The ship rocked gently as the last of the boarding party settled in. I led my girls—each one still buzzing with that post-voyage mix of exhaustion and anticipation—straight to the quarterdeck where Captain Mona waited. Tall, sun-hardened, silver-streaked black hair tied back in a practical knot, she gave I a single assessing glance before I even opened my mouth.

"Soundproof room," I said. No preamble.

Mona's lips twitched, not quite a smile. She flicked her eyes over the five women clustered close behind I, reading the easy intimacy in the way they stood, the casual touches, the shared glances. She didn't blink.

"Follow me."

The chamber she brought I to was below the waterline, originally a secure cargo hold meant for volatile alchemical crates. Thick timber walls, padded with layers of sailcloth and wool, then sealed again with overlapping sheets of treated leather. Even the door was double-layered, the latch heavy and oiled. When it closed behind I the world became very small and very quiet.

Mona lingered in the doorway a moment longer. "Long crossing to the Dark Continent. Plenty of time." Her voice was low, matter-of-fact. "Enjoy it."

The door shut. The bolt slid home.

I turned to the girls. They were already watching I, eyes bright in the lantern light.

"Still hours—maybe days—before land," I said, shrugging out of my coat. "Same game as last time?"

A ripple of eager nods, soft laughter, quick breaths.

Clothes hit the floor in a careless pile. I took them one by one, slow at first, then harder. Each girl played her role—helpless merchant's daughter, defiant pirate prize, shy noble runaway—until the roleplay dissolved into pure need. Pussy, then ass, then pussy again, rotating them across the wide pallet that served as a bed. Hands pinned, hips gripped, low moans swallowed by the soundproof walls. Sweat and heat and the creak of wood under straining bodies. By the end they were limp, glistening, curled against each other and I in a messy, sated heap.

Sleep came fast.

A sharp knock jolted everyone awake hours later.

Mona's voice through the door, calm but firm. "Land. Dark Continent edge. Up, now."

I stirred the girls. Clothes were dragged on—creased, mismatched, smelling of sex and salt. No time for modesty. Mona was already halfway up the companionway when I emerged onto the deck.

Sophia stood at the rail, wind whipping her long coat. She turned at the sound of boots, gave I and the girls a slow once-over, then smirked.

"Had enough playtime?"

I shrugged. The girls just grinned, still flushed.

"Good." Sophia's voice hardened. "Playtime's over. Now it's empress time."

The ship's boat was already lowered. I piled in with the girls and Sophia, oars cutting black water toward the shore. The edge of the continent rose ahead—jagged obsidian cliffs dropping straight into a sea that looked like spilled ink. Thin white foam hissed against razor stones.

Boots met black sand. It glittered like crushed onyx under the strange violet light of this place. No birds. No wind that carried normal smells. Just the low, constant hum of something alive deep in the rock.

I pulled the folded map from my coat. The girls crowded close. A finger traced the curling coastline, found the tiny inked anchor symbol labeled *Duskport*, then slid inland along a thin red line.

"Two hours on foot if we keep pace," I said. "We're here."

Sophia glanced toward the distant smudge of buildings barely visible against the dark hills. "Empress is in the old citadel quarter. Red banners. I can smell the incense from half a league out."

The girls exchanged looks.

"Hit her now?" one asked quietly.

I shook my head. "Not today. We just walked two hours after fucking half the night away. Everyone's spent. We go in fresh at dawn—clean kill, clean exit."

Nods all around. No argument.

Duskport appeared after the predicted two hours: low black-stone buildings, narrow cobbled streets lit by blue-flame braziers, the faint clink of weapons and murmur of late-night trade. The empress's compound glowed on the far side of the city—tall minarets wrapped in crimson silk, visible even from the outskirts.

I chose the opposite edge of town. A weathered inn called *The Inkwell* sat half-hidden behind a row of shuttered forges. No red banners here. Just tired travelers and locals who minded their own business.

One large room. Two beds pushed together. Door barred. Weapons within reach.

I dropped onto the mattress. The girls followed, stripping down to smallclothes, too tired for anything more than curling close.

"Morning," I murmured into someone's hair. "We end her at first light."

Soft affirmatives. Breathing evened out.

Outside, the black sand kept whispering under the tide.

Dawn was coming.

I woke before dawn, the air heavy and still, the first light of morning barely touching the rooftops. My muscles ached even before we moved, but there was no time to rest. It was five o'clock, and everything had to be perfect. Every escape route for the Empress had to be blocked. Every corridor, every doorway, every patrol pattern memorized and accounted for. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, the kind of rhythm that told me we were about to walk into a storm we might not survive.

We moved like shadows, silent and deliberate, whispering only when absolutely necessary. I checked my dagger, adjusted my pack, and tried to ignore the gnawing unease in my stomach. We had planned every detail—or at least I thought we had—but instinct has a way of whispering when danger is closer than we think.

When the hour came, I climbed slowly out of the window. The city was quiet, eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes every footstep feel like a shout. I crept along the ledge, careful not to slip, careful not to breathe too loud. And then… I realized something that made my blood run cold. The Empress wasn't there. Not in the courtyard, not in any of the rooms I could see from above.

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