The sound of footsteps echoed through the palace corridors as Gwenore led Paola and Ayla toward the courtyard. The air inside the palace was cool, a sharp contrast to the late afternoon warmth beyond its stone walls.

  Paola’s nerves tingled, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her cloak as she walked. Meeting a new party member should have felt routine by now, but something about the weight in Gwenore’s silence made her uneasy. Ayla, walking beside her, seemed equally on edge.

  Paola glanced at her. “Do you think Lady Marcelline picked someone strong?”

  Ayla kept her gaze forward, her tone measured. “She wouldn’t waste time otherwise.”

  Gwenore barely acknowledged the conversation, her expression impassive as they stepped outside. The courtyard was open and sunlit, the fountain at its center shimmering with cascading water. And in its midst stood their new companion.

  He was taller than expected, broad-shouldered with dark wavy hair cascading down his back. His light green eyes stood out sharply against his tanned skin, filled with a curiosity that didn’t seem out of place in the unfamiliar setting. His armor was unconventional—deerskin bracers, ankle stirrups, and a loincloth made from native fabrics. Strands of bones and feathers adorned his chest, and atop his head sat a bear skull helmet, its massive plumes shifting with the breeze.

  Paola stopped short, blinking. He looked... regal but in untamed kind of way.

  Gwenore finally spoke, her voice crisp. “Paola, Ayla, this is Ta’huka Raincaller, chief of the Raincaller tribe from the Outlands.”

  Ta’huka stepped forward, his movements fluid and confident. His grin was warm, entirely unbothered by the scrutiny.

  “Greetings,” he said, his voice rich. His eyes flitted between them, reading them in ways Paola wasn’t sure she liked. “Ayla the disciplined, and Paola the reserved.”

  Paola stiffened, her face heating. Ayla, beside her, exhaled sharply.

  Gwenore cleared her throat. “You’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted. For now, dinner will be served soon.”

  It was a dismissal as much as it was an instruction. Paola glanced at Ayla, catching the tension in her jaw. Gwenore’s tone was never outright hostile, but it held an edge whenever she spoke to Ayla. Paola wasn’t sure what exactly was between them, but she knew better than to ask outright.

  As they moved toward the dining hall, Ta’huka walked between them, his stride easy but observant. “Is it always this tense?” he asked lightly.

  Ayla didn’t answer.

  Paola swallowed a nervous laugh. “Depends on who’s in the room.”

  Ta’huka chuckled, shaking his head. “I see. Then I shall tread carefully.

  The grand dining hall was bathed in golden candlelight, the long table set with ornate silverware and polished china. Servants moved with precision, bringing out steaming platters of food that filled the room with rich, savory aromas.

  Paola hesitated at her seat before finally sitting between Ayla and Ta’huka, facing the head of the table where Gwenore stood overseeing the meal.

  Ta’huka leaned forward slightly, his green eyes scanning the feast. “This is more food than my entire village eats in a week.”

  Paola wasn’t sure what to say to that. She had never thought about how much food was wasted in noble homes.

  Ayla, more accustomed to the setting, finally spoke. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Paola, determined to engage rather than retreat into silence, decided to contribute. “Where I came from, we had feasts too, but nothing this elaborate.” She reached for a plate, her hands careful as she served herself. The expectation here wasn’t just to eat—it was to carry conversation.

  Gwenore watched with cool detachment, but didn’t interfere.

  Paola turned to Ta’huka. “Do you recognize any of this food?”

  He studied the spread—roasted meats, fresh greens, vibrant sauces. Finally, he pointed at a dark, seared cut of venison. “This looks close to what we cook over the open fire back home. But the seasoning is different.”

  He took a bite and let the flavors settle. “Stronger spices. Less smoke.” He nodded approvingly. “Good, though.”

  Paola smiled slightly. She had expected the dinner to be tense, but there was something casual about Ta’huka—a stark contrast to the formality of the setting.

  As the meal continued, Paola found herself surprisingly at ease. The natural rhythm of conversation replaced the usual stiffness of noble dining.

  Ta’huka spoke in broad, animated gestures, telling them about the storms of his homeland, the sea beasts his people fought, and the traditions of his tribe.

  Ayla listened without interruption, her hands occasionally tightening around her utensils.

