Nayla remained seated upon the massive crystal throne, legs elegantly crossed, the sheer black fabric of her gown pooling like liquid night around her hips and cascading down the steps.
One elbow rested casually against the armrest, long fingers curled lightly against her cheek.
The posture was regal, yet relaxed—almost lazy.
Her crimson eyes slowly swept across the group with an amused, almost indulgent patience, as though she were watching children play a game whose rules only she truly understood.
Aiden stood there for a long moment.
He didn't speak.
He simply looked at her.
Then, very deliberately, he turned his head and let his gaze move across every single one of his wives, one by one, drinking in their expressions like he was memorizing this exact moment.
