By morning, the dungeon had turned into a brothel of madness.

The envoy’s soldiers groaned in their chains, rutting against the walls, devouring each other’s mouths through iron bars, moaning my name like a prayer.

My scent clung to everything stone, flesh, even the water bowls spilled on the floor.

And the envoy herself… she knelt in the corner, sweat-drenched, her fingers buried between her thighs, whispering broken pleas.

“Please, my Queen… I need it again… I need you to burn ...