"Step onto the baseplate."
The command was quiet, but it vibrated with absolute finality.
Yanna stared at the apparatus resting on the black sheets of the master bed. It didn't look like clothing. It looked like medieval torture machinery modernized by a Silicon Valley tech firm.
"Mistress," Yanna whispered, her voice shaking as she looked at the cold, polished steel. "It looks heavy."
"It weighs exactly forty-two pounds," Camille said, standing by the nightstand with her arms crossed over her crisp white shirt. "Combined with the three-pound tungsten core already anchored inside your pelvis, you will be carrying forty-five pounds of my authority. Are you capable of bearing the load?"
"I am the foundation, Sovereign."
"We will see. Silas. Assist the asset."
Silas stepped out of the shadows. He wore his black apron and latex gloves. He grabbed the heavy steel structure and dragged it to the edge of the mattress, letting the thick, thigh-high leather boots hang over the side.
