Henry woke up to the sound of moaning.
Not his.
And not the sexy kind.
"OH FOR THE LOVE OF—THEY'VE DONE IT AGAIN!" a voice shrieked outside his window.
He cracked an eye open. "What now?"
Seraphina was nowhere in sight, thank the horny gods. He was wrapped in a blanket like a traumatized spring roll, still emotionally scarred from last night's… whatever that was. That kiss. That shirt. That laugh.
He was so doomed it was practically religious.
Then a knock.
"Henry!" came a young, excited voice. "You need to see this! The Royal Panty Vault has been raided!"
Henry sat up. "I'm sorry, the what?"
---
Fifteen minutes and one emergency coffee later, Henry stood in front of the Royal Panty Vault.
Which, disturbingly, was an actual thing.
A massive marble vault embedded in the side of the castle, guarded day and night by the fearsome Order of the Lingerie Knights—seven men and women in full armor with pink plumes on their helmets and garter belts over their greaves.
And the vault had, in fact, been raided.
"Who steals panties in a castle full of mages, succubi, and highly-trained warrior butlers?" Henry asked.
A small, bespectacled man with a scroll stepped forward. "According to surveillance imps, the perpetrator was… a tiny demon raccoon in a bra."
"…I have questions."
"Not as many as the raccoon answered," the man said, wiping sweat from his brow. "It left a note."
The note, written in pink glitter gel ink, read:
> "I, Princess Nibbles, have declared war on modesty! Viva la liberation! PS: Tell Seraphina her panties smell like dark magic and heartbreak. I approve."
Henry blinked. "Did that tiny pervert just sexually evaluate my not-girlfriend?"
"She's already summoning hellfire, sir."
"Ah. So, it's a Tuesday."
---
Seraphina, naturally, took the attack on her underwear as a direct declaration of war.
"I will find this rodent," she hissed, "and I will skin her. Then I'll wear her as a scarf while sipping wine made of her regrets."
Henry nodded sagely. "Do you want me to start drafting the ceasefire terms or just build a shrine to your future raccoon pelt?"
"I want blood."
"Cool, cool. I'll grab some cranberry juice and scream into a pillow."
But before the raccoon hunt could begin, the castle doors burst open.
A new character had entered the chat.
---
"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, YOUR FAVORITE SADISTIC PRINCE RETURNS!"
The voice echoed like thunder wrapped in smugness.
Henry turned.
A tall figure stood at the door, shirtless, oiled, and wearing pants that were clearly spray-painted on. His abs had abs. His smirk had a smirk. His mere presence screamed horny side villain with 10 million fangirls.
"Behold!" he said, flipping his glossy purple hair. "It is I, Prince Dorian of House Thrustalot!"
Henry blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Thrustalot," Dorian repeated. "Named after our family's legendary technique. We conquered three continents through strategic pelvic motion."
"Oh god he's real," Henry muttered.
Dorian's eyes locked onto Seraphina. "Ah, my darling, corrupted queen of my wettest dreams."
She stared. "Do I know you?"
"No. But I have your face tattooed on my left buttcheek."
Henry gagged.
"I HAVE QUESTIONS," Seraphina screamed.
---
Turns out, Prince Dorian was the new diplomatic envoy from the neighboring kingdom of Girthania—a place infamous for its erotic politics, sensual jousting tournaments, and exporting 80% of the realm's body oil.
He had come to propose… an alliance.
"Between your kingdom and mine," he said, "we can unite the world under a single banner: the Cult of Thighs."
Henry coughed. "That's not a political movement."
"It's a lifestyle," Dorian purred.
"And what, exactly, do you want in exchange?" Seraphina asked, crossing her legs with calculated deadliness.
"You. As my wife. Or at least my favorite mistress."
Seraphina blinked once.
Then turned to Henry.
"Hand me my sword."
Henry handed her a flame-etched broadsword with a sigh. "Just don't kill him till after the paperwork."
---
While Seraphina and Dorian argued over the geopolitical implications of booty, Henry snuck off to the castle library.
He needed answers.
About his life. His feelings. And why the Royal Family's budget had a suspiciously large section labeled "Mysterious Dungeon of Tickle Torture: Maintenance & Glitter."
He pushed open the heavy oak door—only to walk in on the royal librarian, Mistress Bindarella, sitting on a giant pile of books… completely naked except for glasses and a choker.
"AH!" he screamed.
She didn't even flinch. "Shhh. This is a library."
"You're NAKED."
"I'm multitasking. Cataloging AND manifesting my inner freedom."
"I need therapy."
She gestured toward a book. "Section 6B. Emotional Damage and Magical Trauma."
---
Meanwhile, Seraphina had Dorian in a headlock.
"I admire your lust for conquest," she said.
"I admire your thighs," he gasped.
"You have two options: crawl back to your kingdom, or become my decorative chaise lounge."
"I pick the third option."
"There is no—"
Dorian dropped to one knee, whipped out a velvet box, and opened it to reveal… a vibrating cock ring made of enchanted rubies.
Seraphina blinked.
Henry, returning from the library with a book titled "How To Not Lose Your Mind in a Sex Cult Castle", screamed. "WHY ARE YOU PROPOSING WITH A MAGICAL SEX TOY?!"
"It vibrates to your heartbeat," Dorian said proudly. "So you always feel connected."
"I want to vomit into the sun."
"Jealous?" Dorian winked.
Henry snapped. "Okay, you wanna play downbad? LET'S GO."
He grabbed Seraphina, dipped her dramatically, and kissed her.
Hard.
Time stopped.
Birds outside paused mid-flight.
Even the raccoon demon froze mid-panty sniff.
Seraphina's eyes widened… then narrowed.
She kissed back.
The castle caught fire.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Fire burst from the chandeliers.
A servant combusted into glitter.
The sky moaned.
Henry pulled back, panting. "Top that, Prince Moisturizer."
Dorian blinked. "I concede defeat."
---
Later that night, in the Royal Gardens, Henry sat beside Seraphina on a bench shaped like a giant tongue.
They were quiet for a while.
Then Seraphina whispered, "That kiss…"
He looked over. "Yeah?"
"Next time… don't wait for a love rival to show up first."
He smiled. "I'll try."
They sat in silence again.
Somewhere nearby, the demon raccoon was running a lingerie fashion show for bats.
A courtier screamed as Prince Dorian flirted with a stone statue.
And the moon, bright and full, winked down at the most chaotic castle in the world.
Henry leaned back, thinking of tomorrow.
He just hoped it wouldn't involve oil, proposals, or magical vibrating jewelry.
But knowing his life now…
He was definitely screwed.
And yeah.
Maybe he didn't mind one bit.