  Gwenore, however, finally cut in with a quiet remark. “A chief who leaves his people behind is a curious thing.”

  The air tensed.

  Ta’huka met her gaze with a sharp, unwavering confidence. “A chief who never learns beyond his own land is a weak one.”

  Paola swallowed. That was the first time his tone had held any real bite.

  Gwenore gave a barely perceptible nod, acknowledging his response without conceding anything.

  Ayla exhaled, shifting slightly beside Paola. Paola could tell she was holding back something sharp.

  To break the tension, Paola turned to Ta’huka again. “You mentioned earlier that you can call storms. Is that literal?”

  Ta’huka’s expression eased, his easy grin returning. “Partially. My people believe the spirits guide the weather. We perform rituals, and sometimes the storms listen.”

  Paola found herself intrigued. Magic wasn’t new to her anymore, but the idea of entire rituals affecting nature itself was fascinating.

  Ayla finally joined in. “So it’s less about control and more about faith?”

  Ta’huka nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Though I suppose all power, at its root, is a mix of both.”

  Paola looked down at her plate, thinking about her own abilities—how she had adapted to being here, how she was still figuring out where she fit.

  She caught herself before the silence stretched too long.

  “This was good,” she said, more to herself than anyone.

  Ta’huka chuckled. “The food or the company?”

  Paola blinked. “Both, I suppose.”

  Ayla gave her a side glance, something unreadable in her expression.

  Ta’huka leaned back in his chair, looking completely at ease. “Good. Because I have a feeling we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

  Paola wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a warning. She smirked, taking a sip from her goblet. “That does seem to be the way things are going.”

  Ayla tilted her head slightly, finally setting her drink down. “Since we’ll be working together, it would be good to know what you bring to the party.”

  Ta’huka hummed in thought, swirling the wine in his cup. “I suppose that depends on what you mean. Do you ask about my skills, or are you questioning my worth?” His voice was playful, but there was a keen edge to it.

  Ayla didn’t flinch. “Both.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He reached for a bottle, pouring himself more wine before continuing. “I fight with a shield and tomahawk—not the usual pairing, I know, but it works for me.” He tapped the air with his fingers, miming the weight of his weapons. “The tomahawk is light and quick, perfect for striking between defenses. The shield? That’s to ensure I stay standing long enough to strike.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Paola raised an eyebrow. “So, more of a defensive fighter?”

  Ta’huka smirked. “I give that impression, don’t I?” He took a sip. “That’s the beauty of it. People see the shield and assume I’m a wall. But a berserker’s strength doesn’t come from standing still.”

  Ayla’s brows lifted slightly. “You’re a berserker?”

  Ta’huka shrugged. “Not in the way most people think. I don’t foam at the mouth and lose all sense of reason. I fight with the storm, not against it.”

  Paola listened intently, her eyes narrowing slightly. His calm, charismatic demeanor had made her picture him as something other than a berserker. But now, the way he spoke—there was a controlled storm behind his words.

  Ayla took another slow sip of wine, watching the way Paola leaned forward slightly, intrigued. “Sounds useful,” Ayla said, her tone measured. “It’s rare to see someone combine raw power with control.”

  Ta’huka inclined his head in gratitude. “It’s about trusting the spirits, allowing the battle to flow. And, well—” he took a long drink, eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of his goblet, “—some of us are naturally more in tune with the bare essentials of combat.”

  Paola blinked. “The... bare essentials?”

  His smirk deepened. “Ah. That reminds me. You mentioned earlier that you’ve had to adapt since arriving here.” His gaze was sharp, knowing. “Would that happen to include a certain trait?”

  Paola froze mid-sip, nearly choking on her drink. Her eyes flickered to Ayla, who stiffened ever so slightly beside her.

  Ayla narrowed her gaze, her grip tightening subtly around her goblet. “You already knew?”

  Ta’huka laughed. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. She carries herself differently than most warriors bound by armor. There’s a lightness—an ease of movement.” He tipped his goblet toward Paola. “You in particular. You’re hesitant about it, but the way you hold yourself betrays the truth.”

  Paola swallowed hard. She hadn’t expected the conversation to turn toward this. She had spent so long adjusting, trying to accept her Nudist trait without feeling exposed. But Ta’huka spoke about it as if it was natural.

