The palace had fallen into deep silence by the time the moon climbed high above the gilded domes. Only the faint chirp of night insects and the distant call of a peacock broke the stillness. Lord Vikram moved through the shadowed corridors like a predator, barefoot and wearing only a loose silk robe that did nothing to hide the thick, heavy outline of his cock already stirring with anticipation. The golden key to Ananya’s chamber felt warm in his palm. He had not slept. The measurements he had taken of her body earlier that afternoon still burned in his mind, every precise inch of wrist, ankle, thigh, the distance between her swollen nipples, the stretched width of her tiny innie around four fingers. The royal leather craftsman was already at work in a hidden workshop, cutting and stitching the first custom pieces under strict orders of secrecy. By tomorrow night the cuffs, spreader bar, clamps, and full leather body harness would be ready. But tonight he would use only silk scarves—soft, luxurious lengths of deepest crimson and gold that he had ordered brought to him hours ago. Tonight he would bind her the old way, the way he had promised when she first dared to resist his mouth on her clit. Tonight he would tie her completely helpless and whisper every filthy plan he had for the crimson chamber while he stretched and owned her.