The violet eyes. The — 'what'. The single look that said: 'I asked. You will do. What is the problem.'
She looked at him.
"As you wish, my lord," she said.
He chuckled.
The sound — low, warm, the sound of a man who has been obeyed — filled the room. He pulled her blouse. Over her tit. The nipple — wet, stiff, the milk and the saliva — was covered. He stood.
From the throne. The Empress — lifted, set aside, placed on the seat — was released. She sat. On the head seat. The seat that was — hers. Now. After he was done with it.
He walked.
Through the hall. Past the delegates. Past the guards. Past the tables. Past the food. Past the wine. His violet eyes — scanning, searching, finding — locked.
On a woman.
