We follow the man’s directions down the narrow street, then turn left into a cramped alleyway. The space is so tight we’re forced into single file. A creeping suspicion gnaws at me that we’ve walked straight into a trap. But then, my foot catches on something, and I almost stumble.
I glance down to find a small gap in the wall. The stairs that descend into pitch-blackness are barely visible. It’s even less inviting than the claustrophobic alleyway.
A sharp gust of wind blows my hair out of my eyes as Zyphoro lands beside me.
“Decided to join us, then?” I say, my tone laced with sarcasm.
Zyphoro arches an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk on her lips. “Apologies, brother. I sometimes forget your wing situation is… less than desirable.”
Reon snorts, and when I catch Solena and Orios laughing softly, I can’t help but feel the sting of their amusement. I am their prince, yes, but also the only one who can’t fly.
We move down the stairs one after the other, the stone walls scraping against my shoulders, the low ceiling forcing me to duck. The only light comes from the flickering glow of candlelight, which reveals a steel door at the bottom.
I raise my fist and pound against it. The sound echoes in the silence, and almost immediately, a slot slides open with a metallic scrape, revealing only a pair of drooping blue eyes.
“Password,” a gruff male voice demands.
I furrow my brow and turn to Reon. His eyes flicker, but he’s chewing on his lip, clearly uncertain.
“Password?” I repeat to him, my voice edged with frustration. “She gave you one, didn’t she? What did she say?”
Reon looks sheepish. “Apart from my name over and over, not much,” he mutters.
The voice behind the slot grunts. “No password. No entry,” before slamming the slot shut with finality.
“Fuck,” I mutter, clenching my fist, smoke beginning to curl from my fingers. The temptation to break through the door is overwhelming, but before I can act, Zyphoro steps forward, placing a hand on my fist to steady me.
“I love bloodshed as much as the next, brother,” she says softly, “but we are here for information, and people talk easier when they’re still breathing.”
She pushes me aside and bangs on the door. Once again, the slot opens with a harsh clang.
“Password,” the voice demands.
Zyphoro pauses for a moment, and I expect the slot to slam shut once more. But instead, the hardness in the doorman’s eyes softens, pupils dilating as they fixate on her. His gaze goes distant, as if he’s caught in a trance.
Zyphoro’s voice drops sweetly, and I can hear the honeyed edge in her words. “Be a dear and open the door, would you?”
“Yes. Of course,” the voice replies, now dripping with eager submission. “Anything you want.”
Several locks click, bolts unlatch, and with a loud groan, the door swings open. Zyphoro steps back, giving me a mock bow as she gestures for me to go ahead.
I frown but step forward, pushing past the door into the dim light. Behind it stands a dwarf, short, stout and shaggy-haired, standing on a box. He looks up as I enter, his breath catching when his eyes meet Zyphoro’s.
“Go straight through,” he mutters, gesturing to a heavy red curtain a few steps away.
Zyphoro, ever playful, reaches over and pinches the hanging skin of his cheek. “Thank you, darling,” she coos with an exaggerated sweetness.
She turns to us, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Glamor. Ever heard of it? You’d think you were the ones trapped in an enchanted prison for centuries.”
With that, she boldly parts the curtains as the dwarf shuts the door behind us, and we’re hit by the seductive murmur of string music, the low hum of laughter, and the occasional sensuous moan that hangs in the air, thick with the sweet scent of smoke.
A dim, sultry light bathes the crimson room, casting its warm glow over the sea of plush, tasseled cushions that carpet the floor in rich shades of scarlet and deep violet. The space feels alive with movement, every surface seemingly writhed upon by bodies, every hand clutching a goblet, wine spilling carelessly over bare skin as fingers dance along smooth, exposed flesh and feed grapes to gaping mouths.
Sheer silk veils flutter between rooms, their delicate fabric swaying in a breathless, unseen breeze. But these veils do nothing to conceal the hedonistic scenes unfolding beyond them. Through the translucent curtains, the silhouettes of entwined bodies twist together in various positions, some that even take me a moment to figure out.
The allure of the room is undeniable, the sounds stirring something deep within me, tugging at my senses. The sight of bare skin makes me think of Amara. Her smoothness, the softness of her beneath my fingers, the way she tasted on my tongue. I clench my fists, fighting the heat rising in me, willing it to stay contained.
A terse voice slices through the air. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
