The palace no longer looked like a fortress of power and war. Tonight, it had transformed into something carnal a temple of skin, sweat, and whispered sins.
The chandeliers above the great hall were dimmed, replaced with hundreds of flame-colored candles dripping wax like slow tears. Velvet drapes were torn aside, letting the night air sweep through the arched windows. Perfumed smoke lingered in the air sweet, heavy, thick with spice and seduction.
Nude dancers, painted in gold, weaved between nobles and soldiers alike. Their hips swayed to drums that pounded like heartbeats, bare breasts gleaming with oil, hands grazing anyone who stood too still. Some were masked, some painted, some bold enough to be untouched by shame.
A general with scars across his chest moaned softly as a palace servant knelt between his legs right there, against a pillar, in full view. No one stopped it. No one flinched. His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut, surrendering to the mouth wrapped around him.
In a garden just outside, three women shared a silk bed, their bodies entangled like ivy vines. Fingers threaded through hair, teeth grazed nipples, legs hooked around waists. They whispered confessions into each other's mouths as they kissed, devouring each other under moonlight.
At the edge of the fountain, two men lay stretched in the water, their moans swallowed by splashes. One straddled the other, rocking slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving the stars above.
Further in, masked nobles formed circles watching as strangers touched and took each other freely. One young noble girl gasped as two guards lifted her onto the table, spreading her thighs wide while wine was poured down her stomach and licked off by whoever dared first.
Everywhere, pleasure ruled.
A boy no older than eighteen walked through the hall with nothing but silver chains hanging from his hips, his erection proud, his mouth parted in sweet intoxication. A noblewoman twice his age pulled him by the wrist, guiding him to her lap.
Laughter erupted near the pillars as a game began strip and confess. For every lie, a layer was removed. Secrets spilled as quickly as garments. A captain confessed his longing for another man's husband. A royal maid admitted she touched herself thinking of Kaelith.
No one judged. No one denied.
Even the shadows pulsed with sin. Behind the curtains, breathy moans filled the air. A priestess rode her lover's face as she cried the names of forgotten gods. A man whispered "harder" to a knight who had bent him over a banquet table.
Virgin boys were offered gently, kissed first, touched with reverence before taken. Their innocence burned as tribute to the dead.
Every gasp, every moan, every sinful act was sacred.
This was not perversion. This was Zarethrone.
And in its night of lust, no soul walked untouched. Pleasure was worship. Flesh was freedom. And the shame of war was washed away with the sweat of bodies and the spill of desire.
The moon hung low over Zarethrone, casting silver over broken stone and lingering ash.
Kaelith leaned against the cold edge of a marble balustrade, his armor stripped down to simple linens now, his hair damp, skin streaked faintly with soot and blood. His eyes, however, remained fixed on something far past the towers.
Ronan stepped up beside him with two goblets of red wine, offering one without a word.
Kaelith took it, nodding once in thanks.
They drank in silence for a moment, the hum of distant music and laughter trailing through the halls behind them.
Then Ronan broke it.
The one who just walked out, he said, swirling his wine with idle curiosity. Tall, sharp jaw, even sharper tongue. Your shadow in battle. Who is he?
Kaelith's grip on the goblet tightened just slightly. "Hale."
"Yes," Ronan drawled, his tone steady with casual curiosity. "What's the story?"
Kaelith didn't look at him. "He's a servant. Appointed by the King."
"A servant," Ronan echoed, unconvinced. With a sword arm better than half your guard? And the way he disobeyed your order earlier today? His brow arched. That's not just a servant. That's someone you very close.
Kaelith exhaled softly, his gaze drifting toward the open balcony where the night wind curled like a waiting secret. "His name is Hale Eryndor."
Ronan leaned against the railing, brow raised. "Eryndor? Doesn't sound noble."
"He's not," Kaelith replied, setting down his goblet. "He came from one of the nameless villages beyond the forest. Arrived on the day of the Court Judgment."
Ronan turned to face him fully. "He walked into the palace during a sentencing?"
Kaelith's eyes darkened with the memory. "Father was punishing a merchant stripped, writhing, begging for mercy in the middle of the Grand Hall. The kind of judgment Zarethrone is famous for. Sensual. Ruthless."
