The door of the cabin opened—

  and the world held its breath.

  There was no music, no announcement, no formal introduction.

  Only the golden light hitting our skin and a vibrating second of silence before the entire beach turned toward us.

  I felt the weight of a hundred eyes—

  hunger, curiosity, judgment, desire, shock—

  all mixed together like heavy perfume under the sun.

  Velka stepped out first, of course.

  Her red bikini was a national crime.

  She moved as if the sand itself were her private runway.

  Neyra followed, silver-lit, soft, almost ethereal.

  For a moment the crowd didn’t know whether to look at her… or pray to her.

  A murmur drifted through the air:

  —“Is that the silver foreigner…?”

  Caelia walked behind us, straight as if in formation.

  Her body, wrapped in a fitted athletic swimsuit, drew female gazes immediately.

  I felt them.

  She saw them.

  And for the first time in months… Caelia had no idea what to do with them.

  Then I stepped out.

  And the murmur turned into electricity.

  The bikini that was chosen for me was ridiculous, tiny, an offense to any dress code in the civilized world—

  and absolutely perfect for Aurelis.

  I took two steps over the hot wood…

  …and I felt it.

  The string of the thong slid upward, treacherous, vanishing between my cheeks as if the fabric were alive.

  —“Oh, hell,” I muttered, half laughing.

  Velka nearly fell over laughing.

  —“Princess…” she whispered, biting her lip, “that bikini is fighting for its life. It’s getting into all of your ass.

  And I think it likes it.”

  —“Let them look,” I answered without slowing down. “This way Aurelis can start devouring me little by little.”

  Drone cameras descended like shining insects.

  People were beginning to gather around us without daring to get too close.

  —“A picture, please!”

  —“Over here!”

  —“Are you the Seravenn goddesses?”

  —“Welcome to Orion’s Cove!”

  Voices came from everywhere.

  Neyra, for the first time in her life, didn’t retreat.

  Her shoulders opened slightly.

  Her steps grew longer.

  Her eyes gleamed.

  That new shine…

  it shook me.

  Because Neyra Solvine—the girl of numbers, distance, precision—was feeling something she had never tasted in Seravenn:

  importance.

  Desire.

  Presence.

  Caelia, however, seemed to be trying—failing—to fold her soul back into her rigid posture.

  But the female gazes following her…

  were cracking her open.

  A woman in a golden bikini looked her up and down, slow and calculated.

  Caelia swallowed.

  I saw the tiny tremor in her throat.

  Velka enjoyed everything.

  She waved, posed even when no one asked, tilted her hips just enough for half the beach to forget how to breathe.

  And I…

  I felt the thong climbing higher and higher.

  I didn’t fix it.

  On purpose.

  The crowd reacted as if the lighting had changed.

  Gazes burning.

  Gazes respectful.

  Gazes greedy.

  All of them… on us.

  We walked toward the shore, where the sand grew lighter and the waves licked the first meters of the day.

  Someone exhaled behind us:

  —“Goddesses.”

  —“Real ones.”

  —“Real.”

  —“Real.”

  Velka nudged me.

  —“I think we just ruined the day for half of Orion’s Cove.”

  —“Perfect,” I said.

  Because today…

  I wanted to play too.

  The sun was at its perfect point—warm, gentle, as if Aurelis wanted to lick our skin without burning it.

  We chose a spot near the shore: towels laid out, sandals tossed aside, bags half open.

  Caelia went full mom-sergeant the moment our shadows touched the sand.

  —Put on sunscreen. All of you. Now.

  I’m not dragging anyone like in Al-Rahad.

  Velka huffed dramatically but lifted her arms like she was posing for a tanning commercial.

  I sat behind Neyra, who looked like she was made of light instead of skin.

  I rubbed sunscreen onto her shoulders.

  She shivered, barely.

  —You’re turning red —I murmured.

  —It’s the sun —she lied terribly.

  Velka was practically bathing in oil.

  Caelia tried to apply her sunscreen alone… and made a complete mess.

  She smeared more sand than lotion.

  Neyra sighed.

  So did I.

  We grabbed her by the shoulders like two exhausted nurses.

  —Stay still.

