The dawn of the fourth day did not bring light; it brought an atmosphere of heavy, suffocating anticipation. For Tara, the last seventy-two hours had been a slow descent into a fever dream of sensory deprivation and psychological erosion. Her body was no longer her own; it was a taut string tuned to the frequency of the men's desires. Every inch of her skin felt hypersensitive, her clitoris a throbbing, swollen knot of nerve endings that screamed for the one thing she had been denied: penetration.

The First Rite of Union began at the stroke of noon. Tara was led into the Sannidhi—the Sanctuary of the Lineage—a room draped in deep crimson silks, smelling of sandalwood, musk, and the ancient, lingering scent of previous brides. In the center of the room lay a massive, low-slung bed of polished mahogany and ivory, draped in white linens that looked like an altar.