The mahogany doors didn't just open; they were practically vaporized by a wave of pure, silver-white divine energy. Sir Alex burst into the room, his sword drawn, his aura glowing so bright it was probably visible from the moon.
He stopped dead.
His eyes went from me—flushed, panting, and currently pinned against a half-naked King—to Malphas, who was looking as unbothered as a cat in a sunbeam.
"You..." Alex's voice was a jagged, wrecked growl. "You... shadow-spawn! You've... you've corrupted the Heir of Agro! You're... you're not even wearing a waistcoat!"
"It's a 'Casual Friday' in the Under-Realm, Alex," Malphas drawled, finally letting me go but staying dangerously close to my hip. He leaned back, his arms folded behind his head, showcasing every single runed muscle for the Knight's "Benefit." "Though I must say, your 'Security Protocols' are remarkably loud. Do you always enter a lady's bedroom like a runaway siege engine?"
