Shayla moved behind her, hands on her waist, helping and encouraging. The two women moved in harmony, a performance born of blood, submission, and slow-burning desire. Julian's breath deepened, his eyes darkening with hunger.
As Aryl's gown slipped lower, Vigg sat frozen—his entire body locked in place.
He couldn't tear his eyes away.
Not from Aryl. Not from Shayla. And not from Julian, whose eyes burned with desire. The man sat on the throne like a god demanding offerings, watching his sister undress, watching his family submit.
Then Aryl turned—just slightly—and her gaze met his.
For a second, Vigg thought she might stop. That maybe she would come to her senses.
But instead, her lips parted… And she smiled.
