[Calyxa – First Night – The Throne Room of Nocturne]

“Get your fucking hands off me, you spineless worms!”

The chains sing as they haul me up, wrists and ankles locked in silver manacles that burn like frozen fire. I twist hard enough to tear skin, blood dripping down my arms in pretty red ribbons the court will probably lick off the floor later. They love that shit here.

Zevryn lounges on the Eclipse Throne like he was born in it (legs spread wide, one pale hand idly stroking the armrest carved from dragon bone). He watches me rise inside the suspension cage, a latticework sphere of silver and obsidian that hangs twenty feet above the marble. Close enough for everyone to see every inch of me. Far enough that I can’t reach him.

Yet.

“Language, darling,” he drawls, voice carrying without effort through the sudden hush. “You’ll make the courtiers blush.”

“Let them choke on it,” I snarl, kicking at the bars. The cage sways, chains clinking like perverse wind chimes. “You want a show? Fine. But I’m not your fucking puppet.”

His smile is slow, sharp, and utterly delighted. “Oh, but you are. Look—your strings are silver and they bite so prettily.”

The crowd titters. Silk rustles. Someone moans already.

He rises, black robes sliding off one shoulder, and walks beneath me. Moon-pale hair spills down his back like liquid starlight. He tilts his head to stare up between my spread legs (because of course the bastards chained me open, knees forced wide, every fold exposed to the entire court).

“Still bare for me,” he murmurs, loud enough for everyone. “Good girl.”

“Fuck you,” I spit.

“Later,” he promises. “First, jewelry.”

Two attendants glide forward (twin vampires with white gloves and colder smiles). They carry a velvet tray that glints with silver. My stomach drops.

“Zevryn,” I warn, voice suddenly low. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Hold her steady,” he orders.

The cage stops swaying. Invisible hands of magic pin my hips, my thighs, my cunt lips spread wider. I can’t move an inch. My heartbeat is a war drum.

He lifts the first piercing (a thick silver ring, cold and heavy) and holds it up so I can see.

“This one goes through your clit hood,” he says conversationally. “Horizontal. So every time you shift, every time you breathe too deep, you’ll feel me owning that greedy little bud.”

“You piece of—”

“And these,” he continues, lifting two smaller barbells, “are for your nipples. They’ll match the ones I’ll put through your cunt lips later. A full set. My personal constellation.”

The court is panting now. Some are openly fucking against the pillars.

I bare my teeth down at him. “If you pierce me, I swear on every god that never answers here, I will rip them out and shove them through your eyelids.”

He laughs (soft, reverent, like I just offered him a gift).

“Do it,” he tells the attendants.

The first bite of the needle is white-hot. I scream (raw, furious, animal). The sound echoes off the vaulted ceiling and comes back to me like mockery. Silver slides through tender flesh, the ring settling heavy and cold. My vision whites out.

“Beautiful,” Zevryn sighs. “Again.”

They pierce my left nipple next. I bite my tongue bloody so I don’t give them another scream. The right follows. Tears burn tracks down my temples into my hair, but I refuse to blink.

When they finish, I’m shaking, dripping sweat and blood and fury. The cage sways again, slow circles above the throne.

Zevryn walks directly beneath me, staring up at my pierced, swollen cunt like it’s art.

“Touch yourself,” he says.

I laugh. It’s ragged. “Make me.”

His eyes flick up to mine (black, endless, starving).

“I said touch yourself, Calyxa. Slide two fingers into that pretty cunt and fuck yourself until you’re dripping on my throne. Do it now, or I’ll have them add a ring through your clit itself. The thick one. The one that will make you sob every time you walk.”

The court holds its breath.

I smile down at him, slow and venomous.

“Do it,” I say sweetly. “Pierce my clit. Go on. Every drop of blood will be another reason I’ll castrate you with my teeth one day.”

His nostrils flare. Something feral flashes across his face.

“Defiant little mate,” he murmurs. “I’ll enjoy breaking that.”

He lifts one hand. Magic coils around my right wrist, forces it down between my legs. My own fingers (traitors) spread my folds. The new piercing drags against raw nerves and I can’t stop the choked sound that tears out of me.

“Two fingers,” he reminds, voice velvet and steel.

The magic shoves. My middle and ring finger sink into my cunt in one brutal push. I’m wet (gods burn me, I’m wet) and the humiliation tastes worse than the pain.

“Move,” he says.

The magic forces a rhythm (slow, cruel circles that make the clit ring shift with every stroke). My hips jerk involuntarily. Pleasure coils low and vicious despite every screaming instinct to fight it.

“Look at them,” Zevryn commands, stepping back so the entire court can see. “Look at your mate fucking herself because I told her to. Look how she drips for me already.”

I force my eyes open. Hundreds of hungry faces stare up (some stroking themselves, some weeping with lust). I lock eyes with a duchess I once watched Zevryn flay for fun.

“I hope you choke on your own tongue,” I tell her.

She moans and comes on the spot.

Zevryn’s gaze never leaves my face. “Faster, Calyxa. I want you close. I want you right on the edge.”

The magic speeds my fingers, curling them just right (he’s inside my fucking head, steering my own hand). My thighs tremble. The cage sways with every thrust.

“Please,” I snarl through clenched teeth.

“Please what?” he asks silkily.

“Please go fuck yourself.”

He smiles like I just proposed.

“Stop,” he says.

The magic yanks my hand away. My fingers come out glistening. I’m so close my vision tunnels, every nerve screaming for release that isn’t coming.

“No,” I gasp before I can stop myself.

“No?” he echoes, mock-confused. “But you’re dripping on my throne, darling. Look—there’s a puddle already. Such a needy little cunt.”

I thrash in the chains. The piercings burn like brands. “Let me come, you bastard!”

“Not tonight,” he says simply. “Not tomorrow either. Not until you beg my name so prettily the stars fall out of the sky to listen.”

He turns to the court, arms spread.

“Behold my queen,” he declares. “Pierced, wet, and denied. She will hang here every night until she learns who she belongs to.”

I scream (pure rage, no words left) until my voice cracks.

Zevryn walks back to the throne, sits, and opens his robes just enough to free his cock. It’s hard, flushed, gorgeous the way poison is gorgeous. He strokes once, slow, eyes locked on my denied cunt.

“This is for you,” he says, voice low enough only I can hear. “Every drop I spill tonight is because you’re up there aching for me. And none of it will ever be inside you until you break.”

He comes with a soft exhale, painting the marble beneath me white.

I hang above him, pierced and trembling, orgasm locked behind my teeth like a loaded gun.

He smiles up at me, lazy and sated.

“Sleep well, mate,” he says. “Tomorrow we add the labia rings. And the day after that, the one through your tongue so every word you spit at me tastes like me.”

I stare down at him, chest heaving, blood and tears mixing on my cheeks.

“Count the days, Zevryn,” I rasp. “Because every single one is another cut I’m going to carve into your skin when I get free.”

His eyes glitter.

“I hope you do,” he whispers. “I’m going to come so hard the night you try.”

The cage spins slowly above the throne.

The court watches.

And I swear on every drop of blood dripping from my fresh piercings that this is only the first night.

There will be three hundred and sixty-four more.

And I will remember every single one.