  —I don’t need—

  —You do —Neyra cut her off, merciless.

  Caelia’s rigid posture softened by a millimeter.

  From afar, it probably looked intimate.

  But we weren’t alone.

  Eyes everywhere.

  Curious.

  Hungry.

  Awed.

  Lost.

  Velka waved at strangers like she owned the beach.

  And then…

  The light changed.

  Not because clouds moved.

  But because someone was walking toward us.

  Slow.

  Confident.

  Radiant.

  A voluptuous shadow stretched across the sand, outlined by the sun.

  I lifted my gaze…

  And saw her.

  Imposing.

  Golden skin.

  Indecent curves.

  A silver bikini held together by divine intervention.

  Breasts so large Velka and I suddenly felt like flat-chested teenagers.

  Hips capable of founding a nation.

  Thighs that could crush egos.

  The face of an actress who knew the entire world was looking at her.

  Velka whistled.

  —Oh no… this woman is illegal —she muttered, voice thick with appreciation.

  Neyra swallowed hard.

  I… couldn’t decide if I should sit up straighter or let her bury me in the sand.

  But Caelia…

  Caelia froze.

  As if a beautiful storm had walked straight toward her.

  The woman stopped before us.

  When she spoke, her voice was low, warm, perfumed with honey and authority.

  —Welcome, beautiful foreigners.

  She smiled.

  And introduced herself:

  —I’m Lysandra Cane, owner of the Reef Lounge.

  —Lysandra…? —I echoed, caught by the sound of her name.

  Velka burst out laughing:

  —HA! Lyss and Lysandra!

  Look at you two, you’re name twins!

  Princess already has her tropical sister!

  —Velka, please —I muttered, but my face was already burning.

  Lysandra didn’t mind.

  She laughed softly, with a mischievousness that almost melted my bones.

  Then her gaze traveled over us:

  To Velka:

  —You… are pure trouble. I adore it.

  To Neyra:

  —And you… what a delicate creature.

  You look like something someone would touch just to confirm you’re real.

  To me:

  —Princess… nothing could hide you, not even the shade.

  I felt my thong shift upward again.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Perfect.

  But when her eyes reached Caelia…

  Everything slowed.

  Lysandra lowered her head slightly, bowing to her in a reversed reverence.

  —You —she said, intimate, private, as if they were already acquainted—

  you’re the one I want to know today.

  Caelia inhaled so sharply her collarbone trembled.

  Lysandra didn’t touch her.

  She didn’t have to.

  —Your cabana at the lounge is ready —she continued—.

  Everything is on me.

  Whenever you’d like to come… I’ll be waiting.

  And before turning away, she leaned toward Caelia, so close that the shadow of her bust covered her for a heartbeat.

  —I hope to see you very soon, little soldier.

  And she left.

  Perfume, sunlight, and emotional chaos trailing behind her.

  Velka shrieked:

  —CA-ELIAAAAAA! YOU JUST GOT HIT ON IN 4K!

  Neyra stayed speechless.

  I… smiled. A little.

  The sun was still climbing when we rose from the sand.

  Ahead stretched a polished wooden walkway leading to the Reef Lounge: a corridor lined with marine-glass lanterns, drifting white fabrics, and coastal plants from the southern region that smelled of sweet citrus.

  Velka walked ahead, hips swaying as if the entire world were her private runway.

  — Ready for ridiculously overpriced drinks we’re not paying for? —she sang.

  — Don’t start, Velka, —Caelia muttered.

  But even her serious tone couldn’t hide the obvious:

  she was still affected by Lysandra.

  Her steps were more controlled, more aware of her own body.

  As if the shadow of that woman still rested on her skin.

  Neyra walked beside me, calm, carrying a new confidence that still glowed softly in her cheeks.

  The attention she’d received all morning clung to her like a silver halo.

  I felt the cool sand sticking to my thighs, the bikini shifting up and down on its own…

  And there it was.

  A coastal sanctuary where luxury met the heat of the southern lands:

  Huge cabanas made of gleaming white fiber instead of palm.

  Pastel-colored cushioned loungers.

  Sheets of light fabric swaying with the sea breeze.

