The stone passage opened into something unexpected.
The chamber was massive—easily three times larger than the empress's bedroom above. But this wasn't a dungeon. High vaulted ceilings. Plush carpets in deep burgundy covering the stone floors. Several large beds draped in silk sheets. Crystal chandeliers waiting to be lit. Velvet furniture arranged tastefully.
And cabinets. Dozens of ornate cabinets lining every wall, their doors standing open wide.
Inside were hundreds of items. Silk ropes in every color. Leather restraints with gold buckles. Blindfolds made of the finest fabric. Oils and lotions in jeweled bottles. Feathers. Chains. Toys in glass, metal, ivory—some elegant, some intimidating, all meticulously organized.
This room belonged to the previous empress, built to satisfy an intense sex drive she'd inherited from her bloodline. She'd bought slaves, kept them here, indulged in secret what she couldn't find with husbands who hated her. Heena had inherited that same burning drive when she took over this body, but unlike the original, she didn't need slaves. She had five perfectly good husbands. And she could definitely use them.
"What the heck is this room?" Damien's voice came out strangled.
Lucian took a step back, eyes wide with something between shock and fear. His scarred face had gone pale. Adrian's mouth hung open. Kieran's warrior composure cracked completely. Even Raphael stopped praying, violet eyes trembling as they scanned the collection.
They'd never seen anything like this. Never imagined their pathetic, crying empress had kept such a place.
Heena turned to look at them, taking in their expressions. Then she smiled—slow, dangerous, satisfied.
"Well, nothing else," she said lightly. "So, let's see."
She moved fast. Grabbed Damien's shirt—the spy master was closest, still frozen in shock. Her fist twisted in the expensive fabric and she pulled hard. The shirt ripped diagonally as she dragged him toward the nearest bed. He tried to resist, feet scrambling, but his weapons had been confiscated and his limbs wouldn't cooperate. The drug made him weak as a child.
She tossed him onto the bed. He landed with a bounce, gasping.
Adrian was next. She caught his arm before he could stumble away. Dragged him across the carpet—he clawed uselessly—and threw him onto the bed beside Damien.
Raphael didn't even try to run. She grabbed his robes and hauled him forward. Onto the bed.
Lucian cursed when she reached for him, tried to fight despite his useless legs. She caught his wrist, twisted, forced him forward. He crashed onto the mattress with the others.
Kieran backed against the wall, ice-blue eyes wild. But she was already there, fisting his collar, yanking him toward the bed with strength that shouldn't exist in someone her size. He hit the silk sheets hard, breath knocked out.
Five powerful men sprawled across one massive bed. Flushed faces. Trembling bodies. Burning with need and helpless rage.
Heena climbed onto the bed after them, movements smooth and predatory. She settled in the center, surrounded by her husbands.
Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife.
Small. Sharp. The blade caught the lamplight, gleaming cold and promising.
Adrian stared at the blade, then at her face. A bitter laugh escaped his throat. "Huh, you think we'd be scared to die? Just kill us already."
The others nodded—grim acceptance on their faces. Death was better than whatever humiliation she had planned.
Heena looked at him like he'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world. Then she burst out laughing. "Pfft, haha! What are you talking about, hubby? Why would I kill you guys?"
She raised the knife, turning it so lamplight danced along the blade. "Oh, this?" Her smile widened. "This is for something else."
Before they could process that, she moved. Grabbed Kieran's collar—he was closest—and pulled him toward her. The warrior prince tried to jerk away but his body wouldn't cooperate.
The knife descended. Not toward flesh, but fabric.
*Rrrrrip.*
The sound of expensive silk tearing echoed through the chamber. Heena dragged the blade down slowly, deliberately, splitting Kieran's shirt straight down the middle. The fabric fell away, revealing his muscular chest.
"You—what are you doing, you shameless bitch!" Kieran snarled, face burning crimson.
Heena laughed, low and amused. "Come on, baby. We're husband and wife. Why does it matter if I tear your clothes?" She moved to his cape next, slicing through the clasps. The heavy fabric pooled on the bed.
"Stop—" He tried to grab her wrist but she was faster, knife already moving to his pants.
*Rrrrrip.*
The expensive trousers split apart like paper. She worked methodically, stripping him piece by piece. Even his undergarments didn't survive—the blade cut through everything until Kieran lay completely bare, exposed and vulnerable.
"There," Heena said cheerfully, moving to Adrian next. "One down."
"Don't you dare—" The duke scrambled backward but there was nowhere to go. She caught his shirt, knife flashing.
*Rrrrrip. Rrrrrip. Rrrrrip.*
His scholarly robes fell away in strips. His vest. His fine linen shirt. The blade was merciless and precise, never once touching skin but destroying every thread. His pants followed, then his underclothes, until Adrian was as naked as Kieran.
"This is insane," he gasped, trying to cover himself.
"This is marriage," Heena corrected, already reaching for Lucian.
The general tried to fight, actually threw himself off the bed. He hit the carpet hard, crawling toward the door. Heena sighed, walked over, and grabbed his ankle. Dragged him back to the bed like he weighed nothing.
*Rrrrrip.*
His military uniform—source of so much pride—shredded under her blade. The medals clattered to the floor. The leather belt. The sturdy pants designed to withstand battlefield conditions. All of it reduced to rags. His undergarments lasted three seconds before joining the pile of destroyed fabric.
Raphael went next, the priest trembling as she approached. "Please, this is—this is unholy—"
"You tried to poison me," Heena reminded him, knife already cutting through his white robes. "Seems pretty unholy to me too."
*Rrrrrip.*
The holy vestments fell away. Layer after layer of pure white fabric, now in tatters. Even the priest's simple underclothes were torn off, leaving him completely exposed and mortified.
Finally, Damien. The spy master watched her approach with wary eyes, calculating even through the drug haze. "You're enjoying this."
"Very much," Heena agreed, grabbing his collar.
*Rrrrrip. Rrrrrip. Rrrrrip.*
His expensive black clothes—tailored to perfection, designed for stealth and seduction—shredded beautifully. The silk shirt. The fitted pants. Every piece carefully destroyed until he too lay bare.
Heena sat back, surveying her work. Five powerful men, completely naked, sprawled across silk sheets. Their expensive clothes lay in tatters around them—thousands of gold coins worth of fabric reduced to useless scraps.
She twirled the knife between her fingers, smiling.
"Much better," she said softly. "Now we can really begin."