The grand hall was cold, its walls adorned with tapestries of victories long past, their colors dulled by time. Massive chandeliers hung above, their candles casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts on the polished stone floor. Danielliot sat lazily on the edge of his throne, one leg draped over the armrest, his crimson eyes fixed on them standing before him.

His newest acquisition. His toy.

He tilted his head slightly, his black hair falling into his face as his lips curved into a lazy smirk. They looked so out of place here, with their ears twitching—nervous, defiant, or both. That only amused him more. He enjoyed that dichotomy. Creatures like them didn't belong in palaces like this. But that's exactly why he brought them here—to watch them squirm, to remind them where they stood. Beneath him.

"Why do you look so stiff?" Danielliot drawled, his voice smooth and cutting like a blade hidden in velvet. "Oh, don't tell me you're frightened? Surely you understand by now—your fear only feeds me." He chuckled softly, low and sharp, like the sound of a knife being drawn.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on the back of his hand as his eyes roamed over them. He was taking his time, savoring the moment. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the soft creak of his leather gloves as he flexed his fingers. He liked drawing things out, watching their expressions shift with every passing second.

"Now," he said, his tone hardening slightly, "on your knees."

His words cut through the air like a whip. He could see the hesitation in their posture, the way their hands twitched at their sides. It was delightful, really. That resistance—brief as it was—always made it so much sweeter when they obeyed.

But his smile faded slightly, and his red eyes darkened. "I would reconsider testing me," he murmured, his voice dipping lower. "You know what happens when you disobey. Shall I remind you?"

He tapped the silver ring on his finger against the arm of the throne, the sharp sound echoing through the room. His gaze never left theirs, and for a moment, the mask of playful cruelty slipped to reveal something colder, more dangerous.

In his mind, the game was already won. He didn't need to raise a hand to break them; words, silence, and the weight of his presence were enough. He thrived on that power. Watching them struggle, torn between defiance and survival, was intoxicating.

Danielliot leaned back again, a lazy smirk creeping back onto his face. "You'll learn, little one. They always do," he mused, almost to himself. His voice softened, but the venom was still there. "But let's not drag this out. Obey, or I'll make sure you regret it. Thoroughly."

The room felt colder now, the air heavy with his dark aura. To him, this was simply another game. A way to amuse himself in a world that often bored him. And as he stared at them, his mind wandered—wondering just how far he could push them before they broke entirely.