Only two days had passed in the outside world while Ash thoroughly enjoyed his wives.
Which equated to a much longer time for them, but it was still short in comparison to what they were used to.
The palace's main chambers had returned to their usual state, the floor transformed into one vast bed draped in silk sheets, piled high with cushions, and dotted with golden lanterns drifting lazily above.
In the center lounged Ash, shirtless, the tattoos on his torso shifting in slow patterns, reclining against a mound of pillows with his arms stretched wide as his women occupied every bit of him like some sort of prized ground.
Sylvie curled up against his left side, her head resting on his shoulder, with her white-green hair fanned out.
Seraphiel nestled into his right side, black-red hair spilling over his arm, cheek pressed to his other shoulder as she breathed softly against his neck.
