Tianlong stood above her. His naked body — golden, gleaming — was still. His gold-crimson eyes — looking down at the princess, at the ashes on her skin, at the blood on her thighs, at the curled, trembling body — were calm. Not amused. Not cold. Not sympathetic. Calm. The expression of a being who had seen this scene before — in other worlds, with other women, with other ashes — and had learned that the best thing to do was nothing.
He looked at his cock. The shaft — twelve inches, softening — was slick. The blood — Jin Yuhan's virgin blood, thin and red — coated the surface. Her arousal — clear, viscous — mixed with it. The combination — blood and arousal and the residual divine qi — glistened on his pale skin.
He sighed. The sound was genuine. Not theatrical. The sigh of a man who had just completed a task and was assessing the aftermath.
"So," he said. His voice was low. Conversational. Addressing no one in particular. "He was a good friend."
