Roxy’s first command

Roxy’s grin widened, her LED-lit horns casting a faint red glow over her sharp cheekbones. She tapped a clawed finger against her lips, pretending to deliberate—but her eyes sparkled with mischief. The crowd leaned in, phones still recording, as she took a slow, deliberate step forward.

"First," Roxy purred, her voice dripping with playful arrogance, "you’re gonna kneel—properly, like a loyal subject."

Alexia’s breath hitched—just slightly—but she held Roxy’s gaze, the corner of her mouth quirking. The convention hall’s buzzing chatter faded into white noise as she sank into a deep, theatrical curtsy, layers of pink tulle pooling around her like spilled frosting. The crowd whooped as she dipped her head, golden crown glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Roxy’s laugh was low, triumphant. She hooked a finger under Alexia’s chin, tilting her face up. “Good start,” she murmured, loud enough for their audience to catch.

Roxy’s clawed glove lingered under Alexia’s chin for a heartbeat too long, the heat of her fingertips just barely ghosting over the satin ribbon at her throat. The crowd’s cheers crescendoed into a cacophony of whistles and stomping feet as Alexia rose from her curtsy—slowly, deliberately—her gloved hands smoothing down the front of her gown with practiced grace.