PP'd Clover a tad, lemme know if it is not alright, Anna love? I figured Siri's growlin' might wake her up. +3
Soft silence ebbed in the air around him. The monarch sat on his throne, and watched, as he had done for days now, the sleeping form of the golden-haired woman, snuggled in the nest of luxurious pelts and furs within his chamber. Her slumber was peaceful - She was startlingly beautiful to him, even in these un-waking hours. His pupils traced the line of her face, her jaw, her throat, the curve of her filled-out body, the fertile swell of her belly. Again, that strange feeling flared in him; Nervous excitement, fierce protection. Energy that poured into his lean body and remained there, without a purpose. It had been some time since the invaders had been defeated, and Salsola existed now in a state of peace; There was no outlet for his aggressions. He dared not hunt long or far from the Ruins, now that Clover's time was nearing. The King was beginning to feel pent-up, frustrated.
Olive eyes lifted to the doorway, animalistic nature sensing movement beyond, and he could tell from the scent that drifted in through the chamber's opening that it was the slave. A sharp irritation built within him. The woman had been shirking her duties recently, he was sure of it; and although he knew not the cause, her scent had been changing, too. Suspicion came as naturally to the King as breathing, and it was driven to cruelty by the ferocious need to protect the woman impregnated with his heirs. If she was up to something, he would end it - Nothing would tamper with this fragile situation.
The man rose silently, his tall, dark form ominous as it stalked silently across to the door, then beyond. If he'd a tail, it would have been lashing behind him irritably, a tell-tale sign of his unfavorable mood; As it were, the stink of irritation oozed from him, He was wound up tighter than a clock, made tense by the expectation of his children, and the poor slave woman was about to find a release made of herself. "Slave," His voice was cool and smooth, deceptively calm. He had never before referred to the woman by her name, and probably never would. "Come here," Came the curt order, and as his eyes caressed her now, an assumption began to form. Dark stormclouds darkened the man's brooding expression, lighting up his eyes like toxic green fire. "And take that cloak off."
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