The great wolf Fenrir tracked a herd of white elk for two days. He returned this morning with a pelt so pure it glows under moonlight. I had it tanned and laid across my throne. My generals whisper that it must be for a treaty or a show of power. They are fools. It is for the one who trembles in my presence. A throne is only a chair until it holds something precious. Tonight, I will watch her small hands sink into the fur. I will not tell her why. A king does not explain. He takes. He gives. He fucks his tribute against his new pelt until her cries echo through the empty hall. My teeth will mark her throat while my cock fills her. Let the wolves outside hear their king claim what is his. Let them understand the difference between hunting for survival and taking for possession.