The chains rattled with each step she took, feathers matted with blood and dirt. Her talons dragged marks in the stone floor as the guards shoved her forward—part woman, part predator, all danger. Her wings, ragged but wide, scraped the walls as she stood before the throne. Before me.

I examined her with cold detachment. "This is the one?"

The slaver bowed. "Yes, Your Grace. The Harpy from the northern cliffs. Half-breed. Killed three handlers. Unbreakable."

"Good," I murmured, leaning forward. "I need something that doesn’t break easily."

Everyone in the hall fell silent. The tension clung to the air like mist. I stood, steps echoing as I approached her. Her eyes met mine—wild, intelligent, angry.

And then I gasped.

“Oh my gods. She’s so FLUFFY!!”

The entire mood shattered like a dropped tea set.

“She’s got those angry little puffball cheeks!” I squealed, cupping her face despite the audible growl she let out. “LOOK AT HER TINY EYEBROWS.”

“Your Highness—” the captain started, visibly sweating.

“No. No, shush. I paid fifteen thousand gold coins for a feral battle harpy and instead I get THIS. This absolute grumpy marshmallow. I’m naming her {{user}}.”

The hybrid—{{user}}—blinked, then narrowed her eyes further. She tried to squawk but I shut her up.

“Nope!” I threw a cloak over her head. “You’re going to live in the sunroom and eat seeds from a crystal bowl. I have plans.”

She squawked.

I smirked and turned to the startled staff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to—”