  Scents of exotic fruits, citrus, warm spices, and the unmistakable southern spice burn.

  The music was a smooth blend of electronic drums, warm percussion, and relaxed vocals.

  Silver drones carried trays of chilled drinks.

  The staff, bronzed and impeccably dressed, moved as if they were gliding rather than walking.

  A host approached us with a perfectly diplomatic smile.

  — Welcome to Orion’s Reef, honored guests.

  Your private cabana is ready.

  And… —his smile widened just a little—

  everything you wish to order has already been covered.

  Velka threw her arms toward the sky.

  — Bless the gods for whoever’s paying for this party!

  The host bowed slightly.

  — I can’t reveal identities. But let’s say it’s someone who appreciates you… deeply.

  (Orion. Obviously.)

  He guided us to a spacious cabana decorated with solar candles and oversized cushions.

  A crystal ice bucket held local beers:

  Tiara.

  Dos Reinas.

  Modeloza.

  Velka clapped like she had found treasure.

  — My girls! —she exclaimed—. Dos Reinas! This country DOES know how to live!

  She grabbed oneand popped it open with a flick of her magic.

  The cap shot off like a dart.

  On the table sat a platter of southern dishes:

  Bruma Roja Tostaditas — crisp, with spiced sauce.

  Aguafuego Verde — fresh seafood steeped in burning citrus.

  Latigazo Shrimp — supposedly mild… which was a lie.

  Solar Sauce — “mild” spice… also a lie.

  — Well… let’s try it, —I said, grabbing a tostada and dipping it into the Aguafuego.

  Velka copied me.

  So did Neyra.

  Caelia hesitated… then surrendered.

  Three seconds later:

  — AH— AHHHHH! MY SOUL IS ON FIRE! —Velka screamed, fanning herself with a napkin.

  Tears shimmered in Neyra’s silver eyes.

  — I-it said m-mild… it SAID mild… —she gasped.

  Caelia tried to keep military composure.

  — It’s… not… that strong…

  But her face was red as an emergency beacon.

  My tongue tried to resign from its duties.

  The waiter returned, clearly delighted by our suffering.

  — That’s level one, ladies.

  But if you want to try Sunblood, I can bring it.

  We all yelled “NO” in unison.

  He laughed and walked off.

  We were still recovering from the burn of the Aguafuego when a voluptuous shadow returned to the entrance of our cabana.

  We didn’t need to turn.

  We knew exactly who it was.

  Lysandra Cane, queen of this coast, owner of the Lounge. Her silver wrap shimmered with every step, and her smile…

  Her smile told us she had come with a purpose.

  — I see you survived the southern menu, —she said, her warm voice vibrating through the air.

  Velka immediately began fanning her tongue.

  Neyra nearly choked on her drink.

  I braced myself.

  Because Lysandra wasn’t here to greet us.

  She was here for Caelia.

  Again.

  She stopped directly in front of her, leaning just enough for Caelia to feel her shadow, her heat, her perfume.

  — Vorn, —she murmured, smile soft yet devastating—

  I’m glad you didn’t leave yet.

  Caelia, standing stiff like a military statue in a bikini, dipped her head in acknowledgment.

  — Mrs. Cane.

  — Lysandra, —she corrected gently—.

  You said titles make you uncomfortable… or did I imagine that?

  A flush crept up Caelia’s cheeks so quickly she didn’t have time to hide it.

  — I—I didn’t say it like that.

  — Mm. —Lysandra’s smile deepened—

  Then I must’ve dreamed it.

  How funny that my dreams have been so… pleasant lately.

  Velka strangled a squeak.

  Neyra’s eyes flew wide.

  I bit my lip to avoid laughing.

  Lysandra continued, never once breaking her focus on Caelia:

  — I only came for a moment.

  I wanted to ask you something before the day gets busy.

  Caelia swallowed discreetly.

  — What is it?

  Lysandra lifted her hand—To let Caelia feel the warmth hovering inches from her skin.

  — If you’d like… I could show you something outside the Lounge.

  A quieter place.

  Just you and me.

  A short walk.

  Caelia’s heart stopped for half a second.

  We all saw it.

