Solara had never felt eyes on her like this before. Not curious. Not cautious. But… hungry. Desperate. That raw thirst clung to the air, thicker than the heat outside.
The temperature in the Rejuvenation Hall was kept cooler than the rest of the compound, a luxury only granted for her sessions. The room shimmered in low amber light, and silk drapes swayed with the artificial breeze from hidden vents. It smelled of clove and salt and something more primal. The kind of scent that tightened her thighs involuntarily.
She sat on a velvet-cushioned platform, her back straight, her legs crossed, and her robe barely hanging on her shoulders. Her long hair, still damp from the preparation bath, curled around her collarbone like a crown of steam.
"Bring in the first one," said a voice from behind the curtains. The High Collector.
The curtain parted, and in stepped a man.
Young. Late twenties, maybe. Muscled, but not in the way of a soldier. He had the tremble of someone who hadn't had a proper sip of water in days. His lips were dry. His eyes locked onto her like she was the last oasis in a never-ending desert.
He stumbled forward and fell to his knees. "Blessed One," he breathed.
Solara tilted her head. "You don't have to kneel, you know. It's not like I'm a priest."
"I—I'm sorry. It's just… I've heard stories."
"Oh?" she said, teasing a smile. "Good ones, I hope."
"They said one drop… one drop of your nectar brings three days of strength."
She raised a brow. "And how exactly did they say you'd get that drop?"
His face flushed. "I… I wasn't told."
She let out a soft laugh. "Typical. The boys above love a good mystery. Makes them feel like they're managing a myth instead of a girl with needs."
He looked up at her, confused.
"Come closer," she said, patting the platform beside her.
He obeyed instantly, sitting down like a worshipper at an altar. His fingers brushed the silk beneath him, twitching with anticipation. She leaned in, close enough for him to feel her breath.
"Do you want to taste salvation?" she whispered.
His throat worked around a dry swallow. "Yes."
She reached up and slipped the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall open like curtains to a show. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, the pulse at his neck pounding like a war drum. Her breasts, soft and glistening from the oil rub, seemed to glow in the golden light.
She took his hand and placed it gently on her thigh. "Then worship me properly."
He kissed her skin like it was holy. Reverent. Hesitant. But Solara didn't want hesitation—she wanted need.
With a flick of her fingers, she guided his head down. Lower. His mouth hovered just above the apex of her heat. The air between them sizzled.
"Lick," she ordered.
His tongue met her, and her back arched. Every cell in her body sang. This wasn't just relief for the world. This was pleasure. Power. Control.
As he suckled her sweetness, something shifted. A soft glow began to emit from her skin, faint at first—like candlelight. His body trembled. She could feel the heat leave him, replaced by vitality. His grip grew stronger, his kisses bolder.
She moaned, loud and unashamed. The guards outside shuffled, pretending not to react. But she knew—they were all hard as stone, pretending they weren't listening.
With a cry muffled against her thighs, the man came—right there in his trousers. She smirked. First-timer.
He pulled away, eyes glazed in ecstasy, body visibly stronger. "I feel… gods, I feel incredible."
"Don't thank the gods," she murmured, pulling his chin up with one finger. "Thank me."
He collapsed back, panting like he'd run a mile.
"Next," Solara called, adjusting her robe as two more men were ushered in. One nervous, one cocky. She loved the cocky ones. They fell the hardest.
But as she spread her legs again, something inside her buzzed. Not just arousal—though that was there, hot and ready. No, this was something deeper.
Every drop they took from her, she could feel her influence grow.
They were becoming addicted. Not just to her body, but to her power.
And Solara? She was starting to like it.
A lot.