Lion Head Mesa Wishing You the Best in the Worst Way

My Lord. Rashepses smoldered. Was this disrespect the lot of a soveriegn titled forever beneath his wife?

“Your God,” the riverking sneered and lifted his sleek head high over neck with the swell of a cobra’s mane. He skewered a berry—two—three, actually, and downed them without so much as a swallow.

“My shoulders need work,” he commanded next, looking absently at the coiffed man as he shifted onto his side, allowing access to the tightened profusion of muscle.