"Sounds like your father." Ronan chuckled.
Kaelith's mouth twitched, just slightly. "The villagers came in uninvited. Guards moved to strike them down. But Father saw an opportunity. He said, 'If judgment opens our doors, let trial open our ranks.' Then he demanded the finest among them."
"And Hale stepped forward?" Ronan asked, curiosity deepening.
Kaelith nodded. Unafraid. He didn't flinch at the sight of the punishment. Walked across that hall like he belonged there strong and controlled.
Ronan tilted his head, a glimmer of mischief in his voice. "And how did he prove himself?"
Kaelith's tone lowered. "Father ordered him to deliver punishment himself. On the same man. Before the entire court."
Ronan's brows furrowed, answering as In front of nobles?
"He didn't just perform it," Kaelith murmured. He owned it. The court went silent. Then crazy. And when it was over, Father named him my servant.
Ronan laughed. "Your father always had a taste for boldness. But so do you."
Kaelith didn't respond. His silence spoke volumes.
Ronan nudged his shoulder. "And that's how he ended up glued to your side?"
"The King was impressed. Said I needed someone who could protect me and question me."
"And does he?" Ronan asked, tone light. Protect you? Question you?
Kaelith's silence was answer enough.
Ronan smirked. I think I'd like to test him myself. See if he's that skilled in private, maybe.
Kaelith turned to him then.
Just a look.
But it was enough.
The message in Kaelith's eyes said clearly. Don't you dare.
Ronan raised both hands, grinning. "Relax. I'm only teasing." Then, quieter, "You like him."
Kaelith's jaw tightened, eyes back to the horizon. "It's nothing."
"He threw himself between you and a monster, Kael. He disobeyed a direct order to be beside you."
Kaelith sipped his wine. "He's a man."
"And?"
Kaelith looked at Ronan now, eyes heavy. "Everyone in this kingdom does what they want. Gives in. Surrenders to desire."
"Except you."
Kaelith said nothing.
Ronan's voice gentled. "You ever wonder why?"
Kaelith shook his head once, "There's no room for it." I'm forbidden and that's final.
They stood like that for a moment, two princes, sons of kings, heirs to thrones, neither fully wanted, both trapped in different cages.
Then Ronan asked, voice barely above a whisper, "If there were no rules… would you love him?"
Kaelith's breath caught.
He didn't speak.
But he didn't deny it.
Ronan smiled softly to himself. "That's what I thought."
Kaelith stood at the high terrace overlooking the grand plaza where the celebrations had begun. The roar of the crowd rose beneath him flesh against flesh, lips against skin, bare bodies tangled in desire. It was a night where rules melted under pleasure, a tradition as old as the kingdom itself.
Behind him, Ronan leaned lazily against a pillar, still nursing a goblet of strong wine. "What are you choosing tonight?"
Kaelith didn't turn. He kept watching the sin unfold. "Desire?"
Ronan nodded. "That's what this night is for. I'm going with one man and one woman. Balance."
Kaelith arched a brow, amused. "Efficient."
"Honest," Ronan said with a grin. "You?"
Kaelith was quiet. His eyes flicked toward the far edge of the plaza, where torches framed shadowed archways leading to private gardens. Bodies writhed in the dark, moans muffled by silk and skin. "I haven't decided."
Before Ronan could press further, the doors to the terrace opened. Hale stepped through, still in partial armor, the lower half of his tunic undone and dirt still streaked across his jaw. He paused briefly when he saw Ronan, then looked straight at Kaelith.
"The King asked for you. The Judgment Table is complete."
Kaelith nodded, but as he turned to leave, Ronan said, "I heard your engagement was postponed because of the war."
Kaelith stopped.
Ronan pushed, voice casual. "She returned to her kingdom, yes? She'll come back. But you don't love her."
Kaelith gave a small, unreadable smile. "I have no choice. I can't disobey the King."
Then he followed Hale, his cloak trailing behind like a whisper of restraint in a world made of hunger.
Are you ready to witness Kaelith and Hale Lost Shame Night.
Then next....