The next morning, Elara felt a slight ache in her muscles. It was frustrating; even though she was the one in control during the night, her royal body was still physically weak. It was a poorly optimized vessel for someone with her drive. She was sitting by the window when a knock sounded at the door.
She didn't answer. She knew it wasn't one of the beast knights—she had already memorized the heavy, disciplined thud of their boots. This footstep was lighter, more graceful, and carried the weight of someone used to walking on silk carpets.
The door creaked open, and the Emperor stepped inside. He wore a soft smile that didn't quite reach his tired eyes. "What, sister? Not even going to invite me in?"
Elara didn't look up from her book. "I am already a captive, and you are asking for permission? You really are a generous Emperor."
