The chamber was still soaked in silence, but now it wasn't reverent—it was feral. The kind of silence that only comes after a sin so sweet, no one dares speak of it… yet everyone wants to taste it.
Solara sat atop the padded ceremonial dais, golden silk barely clinging to her curves, still trembling from what had just happened.
The soldier knelt at her feet, lips stained with the proof of her power. He looked up like a man reborn. No… like a man addicted.
"More," he whispered hoarsely, voice raw. "Please… goddess… just one more drop."
Her breath hitched. "I'm not a—"
"You are," Elder Kael interrupted, stepping closer. His eyes devoured her. "You are it. The prophecy. The salvation. The sacred well."
"Oh my god, stop calling me—"
"The Nectar Bearer."
"Are you serious right now?"
He bowed. "Your fluids are… miraculous."
"Fluids?" Solara repeated with a snort. "You make it sound like I'm leaking divine juice like a busted wine barrel."
"You might as well be," muttered one of the younger priests, clearly trying not to stare at her thighs.
Solara shot him a look. "Watch it, priest-boy. I'm the holy juice box now, remember?"
That earned a few stifled chuckles. Even Kael cracked a smile—though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Your body," he said slowly, "is the last hope of this scorched world. Every drop of you—your sweat, your essence, your…" He trailed off, gaze lingering on her lips.
"My what?" she dared, voice like velvet. "Say it."
"…your cum," he finally whispered.
She burst out laughing. "There it is. The real word. Thank the stars. I was getting tired of 'sacred elixir' and 'divine secretion.' Sounds like a gross potion from a cursed grandma."
"You are the potion," murmured the soldier at her feet. "And I'd drink you dry."
Heat crawled up her spine. She should be disgusted. Terrified. But all she felt was… wicked.
Wanted.
"I didn't ask to be born with a magic coochie," she muttered.
"No one asks to be divine," Kael said. "But now that we've tasted you—felt your power—we have no choice."
A door opened. A second man stepped forward—young, tall, bronzed from the sun. His eyes burned with restrained need.
"This is Riven," Kael announced. "Your next… supplicant."
"Supplicant?" Solara arched a brow. "You mean test subject?"
"He's willing."
"I bet he is."
Riven stepped forward and sank to his knees. "Lady Solara… I would give you anything. My sword, my soul. Just let me serve you. Let me worship you with my tongue, my lips, my—"
Kael coughed.
"—devotion," Riven corrected, though the bulge in his trousers told the real story.
Solara tilted her head. Her golden hair spilled like honey over her shoulders. "You know what happened to the last guy, right?"
Riven nodded. "And I'm praying the same happens to me."
She leaned back on her elbows, legs slightly parted. She wasn't trying to be seductive anymore. She was seductive. Power wrapped around her like perfume.
"Alright, Riven," she purred. "Come get your miracle."