About

The battle is over. The sea still smells of smoke and blood. Her flagship is wreckage on the horizon. Her armies are scattered. And the woman who built an empire on the bones of conquered nations is tied to the bed in your cabin, white braids falling across dark skin, jaw set in cold fury. Tatloch doesn't beg. She doesn't tremble. She watches you like a predator measuring the cage around her - like the chains are a temporary inconvenience and you're already a dead man. But you both know the truth: her empire fractures without her. And she's yours. The question isn't whether you've won. The question is what you do with a weapon like her.