CHAPTER 95: CHAPTER 95: THE MORNING AFTER

Imagine a single tier 1 civilian, unbound, wielding vitae with malicious intent—say, an evil woman vowing to murder every man who crossed her path, crushing any who dared resist.

Now imagine six such rogues, their powers unchecked, wreaking havoc across the realm. Such strength in unregulated hands would unravel the Matriarchal Order, rendering it impossible to govern. Allowing that would be like handing civilians war-drakes—gifting them the Matriarch’s own arsenal, then expecting them to kneel in submission. The Matriarch would never permit such a threat to her reign.

’Okay. So that means, Marceline doesn’t have any offensive or defensive abilities?’

[Yes] The system responded.

He was still processing the information, when Marceline stirred in his arms. She turned her head, her hand coming to rest on his chest, her expression no longer just sated, but sharp with a sudden, dawning realization.

"Zae," she whispered, her voice suddenly serious, the seductive purr replaced by a new, heavy awareness.

"Yes?"

"You... you came inside me." She said, her expression turning slightly serious, "There is nothing wrong with that, I love the feeling of you twitching and shooting inside me, but why do I feel like there might be consequences?"

"Hmm. Consequences? What kind?" As soon as he finished asking that question, a thought hit him.

’Oh shit. I never thought of this, but, since I don’t have the M degradation....?’ He looked at her, with weary eyes, "Does that mean you could...."

Before he could finish, Marceline laughed, pressing a finger on his lips. "Oh, sweet boy," she purred, the sound rich with amusement as she watched the genuine panic flash in his eyes. "Look at you, adorable and terrified. Goddess, no."

She laughed again, a low, throaty sound, thoroughly enjoying his reaction before finally easing his fear. "Zae," she said, her voice softening, "You don’t need to worry about your fertile seed... being... fertile." She tapped his lips playfully. "There’s zero risk of that."

Marceline leaned into him tighter, the amusement in her smile shifting into something sly and far more speculative. She watched the panic fade from his eyes, her mind racing past his immediate relief to the source of his terror.

"But the fact that you knew to panic," she continued, her voice dropping as she connected the dots. "The fact that you immediately realized your lack of M-degradation meant..."

She let her gaze roam over him, a profound, almost predatory interest shining in her eyes. "My, my. This changes the game entirely. This makes your value... astronomical. You’re not just a consort for pleasure, Zae. You’re able to breed."

Zaeryn was still processing the astronomical implications of what she’d said when Marceline silenced his thoughts by claiming his lips in a sudden kiss. Pulling back she bit her lips lustfully, "But that," she purred, "is a very heavy conversation, and I am far too satisfied for heavy conversations right now." She rested her head against his chest "Rest, Zae. We can analyze your breeding potential tomorrow."

He let out a short laugh, the way she said it coming off as funny and strangely it turned him on, the tension breaking completely.

Exhausted from the day, the Vitae synchronization, and the intensity of their encounter, he surrendered to the warmth, falling asleep, with her in his arms, her rich floral scent the last thing he registered.

The next day.

When Zaeryn woke, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight filtering through the heavy silk curtains, warm and golden. He didn’t feel the pleasant feeling of Marceline laying on top of him anymore.

He stirred, reaching across the sheets, only to find the space beside him empty. The bed was still warm, though, and the pillow next to him was saturated with her scent.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, finally taking in his surroundings. Marceline’s private chamber was exactly like her: a masterpiece of controlled elegance and hidden history.

Unlike the functional modern comfort of the rest of the home, this space felt ancient. Dark, polished wood furniture that looked like genuine pre-Scorch relics gleamed softly. The walls, painted a deep, warm hue, were adorned not with screens, but with framed sketches of forgotten fashion designs. A vanity in the corner overflowed with antique jewelry boxes.

"She doesn’t just collect history,’ he mused, a smirk touching his lips. ’She sleeps in it.’

A soft, rhythmic hiss pulled his attention from the past to the present. The shower.

A slow, wicked grin spread across Zaeryn’s face. He threw the sheets back, the cool morning air washing over his bare skin. His body was still humming with the memory of their night, and the thought of her, naked and wet just a few feet away...

Why waste the water?

He padded silently across the plush carpet, sliding the bathroom door open just enough to slip inside.

The chamber was just as opulent as the bedroom, warm tiles underfoot, dark, polished fixtures gleaming in the soft light. Thick, fragrant steam, rich with the same floral scent as her perfume, clouded the air, making it heavy and intimate.

The shower stall was a wide enclosure of seamless, translucent glass, heavily frosted by the intense heat within.

Through the swirling mist and the rivulets of water streaking down the glass, her silhouette was a breathtaking, fluid shadow. Zaeryn stood motionless, captivated. He watched her tilt her head back, water washing down over the elegant line of her throat and cascading down the lush, heavy curves of her full breasts.

Her hand moved slowly, lathering soap over the impossible curve of her waist and the generous flare of her wide, curvaceous hips.

Even obscured, her wicked, hourglass figure was well defined and utterly intoxicating.

A slow grin spread across Zaeryn’s face. He felt the pull, a magnetic hum beneath his skin demanding closeness. He didn’t hesitate.

His hand closed around the handle, and he slid the heavy glass door open with a soft hiss.

A wave of intense, floral-scented heat rolled over him. Marceline turned, her hand freezing mid-caress. Her dark hair was piled high, her flawless skin glistening and flushed.

Water dripped from the tight peaks of her breasts.

Her smoky green eyes, hazy with heat, widened for only a fraction of a second before they focused on him, standing bare in the doorway. The surprise melted instantly, replaced by that slow, knowing, and utterly wicked smile.

"Well," she purred, her voice a low vibration beneath the rush of the water as she openly admired his physique. "Took you long enough."