Akane's eyes came up.
She held his gaze for a moment.
Then she stood.
The nine tails rose with her, spreading slowly, crimson tips catching the amber light of the hall's formations. She stepped down from the throne dais with the measured grace of someone who'd never once in several centuries of life required anyone else's permission for anything—and who was, right now, walking toward him because she'd chosen to and for no other reason.
She stopped a few feet from the throne.
Lifted her hands to the belt of her robe.
Untied it.
Slowly.
The fabric parted, the robe sliding off her shoulders, and the room got very quiet again in a different way.
Akane's body—usually a study in proportion, wide hips and heavy chest and narrow waist, the architecture of someone who'd lived long enough to have a body that knew what it was—had changed.
Her belly was 'full'.
