The moon hung like a ripe peach above the Royal Palace of Milforia, its soft glow spilling across velvet curtains and gleaming tile. The air was thick with incense and anticipation. Somewhere in the east wing, a chorus of priestesses hummed in harmony, their voices reverberating like the thighs of destiny.
Henry stood shirtless in the center of the Sacred Ritual Chamber, his cheeks wrapped in ceremonial silk and his heart thumping like an anime boy about to walk into the girls' changing room by accident.
He wasn't alone.
Seraphina stood beside him, wrapped in nothing but translucent moon-silk and sinful confidence. Moistessa and Thrustina flanked them, dressed in slightly-too-short priestess robes, each holding a golden goblet filled with Divine Oil of Thighfluance.
Henry gulped.
"Are you sure this is for containment?" he asked, staring at the ridiculously sensual setup.
