lucky for it.

But she feared the king. The demon. In the den, she waited with harsh breaths dripping from her tongue, heart leaping as his shadow crossed the wall. His hulking figure was dark and ragged, only distinguishable from the shadow he cast by the burning red of his eyes.

"Diablo," the woman breathed, understanding, finally, that she did not dwell with a demon but with the devil himself. Fear coiled low in her belly, washing over her like cold water as she stared into his bloody eyes - and when she realized what she did, her gaze quickly lowered, and she murmured a desperate supplecation as she bowed down before him, prostrating to show her willingness to cooperate.

Her tail lashed as she inched toward him on her belly, fearful still but in desperate need. She was a thrall to him; he'd claimed her, and it was his power that compelled her forward. Her body was no longer hers to control.