The great hall of the Spire stank of sweat, spilled wine, and cum. Hundreds of nobles, guards, and servants packed the floor, eyes glassy from days of forced revelry. Torches burned low along the walls.
Aiden stood at the center of the raised dais, shirtless, the black fractures crawling across his chest like fresh cracks in ice. They itched worse tonight.
Every pulse of the relic embedded in his sternum sent a spike of heat through his veins, reminding him the power was slipping.
He raised one hand. The crowd fell silent.
"This is the last night," Aiden said, voice flat and loud enough to carry. "One final ritual. We break the light forever before I leave this fucking tower. No more games.
No more half-measures. Every noble cunt in this hall gets claimed tonight, right here where you can all watch. And when it's done, the empire gets what it deserves."
Murmurs rippled. Some men shifted uncomfortably. Most women stared at the floor or at their husbands' pale faces.