  Ayla’s lips pressed together, her expression unreadable. “And you? You said earlier your tribe has something similar.”

  Ta’huka nodded. “The Spirit of the Bare.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping just slightly. “My people believe that the fewer barriers between yourself and the world, the stronger your connection to the spirits becomes. Armor blocks that connection.”

  Paola felt her cheeks heat. The logic wasn’t far from her own trait, but hearing it spoken about so openly was still a strange kind of validation.

  Ayla’s expression softened slightly, though her fingers still traced the rim of her goblet. “It’s rare to meet someone who understands.”

  Ta’huka smiled. “It is an unusual thing to have in common, no?” He chuckled. “Most warriors sneer at the idea of fighting with less rather than more.”

  Paola felt the weight of Ayla’s gaze on her then. Subtle, but pointed. She took another sip of wine, trying to steady herself.

  Ta’huka exhaled, stretching slightly. “That was a good meal. I think I’ll retire for the night—wouldn’t want to be sluggish when we spar tomorrow.”

  The evening wound down, and one by one, the guests and servants dispersed. The grand dining hall grew quieter, the air thick with the fading remnants of wine and conversation.

  As they made their way toward their rooms, Ayla walked beside Paola, her steps deliberate, slower than usual.

  Paola felt the shift before Ayla even said a word.

  When they entered their shared room, Ayla closed the door behind them with a quiet click and turned toward Paola with a look that was unmistakable.

  She was pouting, arms crossed, her usual sharp confidence tempered by something far softer.

  Paola blinked, unsure of what to say. “...What?”

  Ayla tilted her head slightly. “You share a trait with him.”

  Paola felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

  Ayla stepped closer, her voice lower, teasing but not entirely playful. “It’s rare, you know. Not just anyone has something like that.”

  Paola suddenly found herself unable to meet her gaze. “I guess so.”

  Ayla hummed, considering her for a long moment before reaching out, tracing the edge of Paola’s cloak between her fingers.

  “You know,” Ayla mused, “I think we should talk more about that trait of yours.”

  Paola swallowed. “Now?”

  Ayla smirked. “No better time, don’t you think?”

  Paola felt her breath hitch, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to ask what exactly Ayla meant, but something about the way she was so effortlessly taking the lead made it impossible to speak.

  Ayla moved to sit on the bed, watching Paola expectantly.

  Paola hesitated for half a second—then, slowly, she stepped forward, following Ayla’s lead.

  And that was the moment everything changed.

  <3 <3 <3

  Paola's head swam with the pleasant buzz of the evening's wine. She had never felt this bold before, and the alcohol had stripped away her usual inhibitions, leaving a confident, assertive version of herself she barely recognized. She glanced at Ayla, who sat on the bed, eyes wide with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

  Paola’s gaze locked onto Ayla’s, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Ayla,” she began, her voice low and sultry, “I’ve come to learn that I love a nice man, truly, but there’s something about the taste of your nectar that’s far sweeter than I ever imagined.”

  Ayla's eyes widened slightly, and she nodded, her breathing quickening. “Would you like it if I had a taste now?” Paola asked, her tone both commanding and teasing.

  “Yes,” Ayla whispered, her voice barely audible, a tremor of excitement running through her.

  Paola stood, her movements slow and deliberate, and dropped the black WebWeave cloak she had been wearing to reveal her petite, naked frame. Her skin glowed in the dim light, her small breasts rising and falling with each breath. She moved closer to Ayla, her gaze never leaving her partner's eyes. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Ayla's lips before trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, and finally to her breasts.

  Ayla moaned softly as Paola's lips brushed against her sensitive skin, her body arching in response. Paola took her time, teasing Ayla's nipples with her tongue, making her gasp and squirm beneath her. "Do you like that?" Paola asked, her voice a seductive whisper.

  "Yes, Paola," Ayla breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Paola continued her journey down Ayla's body, her kisses growing more deliberate as she moved lower. When she reached Ayla's clit, she gave it a single, tantalizing lick before pulling back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," she teased. "You have to earn it."

  Ayla whimpered, her hips lifting off the bed in a silent plea. Paola grinned, enjoying the power she held over her partner. She kissed her way back up Ayla's body, her hands roaming over her soft, warm skin. When she reached Ayla's mouth, she kissed her deeply, her tongue exploring every inch.

