PROLOGUE

The Law of the Panja :

The night sky stretched endlessly over the barren land, a sea stars spread around Under it, the Panja war camp stood as a proof to survival, a sprawl of towering metal structures and makeshift tents that housed the fiercest warriors in the known galaxy. Fires burned low in their pits, their embers casting a ghostly glow over the hard-packed ground. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, blood, and something far more primal—the lingering traces of desire and power that pulsed through the camp like a living force.

Here, amidst the war-hardened soldiers and their brutal traditions, an unspoken law governed all things.

The Law of Strength. The Law of Survival. The Law of the Panja:

For centuries, the Panja warriors had reigned supreme in battle. Their prowess was unparalleled, their combat skills honed to perfection. But their dominance was not solely the result of rigorous training or sheer force—it was something far more primal. Something written into the very fabric of their existence.

The Panja drew power from intimacy:

It was not a secret, nor was it a weakness. It was a gift, a part of their biology, an inheritance passed down from their ancestors. With every physical connection, their bodies absorbed energy, their senses heightened, their strength amplified. It was why they fought harder, lasted longer, and never fell in battle unless death itself claimed them. It was why their warlords ensured that every soldier had access to pleasure, that their beds were never cold before a battle.

The warriors who fought on the front lines required fuel, and the Entertainers were their lifeline.

Women—both willing and captured—were brought into the camp, given a purpose, given a place. The strongest of them, those who learned to wield seduction like a blade, were revered. They were not simply objects of pleasure; they were power sources, their bodies the conduits through which warriors attained their peak potential.

But beneath the surface of reverence lay something colder, something more calculated.

Entertainers were valued, yes—but they were not equal.

They were a resource, carefully managed, closely watched, and never allowed to forget their place. They belonged to the camp, just as the weapons, the supplies, and the warriors themselves did. Their worth was measured not by who they were, but by what they could provide.

And then there were the servants.

If the Entertainers were fuel, the servants were nothing more than the dirt beneath the warriors’ boots. They held no value beyond their ability to scrub, to clean, to serve in silence. They were ghosts, shadows that moved through the camp without a voice, without a name. They were not warriors, nor were they Entertainers.

They were invisible.

And among them was Ava.

She had been in the war camp for months now, long enough to learn the rules, long enough to understand that obedience meant survival. She worked in the background, performing the tasks no one else wanted—hauling water, washing clothes, scrubbing floors stained with the remnants of warriors’ indulgences. She never spoke out of turn, never drew attention to herself. She did as she was told.

And yet, Ava was not broken.

She had never been like the other women in the camp. While many sought favor among the warriors, eager to rise from the depths of servitude into the coveted ranks of the Entertainers, she wanted no such thing. She had no interest in their world of whispered promises and carefully bartered pleasure.

She had come from a world where she had no choice. But here, she made her own choices in the only way she could—by refusing to participate.

She was careful, deliberate. She did not look at the warriors for too long. She did not linger where she was not needed. She kept her head down, her hands busy, her presence forgettable.

And it worked.

Until the night she caught his attention.

General Kaelen.

The name alone was enough to send a shiver of fear through even the bravest of warriors. He was not merely a soldier—he was the embodiment of the Panja’s strength, the iron fist that led them to victory time and time again. His reputation was legendary, his discipline unwavering.

He was a man who demanded obedience. A man who had never been denied anything in his life.

Until Ava.

The moment had been brief, almost insignificant. She had been clearing the remnants of a warriors’ gathering, her hands moving swiftly as she collected discarded plates and overturned goblets. The air had been thick with the scent of sweat and wine, the distant hum of satisfaction lingering in the space like an echo.

And then, he had spoken.

His voice had been quiet, almost lazy, but there had been no mistaking the command in it.

“Lift your skirt.”

The words had sent ice through her veins.

For a moment, she had thought she had misheard him. But when she looked up, her gaze locking onto his, she saw the truth written in his cold silver-blue eyes.

He was waiting.

It was not a request. It was an expectation.

For any other woman, compliance would have been immediate. There were plenty who would have gladly given him what he wanted, who would have seen it as an honor, a privilege, a chance to rise in status.

But Ava?

Ava was different.

Her hands had clenched at her sides, her breath catching in her throat.

And then—she had refused.

A single word, spoken in a voice that did not waver.

“No.”

The silence that followed had been deafening.

The Entertainers had frozen, their eyes widening in horror. The warriors nearby had gone completely still, their expressions unreadable. Even Mistress Elara—the woman who ruled over the women with an iron grip—had looked as though she could not believe what she had just witnessed.

And Kaelen?

For the first time, Kaelen looked stunned.

He had expected compliance. Expected submission. Expected the same mindless, eager obedience he had always been given.

But she had denied him.

A human servant—insignificant, unimportant—had dared to refuse the General of the Panja.

And in that moment, everything changed.

The war camp had rules, and Ava had broken one of the most fundamental of them.

A servant did not deny a warrior.

A servant did not deny the General.

Mistress Elara had been the first to recover, her voice sharp with warning as she pulled Ava aside.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” she had hissed. “You think you can defy him and walk away unscathed?”

Ava had said nothing. She had merely squared her shoulders, refusing to let the fear show.

Because she knew what she had done.

She had become a challenge.

An anomaly.

A problem.

And Kaelen?

Kaelen had never let go of a problem without solving it.

The days that followed had been different. His presence had become an undeniable force in her life. He watched her now, his gaze a weight she could not ignore. He never spoke of that night, never revisited the command she had refused—but he did not forget.

And Ava?

She knew that a line had been drawn.

A game had begun.

And neither of them was willing to lose.

But what neither of them knew—what neither of them could have predicted—was that this was not just a game.

It was the beginning of something far more dangerous.

Something that could burn them both to the ground.