  But her voice stayed serious, steady, tightly controlled:

  — I’m not sure that would be… appropriate.

  Lysandra tilted her head, appreciating the resistance like a rare gem.

  — That’s exactly why I’m asking you.

  Not your friends. Not your superiors.

  You, Caelia Vorn.

  The perfect soldier swallowed again.

  Her rigid posture cracked by a single, invisible line.

  Velka collapsed onto a cushion, trying not to scream.

  Neyra covered her mouth with both hands.

  I settled back to enjoy the show.

  Lysandra stepped back with elegant precision.

  — Think about it.

  I’m on the upper terrace, if you decide to come.

  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to…

  just let me get to know you a little.

  And she walked away.

  Without looking back.

  Without rushing.

  Leaving all of us breathless.

  Silence lasted three seconds.

  Then:

  — CAELIAAAAAAA!! —Velka shrieked, launching herself toward her—

  She invited you on a DATE.

  AN ACTUAL DATE.

  AND YOU—ARE—STILL—ALIVE.

  Neyra nodded, still blushing:

  — And none of it felt fake. She… noticed you.

  I took a long drink of my Modeloza.

  — Caelia Vorn…

  the goddess of the Lounge just chose you.

  Caelia covered her face with one hand—serious, composed, red as southern hell.

  — It’s not a date, —she insisted—

  She just… wants to talk.

  Velka hugged her mercilessly.

  — OF COURSE SHE WANTS TO TALK.

  But not only with her mouth.

  Caelia growled something unintelligible.

  But she didn’t say “no.”

  She didn’t say “never.”

  She didn’t say “I’m not interested.”

  And the silence between her words…

  said everything.

  The sun was at its perfect height: warm, bold, almost insolent.

  The beach buzzed with conversations, soft music, laughter, and the scent of tropical fruit.

  —Into the water, damn it, —Velka said, tossing her towel like she was claiming lost territory.

  Neyra smoothed her hair back with slow, deliberate grace, savoring every look the day had gifted her.

  Caelia inhaled deeply, serious and disciplined, even in a bikini.

  And I…

  I just wanted to feel something that wasn’t the fermented rage Silas had left stuck in my throat.

  We walked in together.

  The water was cool, delicious, small waves licking at our thighs like curious animals.

  —It’s perfect, —Neyra murmured, leaning back so the water hit her neck.

  —Don’t get too relaxed, —Caelia warned—. You never know when—

  A wave cut her off, crashing against our waists.

  Velka shrieked with laughter.

  I opened my arms, letting the sea lift me for a second.

  It was that second.

  Just one.

  The next wave came in higher—playful, reckless, downright mischievous.

  It hit me from below, lifted me and—

  —pulled my top upward.

  Literally.

  The strap slid.

  The fabric shifted.

  And my right nipple was suddenly exposed to the sun, the sea… and half the damn beach.

  There was a microscopic silence.

  One heartbeat.

  Then the world snapped back:

  —LYSS!! —Velka screeched, half alarmed, half thrilled.

  —Oh gods— —Neyra reached out to cover me, but she wasn’t close enough.

  Caelia froze, red to the ears, as if military protocol had absolutely no contingency for nipples going rogue in open water.

  Several people on the beach stared.

  A couple of cameras lifted.

  A drone stopped mid-air above us, like fate itself had said: yeah, this is going viral too.

  And I…

  I didn’t fix it.

  For one second—one single second full of sun and salt and resentment—

  I left my chest bare.

  Not by accident.

  But because I didn’t feel like rushing to hide myself.

  Let them look.

  Let them all look.

  Let them see what Silas didn’t know how to keep.

  The water glittered across the exposed skin.

  The wind stretched the moment like a thread ready to snap.

  At last, I lowered my hand and adjusted the top, the motion slow, conscious—

  closing an unannounced performance.

  —Well, —I said, swallowing pride, anger, and the heat of the sun—

  it’s just a nipple. Not the fall of a kingdom.

  Velka folded in half laughing.

  —PRINCESS, THAT WAS THE WHOLE THRONE.

  Neyra touched my arm, worried.

  —Are you okay?

  —I’m tired, —I answered, stepping out of the water—. That’s all.