  "You want my tongue, Ayla?" Paola asked, her voice dripping with seduction.

  "Yes, please," Ayla begged, her eyes filled with longing.

  Paola pushed Ayla's head back onto the bed, her eyes dark with desire. "Then earn it," she commanded. She positioned herself over Ayla's face, her small bush of unshaven hair glistening with arousal. Paola’s voice was firm, dripping with authority. “Eat that pussy, Ayla. My hairy little kitty needs your tongue.”

  Ayla’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of submission and desire. Her hands gripped Paola's hips as she eagerly began to lick, her tongue exploring Paola's folds with a desperate hunger. Paola moaned, her fingers tangling in Ayla's blonde locks as she rode her face, grinding her hips against her partner's mouth. "That's it," Paola purred. "You're such a good little kitty, Ayla. Make me come, and maybe I'll give you what you want."

  The words, degrading yet filled with affection, seemed to drive Ayla wild. Her tongue worked with renewed fervor, her moans muffled against Paola's wetness. Paola looked down at herself, the sight of her small bush and the glistening moisture turning her on even more. She knew she hadn’t showered today, and she had been working out extra hard, but the thought of Ayla tasting her in her raw, natural state only heightened her arousal.

  “You like that, don’t you, Ayla?” Paola teased, her voice breathless. “You like the taste of me, even when I’m all sweaty and dirty.”

  Ayla's response was a muffled moan, her fingers diving deep into her own golden-covered slit as she pleasured herself. The sight of Ayla touching herself while eating her out sent Paola over the edge. Her juices flowed freely, running down Ayla's face as she came with a loud cry.

  "Drink it up," Paola commanded, her voice shaking with pleasure. "Don't waste a drop."

  Ayla's body convulsed as she came, her own orgasm triggered by Paola's words and the taste of her release. Paola watched in awe as Ayla's body shuddered beneath her, her fingers still working furiously between her legs. Slowly, Paola lifted her hips, her juices still glistening on Ayla's lips and chin.

  Ayla looked up at Paola with half-lidded eyes, her breaths coming in heavy pants. "We’re only just getting started," Paola said with an evil grin, her confidence bolstered by Ayla's obvious enjoyment.

  She moved back down Ayla's body, her fingers tracing a path over her flushed skin. "You've been such a good girl, Ayla," she murmured. "But now it's time for your reward."

  Paola's tongue flicked out, finally giving Ayla's clit the attention it craved. Ayla moaned loudly, her hips bucking against Paola's mouth. Paola grinned, her tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, savoring the taste of Ayla's arousal.

  "You taste so sweet," Paola whispered, her breath hot against Ayla's sensitive flesh. "Even better than I imagined."

  Ayla's hands gripped the sheets, her body trembling with pleasure. "Paola, please," she begged, her voice breaking. "I need more."

  Paola's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Oh, you want more, do you?" she teased. "You have to ask nicely."

  "Please, Paola," Ayla whimpered. "Please make me come."

  Paola's tongue moved faster, her fingers joining in to tease Ayla's entrance. "That's it, Ayla," she encouraged. "Come for me. Show me how much you want it."

  Ayla's body tensed, her orgasm building rapidly. Paola's tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, pushing Ayla closer and closer to the edge. Finally, with a cry, Ayla came, her juices flowing over Paola's tongue. Paola drank it all in, savoring the sweet, salty taste of Ayla’s release. She didn’t stop, her tongue continuing to tease and lick, prolonging Ayla’s orgasm.

  When Ayla finally collapsed, spent and trembling, Paola pulled back, her face glistening with Ayla’s juices. She looked down at Ayla, who was breathing heavily, her eyes half-closed in bliss.

  “You did so well,” Paola murmured, her voice soft and affectionate. “But we’re not done yet.”

  Ayla looked up at her, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and anticipation. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, her voice a breathless whisper.

  Paola grinned, her eyes dark with desire. “I want you to make me come again,” she said, her voice low and commanding. “Use your fingers, your tongue, whatever it takes. Make me come.”

  Ayla nodded, her expression determined. “Yes, Pao,” she said, her voice filled with resolve. “I’ll make you come.”

  Paola straddled Ayla’s face once more, her legs spread wide. “Then get to work,” she said, her voice a low growl. “Make me come, Ayla.”