Black Morass in the middle of the night

it is only right, she murmured, the words flowing with ease, her tone low and unwavering. she met his eyes with something close to devotion, a soft tilt to her lips that mirrored submission, though her mind worked swiftly beneath the surface.

she would not challenge him outright—not here, not now. his strength was unyielding, his desires clear, and the reverence he demanded was one she would give willingly. for now. but his plans, so rigid and absolute, sparked embers of her own design.

tiberian, she thought, committing the name to memory as though it might serve her in ways he had yet to imagine. and the daughter? their daughter would be hers to guide. hers to mold.

she shifted slightly beneath his weight, her body pliant yet steady, her tail brushing his leg in acknowledgment. she would build his dynasty, as he willed, but the foundation? that would be hers.

we will give them a reign worthy of the gods, she said, her voice soft but sure. internally, she smiled—an ambition hidden well beneath the guise of agreement.