The first day of the thirty-day punishment dawned bright and merciless.
Egon woke alone in the guest.
The sheets were cold, the room silent except for the distant chime of the household bells calling servants to morning duties.
There was no warm bodies pressed against him. No soft breathing on his neck. No teasing fingers or sleepy murmurs. Just emptiness.
He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, cock already half-hard from dreams of last night's frenzy. He refused to touch it. Let the suffering build. Let it remind him what he had promised to endure.
He rose, splashed cold water on his face from the basin, dressed in plain black training clothes, and headed out.
Krag and Mara already waited with the twelve combat slaves. They stood in neat rows, freshly armed with standard-issue swords and light leather armor.
Krag stepped forward. "Morning, my lord. Ready for drills?"
Egon nodded. "Start with footwork. No blades yet. I want precision before power."
