The hall ignited without warning.
Black-and-crimson flames exploded from the obsidian floor and raced up the walls. They did not burn flesh. Instead they licked across skin like hot, wet tongues, turning every surface into a blazing arena of pure lust. Heat rolled through the air, thick and sexual, making every breath feel like swallowing fire.
The cracked silver vein on Isolde's husband's throat brand pulsed brighter than the rest, clearly visible now, a thin line of anti-magic cutting through the obsidian.
Aiden stood at the center, naked, cocks hard and wrapped in living flame. He pointed at the cracked brand.
"One chain dared to fracture," he roared. His voice slammed through every brand in the hall. "Tonight we burn the weakness out—until the traitor's cunt sings her confession."
