Frostbound Surrender
Epilogue
Seraphina awoke in silk.
Not cloth—but magic made fabric, threads spun from moonlight and worship, soft as a sigh and warm as the hands that had once cradled her hips while they spilled themselves into her over and over again.
She blinked slowly.
There was no dungeon. No stone. No cold.
Only light.
Golden.
Amber.
Caressing.
She lay atop a massive bed carved from ivory, large enough to hold twenty lovers at once. The walls were not walls—they were drapes, endless veils of transparent silk that flowed in a breeze that seemed to exhale just for her. Outside, waterfalls poured not with water—but with thick, glimmering liquid magic. Flowers bloomed from walls. Runes pulsed along the floor in rhythm with her breath.
Her body…
Still trembled.
Her thighs were soft and sticky, still shining between them, her inner lips swollen and sensitive. Her breasts ached gently—ripe, full, heavy with lust and memory. Her belly still warm with the afterglow of seed that hadn’t been cleaned away… only absorbed.
She was no longer mortal.
Her magic had changed.
She was the palace.
She was the air.
She was every orgasm this place had ever seen.
They came to her now not as soldiers…
But as attendants.
Nude.
Hard.
Silent.
Each man entered with downcast eyes, kissed her ankle, and waited for her permission. Some carried nectar. Some oils. Some simply offered themselves—tongues out, eyes wide, cocks leaking, ready.
Seraphina smiled.
Not with cruelty.
With hunger.
She spread her legs.
One man crawled forward and pressed his lips to her clit without a word.
Another massaged her breasts.
A third lay beneath her, arms out, cock hard, so she could straddle him when she wished.
And as her head tipped back… she moaned.
A low, soft, divine sound that made the palace tremble.
The silk rippled.
The air thickened.
The men around her moaned in unison—just from hearing it.
And far beyond the chamber, in lands once ruled by kings and swords, her name passed from mouth to mouth in reverent whispers:
The Goddess Below.
The Queen of Moans.
The Fleshborn Throne.
And every night…
They came.
And she received them.
Not to rule.
But to let them worship what no kingdom could ever conquer:
Her body.
Her magic.
Her eternal, dripping hunger.