The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Rosalind Von Bastet

As her gaze landed on him, she snapped, "You are late."

Azriel tilted his head, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Late?"

He knew for a fact that barely fifteen minutes had passed since she last spoke to him.

"Yes. A whole minute late," she countered coldly.

"I told you that Her Grace, Duchess Rosalind, does not tolerate tardiness."

Azriel opened his mouth to defend his punctuality, but she cut him off as she turned on her heel.

"Now, move. Do not waste another second."

Azriel followed, a frown deepening on his face.

’What the fuck is wrong with this bitch? he thought irritably. I was only a single minute late.’

The reaction from the chat, however, was entirely different.

The viewers were in hysterics, laughing at his genuinely wronged expression.

He ignored the scrolling mockery, maintaining his composure.

They walked in silence.

Since the woman in front of him clearly had no intention of talking, or even listening, he kept his mouth shut, unwilling to let his suppressed charisma sink any lower through pointless bickering.

He took in his surroundings as they moved.

The Duchess’s castle was draped in pure, blinding white.

It felt less like a fortress and more like a holy temple, pristine and intimidating.

After a moment, they arrived before a set of massive ivory doors.

Nyra stepped aside, her expression unreadable.

"Go in."

Azriel looked at her, then paused to adjust the Soul Camera for the perfect cinematic angle.

He flashed a confident, private smile to his audience, and then the doors groaned open.

The hall ahead was a throne room of staggering scale.

Chairs carved from solid white granite lined the walls, illuminated by the glow of multiple luxurious chandeliers.

But his focus was immediately drawn to the far end of the room.

Behind a sheer black veil sat a throne crafted entirely from massive, bleached bone.

It emitted a crushing mental pressure, as if simply looking at it forced one to stare into the maw of an ancient, primordial beast.

Then, his eyes found the figure seated upon that bone throne.

Though the veil obscured the fine details, her silhouette was unmistakable, she was a total bombshell.

Voluptuous and commanding, her figure boasted a lethal combination of curves that even the veil couldn’t hide.

Atop her head, he could see the distinct shape of ears, though he couldn’t yet discern their exact lineage.

Azriel began the long walk down the red carpet.

There was no one else in the room; it was just him and the silent shadow behind the veil.

As he reached the foot of the throne, he dropped to both knees, adopting the submissive posture expected of a slave.

He bowed his head low, his voice steady and resonant. "Azriel Amaros greets Rosalind Von Bastet, the Crimson Duchess of the East."

The silence in the throne room was absolute, heavy enough to make the lungs ache.

Azriel remained bowed, his forehead inches from the plush red carpet.

He could feel the weight of Duchess Rosalind’s gaze piercing through the black veil, more oppressive than the bone throne itself.

A long, agonizing minute passed.

"Raise your head," a voice finally drifted from behind the veil.

It was like velvet wrapped around a blade, smooth but sharp.

Azriel complied, sitting back on his heels but remaining on his knees.

The Soul Camera panned smoothly, capturing the sheer scale of the room and the intimidating silhouette of the Duchess.

[ LIVE CHAT ]

[Moon_Priestess_99] (Cyan): Oh my Goddess... the tension is making me sweat. Look at him, he looks so small compared to that throne.

[Crimson_Fury] (White): He’s shaking. I bet he’s shaking. This is where the ’Patriarch’ act ends and the reality of being a slave begins.

[Lusty_Sera] (Golden): No way that bastard is shaking, do you think i would have picked him if he got scared just like this.

[I_Love_Leaf] (Golden): The bone throne... that’s a Wyvern-King’s spine. She’s much stronger than I expected for a lower-world Duchess.

"Come here," she commanded, the simple flick of her fingers causing the heavy black veil to part like a curtain over a stage.

As Azriel’s gaze fell upon her, he gulped, a visceral, unconscious reaction.

The woman was an absolute masterpiece of predatory beauty.

Her skin was the color of fresh cream, a startling contrast to the blood-red silken gown that clung to her generous, lethal curves.

Her eyes, molten pools of gold with vertical slit pupils, narrowed as she appraised him.

A cascading waterfall of pristine white hair flowed down her back, reaching the swell of her hips.

High atop her head, two white ears tipped with black fur twitched with sharp interest, while a long, slender white tail flicked lazily against the side of her bone throne.

’Damn, she is so fuckable.’

A flash of the future burned through his mind, vivid images of his monstrous length pressed between those heavy, velvet breasts while he teased her hardened nipples.

He could almost see her mouth hanging open, those beautiful lips slick and inviting as he claimed her.

A surge of heat rushed to his groin, his equipment beginning to stir, but he reigned himself in with discipline.

He stood up, maintaining a submissive gait, and began the ascent.

He climbed the stairs of the dais, each step bringing him closer to the apex of power in the East.

As he reached the foot of the throne, he dropped to his knees once more, bowing his head before her legs in a show of perfect obedience.

Rosalind leaned forward, the scent of her expensive perfume and Aether washing over him.

She reached out, her slender fingers catching his jaw and tilting his head up until his violet eyes were locked with her golden ones.

Staring into those molten depths, a single thought echoed in his mind: Beautiful.

She gripped his face gently, turning his head from right to left as if inspecting a fine piece of jewelry.

"Hmmm," she hummed, her voice a low, vibrating purr.

"Duchess Elena has gifted me a truly handsome specimen. And a Nocthari, no less... to think you are the last of your lineage makes you quite the rare prize, doesn’t it?"

"S-so... am I worthy?" he asked, his voice trembling with a perfectly crafted submissiveness.