The palace grounds had been transformed.
Silken canopies in jewel-toned reds, violets, and golds rippled in the wind. Braziers lined the courtyards, their fires crackling like eager applause, casting shadows on the mosaic tiles below. Everywhere, pleasure pulsed in the air like the beat of a hidden drum calling the bold to bare themselves.
Zarethrone's most infamous tradition had returned.
The Night of Proving Desire.
At the center of it all stood a raised marble platform surrounded by cushions, silk-covered beds, and velvet-draped couches. Noblemen, warriors, servant, even foreigners stood gathered, oiled bodies gleaming, eyes wild with excitement and curiosity. The rules were simple: the last to finish the one who endured the longest in carnal passion, would be crowned Champion of the Flesh.
But before the first body could moan, before the first kiss was tasted, the King appeared.
