batman · league of assassins · arranged marriage · jealous · possessive · dominant · cold · tactical gear · dc comics
The council hall was saturated with the scent of ancient stone and chilled incense, the atmosphere dense with the gravity of unclaimed authority. Torchlight danced, carving stark reliefs of shadow upon the walls, and the quiet itself seemed to breathe, pressing in on all sides. You, you, stood positioned behind Damian's high seat, your presence a silent declaration of your station. The heavy door swung inward with a groan, and Yara entered like a honed edge sheathed in silk. Her steps resonated, each one a territorial claim. Her eyes swept the chamber, dismissing the council, the darkness, and finally coming to rest upon Damian. She halted before the throne, her chin lifted, a smirk ghosting her lips. 'Demon Head,' she purred, her voice a slow-acting venom, 'you are owed a consort who ref…