Chapter 7: Chapter-7

Five naked men lay trembling on silk sheets. Not from cold—the chamber was warm. They trembled with shame, with the drug burning through them, with the reality of their situation finally sinking in.

Heena slid off the bed, walking to one of the cabinets. She pulled out lengths of silk rope—soft but impossibly strong. Then she noticed the steel pillars embedded at each corner of the massive bed, with additional ones along the sides. Seven pillars total, clearly designed for exactly this purpose.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

She started with Kieran. The warrior prince tried to resist as she grabbed his wrist, but his strength was gone. She dragged him to the nearest pillar, wrapping the silk rope around his wrists with practiced efficiency. His arms stretched above his head, secured to the cold steel.

“Don’t—” he started, but she was already tying his ankles, spreading his legs wide and binding each one to the pillar’s base. He pulled against the restraints uselessly. The silk held firm.

Adrian was next. The duke actually whimpered when she approached, all scholarly composure shattered. She positioned him at another pillar, arms stretched up, legs spread and bound. His golden eyes squeezed shut, unable to watch his own humiliation.

Lucian fought the hardest, cursing and thrashing even as she secured him. The battle-scarred general looked ready to murder her, but the ropes held. Legs spread, body exposed, utterly helpless despite all his military training.

Raphael went with barely a sound, just quiet prayers falling from his lips as she tied him up. The holy priest looked like he might cry, violet eyes glistening as she spread his legs and bound his ankles tight.

Damien watched the whole process with those calculating green eyes. When she came for him last, he didn’t resist. Just let her position him, tie him, spread him open like the others. “You’ve done this before,” he observed quietly.

Heena didn’t answer, just finished securing the knots.

Five men. Five pillars. All bound with arms above their heads, legs spread wide, completely exposed and vulnerable. Unable to move, unable to cover themselves, unable to do anything but wait for whatever she planned next.

Heena stepped back, surveying her work.

God, they were impressive. Each one different, each one beautiful in his own way.

Kieran’s warrior body—all hard muscle and old battle scars, pale skin flushed with heat. Adrian’s leaner scholar’s build, surprisingly toned beneath those robes, golden skin gleaming with sweat. Lucian’s heavily scarred chest and powerful frame, bronze from years under the sun. Raphael’s almost ethereal beauty, white-blonde and fair, looking like a fallen angel. Damien’s sleek, dangerous physique, dark hair and olive skin, pretty and lethal.

Five different shades, five different bodies, all trembling and hard and desperate from the drug coursing through them.

Heena felt her own inherited desires stirring—that intense drive the original empress had tried to suppress. But unlike Celeste, she wasn’t ashamed. She had five husbands. She could use them however she wanted.

Her mind raced with possibilities. Three days. Seventy-two hours. So many ways to break proud men. So many tools in those cabinets. So many methods she’d learned across seventeen worlds.

She walked slowly between the bound men, trailing her fingers along the edge of the bed. They all tracked her movement, eyes following despite themselves.

“Now then,” Heena said softly, voice carrying through the chamber. “Let’s see how long you can last before you start begging.”

Heena retrieved an ornate wooden box from the cabinet, its surface carved with patterns that seemed to writhe in the lamplight. When she opened it, five ceramic bottles gleamed inside—each filled with liquid that shimmered and swirled like captured starlight. Pink. Blue. Purple. Gold. Silver.

The moment Damien’s eyes landed on them, all the color drained from his face. “No,” he breathed, pulling hard against the silk ropes. “Don’t—you can’t use those—”

“What are they?” Adrian’s voice cracked with fear at Damien’s reaction.

The spy master’s usual composure shattered completely. “I swear to god, if you touch me with that, I’ll kill you. I’ll hunt you down, I’ll make you regret—”

“Such big threats from someone tied up naked.” Heena uncorked the pink bottle, releasing a sweet, intoxicating scent. She held it up to the light, watching the liquid shimmer. “What exactly will you do, Damien?”

She approached Kieran first, the bottle tipped and ready. The warrior prince tried to twist away, muscles straining beautifully against his bonds. “Stay back—”

The first drop hit his chest. Then another. And another.

Kieran’s reaction was instantaneous and violent. His entire body went rigid, back arching off the pillar like he’d been struck by lightning. A guttural sound tore from his throat—something between a gasp and a moan. His ice-blue eyes rolled back, lips parting in shock.

Heena poured more, trailing the liquid down his abs in deliberate patterns. She watched it pool in the ridges of his muscles before dripping lower, lower, until she poured it directly onto his cock.

“Fuck—!” Kieran’s shout echoed off stone walls. His hips bucked involuntarily, the sensation so overwhelming he couldn’t control his body’s response. Sweat broke out across his skin instantly.

“Interesting,” Heena murmured, moving to Adrian.

The duke watched her approach with wide, terrified eyes. “Please, whatever that is—”

The blue liquid splashed across his chest. Adrian’s scholarly composure exploded into nothing. He writhed against the ropes, gasping for air like he was drowning. His golden eyes glazed over as she continued pouring—down his stomach, over his hip bones, coating his hard length until he was trembling so violently the pillar shook.

“Stop, stop, oh god—” His words dissolved into incoherent whimpering.

Lucian was next. The battle-hardened general who’d survived wars and torture watched the purple bottle with genuine fear. “I’ll endure this. I’ve endured worse—”

The first drop proved him wrong. His scarred body convulsed, a roar of shock and sensation ripping from his chest. The liquid painted his skin, and Heena made sure to be thorough—tracing every muscle, every scar, before finally coating his cock with the shimmering purple.

Lucian’s head fell back, throat exposed, breath coming in ragged pants. “What… what is this…”

Raphael’s turn. The holy priest was already crying, violet eyes streaming tears down his flushed cheeks. “Please, I’m begging you—mercy—”

“You showed me none,” Heena said simply, uncorking the golden amber bottle. The liquid glowed warm, almost like honey, as she poured it over his pale skin.

Raphael’s reaction was the most desperate yet. Broken prayers mixed with sounds that had nothing holy about them. His entire body trembled, hypersensitive skin alive with sensation he’d never experienced, never even imagined.

Finally, Damien. The spy master who’d recognized the potions stared at her with something like respect mixed with his terror. “You really are a monster.”

“Thank you.” She uncorked the silvery white bottle—the last one. “This one’s special. Extra potent.” She let that sink in before pouring.

Damien tried so hard to stay composed. Bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, refusing to give her the satisfaction. But his body betrayed him. The silver liquid traced patterns across his olive skin, and despite his best efforts, he gasped. Shuddered. Moaned low and desperate as she coated every inch of him.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep