Sylviana leaned against the wall, arms crossed under her chest, pushing her tits up in that barely-there dress. Her crimson eyes glinted with amusement. "Oh, master, relax. It's not about the crown. It's about giving these sad sacks a reason to keep breathing."
"Bullshit," Leon snapped, pacing the room. "They need food, not a pep rally. I'm not wasting time on this."
Zorath's deep growl cut through the air, his golden eyes narrowing. "Prince—King—you will do this. Tradition holds us together. Without it, we're just animals waiting to die."
Leon spun on him. "Tradition? Look around, old man! Your kingdom's a graveyard. I'm not playing dress-up while we starve."
Sylviana smirked, stepping closer, her tail flicking. "You're so tense, master. Maybe you need a different kind of release before the ceremony." Her voice dropped, sultry and taunting.
"Fuck off," Leon shot back, face heating up despite himself. "I'm not in the mood for your games."
Zorath slammed his staff into the floor, the thud silencing them both. "Enough! You are king, Leon. Act like it. The people need a leader, not a whiny child. You will be crowned today, or I'll drag you to the throne myself."
Leon glared, fists clenched. "You're both insane. This changes nothing."
Sylviana tilted her head, smirking wider. "Then why fight it? Sit on the throne, say some words, and we'll figure out the rest later. Unless you're scared?"
"I'm not scared," he growled. "I just don't see the point."
Zorath stepped forward, towering over him. "The point is survival. A king gives them hope. Hope keeps them fighting. Refuse, and you doom us all."
Leon's jaw tightened. He hated this—hated them—but the old lizard's words hit harder than he wanted to admit. Ninety-seven demons, clinging to life in this shithole. Maybe they did need something to hold onto, even if it was a lie.
"Fine," he spat, shoulders slumping. "I'll do your damn ceremony. But after this, we focus on real problems. No more pageantry bullshit."
Sylviana clapped her hands, grinning. "That's the spirit, master. Knew you'd come around."
Zorath grunted, satisfied, and turned for the door. "I'll prepare the court. Don't be late." He lumbered out, leaving the air heavy.
Leon rubbed his temples, muttering, "Fucking clowns."
The door creaked open again, and Selene slipped in, her fox ears twitching like she'd been eavesdropping the whole damn time. Her violet eyes flicked between him and Sylviana, hesitant but determined.
"Let's get you ready, master," she said, voice soft but firm, stepping toward him with a bundle of cloth in her arms.
"Wait, ready? What do you—HEY!—What are you doing?!"
Before he could react, Selene was already tugging at his clothes.
"You can't go to your enthronement ceremony looking like this," she said matter-of-factly. "Now hold still, master."
"W-Wait! I can undress myself—HEY! STOP!"
Leon tried to resist, but he underestimated Selene's strength. For someone so soft-spoken, she was ridiculously strong.
She didn't answer—just grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the bed. For a skinny fox-girl, she was freakishly strong. He stumbled, protesting, "Hey, wait a sec—"
Nope. Selene wasn't having it. She shoved him down, hands already tearing at his ratty shirt. "Hold still," she muttered, ripping it off him like it was paper.
"Selene, what the fuck—" He tried to push her off, but she pinned his wrists with one hand, her grip like iron. His pants went next, yanked down in one rough tug.
He was butt-naked in seconds, sprawled on the bed, and—shit—his dick was hard as a rock. Blood rushed to his face. "Goddammit, Selene, stop!"
She froze, eyes widening as they landed on his erection. Her cheeks flushed pink, but she clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say a word. Smart girl—she knew he was mortified and didn't need her piling on.
Leon covered himself with his hands, growling, "This is your fault, you little—"
"Shush," she cut him off, regaining her composure. She tossed the old clothes aside and unfolded the bundle—a demonic royal getup. Black leather tunic, studded with jagged red runes along the chest. A heavy crimson cloak, edges frayed but lined with dark fur. Tight pants, reinforced with metal plates at the knees. And a spiked silver circlet, simple but brutal.
She dressed him quick, no nonsense. The tunic hugged his lean frame, the cloak draped heavy over his shoulders. The pants were snug—too snug around his still-half-hard cock—but Selene pretended not to notice. She stepped back, adjusting the circlet on his head. "There. You look… like a king."
He stood, feeling ridiculous but badass. The mirror showed a stranger—pale skin, horns, and a glare that could kill. Not the middle-aged suit from Earth, but a demon lord ready to raise hell.
"Happy now?" he muttered.
Selene nodded, ears perked. "Yes, master. Let's go."
They stepped into the hall, and Sylviana was waiting, lounging against the wall like a cat eyeing prey. Her gaze raked over him, slow and deliberate, lingering on his crotch.
"Well, damn," she purred, smirking. "Look at you, master. All dressed up and… excited for the big day?"
Leon's face burned. "Shut it, Sylviana."
She laughed, pushing off the wall, hips swaying as she circled him. "Oh, I'm just admiring the view. That cloak hides nothing. Bet the crowd'll love it."
"Keep talking, and I'll shove this circlet up your—"
"Promises, promises," she teased, cutting him off with a wink. "Come on, king. Your throne's waiting."