Five figures entered the secret chamber in perfect silence, black masks concealing their faces entirely. Only cold, indifferent eyes were visible through narrow slits as they surveyed the scene before them.
The stench hit them first—sweat, release, desperation. The air was thick with it.
The five men barely resembled the powerful lords who'd entered this chamber two days ago. They were wrecks—trembling, glazed-eyed, bodies covered in the evidence of their torment. The aphrodisiac had worked exactly as designed, forcing release after agonizing release with no relief, no end, just continuous waves of overwhelming sensation that left them shattered.
Prince Kieran's silver hair was plastered to his skull, his ice-blue eyes unfocused and hazy. White stains covered his thighs, his abdomen, dried and fresh mixed together. He'd lost count of how many times his body had betrayed him. Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Time had stopped meaning anything except the next unbearable wave.
