Henry stood at the center of the carnage, surrounded by glittering rubble, smoldering lingerie, and the distant sound of a kazoo playing "Careless Whisper" on loop.
The throne of the Velvet Rod stood tall at the end of the chamber—a ridiculous piece of furniture made entirely out of vibrating memory foam, silken restraints, and what he sincerely hoped was ethically sourced unicorn leather. A glowing rod—yes, that kind of rod—rose from the backrest like a cosmic beacon of bad decisions and sexy declarations.
Domina, Moistessa, Seraphina, and even Yvette formed a circle around him, their hair windblown, their outfits tattered but somehow hotter, and their eyes locked onto Henry like a snack left unattended at a sorority sleepover.
Moistessa stepped forward. "Henry, it's time you claim your birthright."
"I don't remember being born here," he muttered.
Yvette smirked. "You were reborn… the moment you fell face-first into Seraphina's cleavage and didn't immediately faint."
