Heena watched it all with satisfaction, sipping her tea. Five powerful men—naked, bound, being bathed by servants while their Empress observed like it was theater. Sponges glided over heated skin, between trembling thighs, across sensitive areas still raw from torture. Oils were massaged into strained muscles, fingers kneading intimately.
"Make sure you clean 'everywhere'," Heena instructed casually. "They've been quite... messy."
The guards obeyed without hesitation. Hands slid between buttocks, sponges pressed against groins, fingers cleaned with thorough precision. The bound men flushed darker, some turning their faces away in shame, others glaring through tears.
Kieran's jaw clenched as the guard's hands washed his cock and balls with clinical care, cleaning away the night's torment. Adrian bit back sobs as fingers sponged his entrance, ensuring every trace was removed. Lucian shuddered as oil was massaged into his inner thighs. Raphael went limp, accepting the humiliation. Damien's olive skin gleamed as he was cleaned from head to toe, rage simmering impotently.
"See how well my servants attend to you?" Heena purred. "They know their duty. Unlike some husbands who forget theirs."
The washing continued—slow, meticulous, invasive. By the time the guards finished, all five men were clean but completely humiliated, their pride stripped as thoroughly as the toys had been removed from their bodies.
Heena set down her teacup. "Leave the restraints. They're not done learning yet."
The guards bowed and exited, taking the toys with them.
Five clean, naked, exhausted men hung from their pillars, faces burning with shame, knowing their Empress had orchestrated every degrading moment.
And the day had only just begun.
The servants moved with practiced efficiency once the washing was complete. Fresh silk sheets materialized—they stripped away the sweat-soaked bedding and replaced it with crisp, clean fabric that smelled of lavender. Sponges wiped down pillars, mopped the stone floor of spilled water and other fluids.
One servant produced an ornate crystal atomizer, misting the chamber with a pleasant, mild perfume—jasmine and sandalwood, covering the lingering scent of suffering with something civilized. The transformation was swift: what had been a torture chamber moments ago now resembled a proper bedroom again, pristine and elegant.
The five servants lined up before Heena's sofa, bowing deeply in perfect synchronization. "Your Majesty." Then they filed out silently, closing the heavy door behind them with a soft click.
Silence descended.
Heena turned her attention to the five men still bound to their pillars. Their faces burned scarlet—not from arousal or drugs now, but pure, scalding humiliation.
They'd never imagined such a day could come. These were men who'd commanded armies, managed empires, survived assassination attempts and political coups. Men whose names inspired respect and fear. And yet here they stood—naked, cleaned by servants like children who'd soiled themselves, displayed for their wife's amusement.
Death would have been more merciful than this.
The respect their ancestors had painstakingly built over generations, the reputations they'd carefully cultivated through decades of achievement—all trashed in a single night. Reduced to nothing. They were no longer the mighty Prince, Duke, General, Priest, and Spy Master. They were just five humiliated men who'd been bathed like infants while their Empress watched and sipped tea.
Raphael couldn't control it anymore. Tears spilled down his pale cheeks, silent and devastating. The holy priest who'd comforted thousands, who'd maintained spiritual composure through wars and plagues, was crying openly. His reputation, his spiritual authority, everything he'd worked so hard to build—destroyed. The faithful would never look at him the same way again if this became known.
Kieran's jaw worked soundlessly, throat too raw to voice the shame churning inside him. Adrian stared at nothing, golden eyes hollow with the realization of what he'd lost. Lucian's bronze skin had gone ashen beneath the flush. Damien's calculating mind finally hit a wall it couldn't scheme around—total, complete defeat.
Seeing this, Heena's smile grew—not with sadistic pleasure, but with bitter vindication.
She really could not understand these men.
Just because 'they' worked hard, their reputations mattered? Just because 'they' climbed to power through effort and sacrifice, they were heroes whose honor must be protected? Their ancestors' legacies were sacred, their achievements untouchable?
But when a 'woman' reached that same position through identical struggle—when Empress Celeste had fought assassins at age eight, survived court politics that would've broken grown men, killed her usurper uncle to reclaim her rightful throne, governed with wisdom and compassion for years—suddenly her hard work didn't matter. Her reputation could be casually destroyed. Her achievements rewritten as villainy.
These same men had orchestrated her downfall without a second thought. Painted every good deed as tyranny. Stolen her credit and gave it to Seraphina. Tried to murder her over dinner like she was an inconvenient obstacle rather than the rightful ruler who'd only ever tried to help them.
Because she was a woman, her struggle meant nothing. They could use her as a villain if they liked some other woman better.
'Bastards.'
The double standard burned in Heena's chest—not with rage, but cold, clarifying understanding. This was why she took these missions. This was why she defended "villainesses" across seventeen worlds. Because the narrative always, 'always' favored pretty heroines over competent, complicated women in power.
Well. Not this time.
Heena walked slowly between the pillars, her silk robe whispering against the stone floor. She stopped before each man, examining their freshly cleaned bodies with casual appraisal.
"So comfortable now, hubbies?" she asked, smile bright and mocking.
Adrian lifted his head, golden eyes blazing through exhaustion. A bitter laugh escaped his cracked lips. "Hah... I never thought the Empress had such a fetish."
Heena's smile didn't falter. She met his eyes steadily. "Well, what can I do? My lawful husbands were too busy fawning over another woman to notice."
Adrian's expression twisted into disgust and rage. "Don't you 'dare' utter Lady Seraphina's name from your vile mouth!"
Heena's smile darkened. She turned on her heel, walking to the toy wall. Her fingers trailed over implements, then closed around a ''thick leather riding crop''—supple, heavy, perfect for punishment.
She tested it against her own palm. 'CRACK.'
Her skin bloomed red. She smiled slightly. "Hmmm... nice."
The other four men's faces drained of color.
Adrian stared, bravado cracking. "Wh-what are you going to do...?"
Heena turned back, twirling the leather. Adrian snarled. "Your Majesty, don't forget—if my subordinates find out you dared to hit me... 'the Duke', the war hero... it will not end well for you!"
Heena paused before him, crop resting on her shoulder. "Is that a threat?"
She raised the crop.
Adrian's eyes widened.
'CRACK.'
The leather connected with his thigh—hard enough for an instant welt. Adrian jerked, gasping sharply.
Heena circled him slowly, crop tapping her palm. "Your subordinates. Your war hero reputation. Your precious Lady Seraphina." 'Tap. Tap.' "All very important."
'CRACK.' Other thigh. Adrian bit back a cry.
"You destroyed 'my' reputation without a second thought," Heena continued. "Called me tyrant. Painted my achievements as villainy. Stole my good deeds for your saintly heroine." 'CRACK.' Hip this time.
Adrian panted, welts rising angry red. "You... wouldn't—"
'CRACK.' Stomach. "I already have." She held up the video globe. "Everything recorded. Every scream. Every toy. Every moment of your dignity crumbling."
She stepped closer, crop trailing down his chest. "So yes, Adrian. I 'will' hit you. And your subordinates? They'll never know. Because you're going to make the smart choice. Or these videos go public."
The duke stared, chest heaving, realization dawning.
Heena smiled sweetly. "Now then. Shall we continue? Or discuss compromise?"
Adrian swallowed hard. The crop tapped once.
'Waiting.'