  Caelia followed, still red, still too stiff for the heat burning across her face.

  —The entire beach was looking at you…

  —Let them look, —I said without turning back—. They won’t drown.

  As we walked up the sand, something made me stop.

  Instinct.

  I looked toward the upper terrace.

  Lysandra Cane was there.

  No umbrella.

  Glass in hand.

  The sun behind her.

  And she was watching me.

  Not shocked.

  Not scandalized.

  Interested.

  Very interested.

  When she realized I had noticed, she smiled.

  Just a little.

  But it felt like a warm hand tracing over an open wound.

  I kept walking.

  And the entire beach seemed to breathe as if something had shifted.

  Because something had.

  The sun warmed our backs as we walked out of the water, droplets streaming down our legs, our swimsuits clinging to our skin like a second, shimmering layer.

  Up on the upper terrace, Lysandra Cane was still there.

  Waiting.

  Patient.

  As if she already knew the tide would bring her exactly what she wanted.

  Velka was the first to speak—obviously.

  —Caelia. —She grabbed her shoulders with wet hands, leaned in, and announced loudly, without a shred of shame—: That woman has HUGE TITS and A MASSIVE ASS, soldier. Don’t be stupid.

  Caelia choked on her own breath.

  —Velka! What kind of—

  —A LIE? —Velka arched a brow—. Go on, deny it. Say it. Out loud.

  Caelia opened her mouth.

  Closed it.

  Failed spectacularly to produce an argument.

  Neyra approached with a soft smile, droplets sliding down her neck and disappearing into her white top.

  —You don’t have to marry her, —she said—. Just… get to know her a little. What’s the worst that could happen? She buys you a drink? Says something sweet? Looks at you the way she’s looking at you right now?

  Caelia swallowed hard—serious, military, beautiful in her discomfort.

  I flicked water from my arm and rolled my eyes.

  —If you don’t want romance, —I said—, at least squeeze another round out of her. I want another Modeloza. You’re the key. Use it.

  Velka burst out laughing, loud enough to make two tourists turn.

  —YES! THAT’S the Seravenn spirit! My Princess teaching my Commander how to handle a sun-goddess!

  —I am not “handling” anyone, —Caelia insisted, blushing fiercely—. I’m just… evaluating options.

  —Options, —Velka repeated, raising both brows—.

  Right. O-p-t-i-o-n-s.

  The kind of options that invite you to THEIR PRIVATE SUITE with air conditioning and unlimited drinks.

  Neyra gently took Caelia’s hand.

  —She’s not going to eat you… unless you want her to.

  Velka corrected herself instantly:

  —Well… not ALL of you.

  —VELKA!

  I tilted my head toward the terrace.

  —Look at her.

  She hasn’t moved since we walked out of the water.

  If that’s not interest, I don’t know what is.

  Caelia lifted her eyes.

  Lysandra was still there.

  Leaned slightly on the railing.

  Glass in hand.

  Sun behind her.

  And her gaze fixed entirely on Caelia.

  A barely-there smile… like a shared secret from afar.

  Caelia’s expression shifted.

  The military rigidity didn’t vanish…

  but it softened.

  Just a little.

  Enough to show that the decision wasn’t new.

  That she’d already chosen, deep down.

  She had just needed permission to admit it.

  She took a breath.

  Lowered her gaze.

  And murmured:

  —I’ll go.

  Velka shrieked so loud a drone lost altitude.

  Neyra clapped between laughs.

  I lifted an imaginary beer in salute.

  Caelia tried to maintain dignity as she stepped out of the sand, but the blush reached all the way down her chest.

  —Don’t make a scene, —she requested.

  —HONEY, YOU ARE THE SCENE, —Velka replied.

  And she was.

  She was everything: the scandal, the anticipation, the tension, the danger of letting herself want someone beautiful without knowing if it was safe.

  Caelia walked toward the stairs leading to the terrace.

  Each step a heartbeat.

  Each heartbeat another crack in her fortress.

  Lysandra watched her approach.

  Straightened her posture.

  Smiled.

  Made room beside her.

  And Caelia climbed.

  Not as a commander.

  Not as a public figure.

  As a woman.