She was proud. Dignified. The regent of a maritime nation, she carried herself with the authority of a woman who had held power for years. Her cultivation, Golden Core, was modest. But her bearing, her intelligence, her political acumen, was formidable.
That night, the queen was in his chambers. Her robes, the elegant silk, fell. Her body, the mature, full frame, was bare. Her boobs, heavy and full, were there. Her ass, the thick, well-rounded cheeks, was there.
"Your Majesty," she said. Her melodic voice was composed. The negotiation, the political negotiation of a woman trading her body for her kingdom's safety, was there. "If I... submit... my kingdom will be spared?"
"Yes," Tianlong said. His voice was flat.
"And my son? He will inherit the throne?"
"Yes."
"Then... do what you will."
She closed her eyes. The surrender, the political, calculated, pragmatic surrender of a woman who had weighed the cost and found it acceptable, was there.
