I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

“Pardon me my Queen,” Apollodorus entered. He ignored the fact that Nathan was on his knees his face right in front of Cleopatra’s leaking pussy. “But Caesar is there.”

Cleopatra turned her face slowly, her eyes still glistening with the remnants of pleasure Nathan had just given her. There was a softness in her gaze, a rare vulnerability that flickered for the briefest moment before her expression shifted, returning to the composed, regal mask she wore so well.

Apollodorus stood nearby, silent but observant, his eyes catching every detail with the wary discipline of a trusted attendant.

“Bring him to the main tent,” Cleopatra commanded, her voice smooth and authoritative. “I will join him shortly.”

“Yes, my Queen,” Apollodorus responded with a respectful bow. Yet as he turned, his gaze lingered on Nathan for a moment longer than expected—a glance not of jealousy, but of acknowledgment. And perhaps, quiet judgment.

Nathan sighed, the fleeting intimacy fading as reality reclaimed its hold. He reluctantly rose, stepping away from the silken sheets that still carried the warmth of their shared moment. As he began dressing, his hands moved with calm efficiency, buckling the last strap of his armor over his toned chest.

“It seems he’s made his decision,” Nathan remarked, his tone even but laced with understanding.

Cleopatra didn’t turn immediately. Instead, she selected a gown of shimmering gold and sapphire—one that emphasized her status as both Queen and living goddess. As she slipped into it, her fingers paused on the fastenings. “I already knew what choice he would make,” she said, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

Nathan stepped behind her, silently taking the delicate fabric from her hands. With gentle precision, he adjusted the flowing material around her shoulders, letting his fingers graze her bare back. He leaned in, brushing his lips softly against her neck. Cleopatra shivered slightly, the contact drawing a quiet breath from her.

“You wear power like a second skin,” Nathan murmured, his voice low, intimate. He was truly impressed by how she ruled. It was different than Azariah’s kind one for sure.

She smiled, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “And yet I find myself undone so easily by you.”

He didn’t answer with words. The silence between them was rich—thick with meaning, with choices not yet made, and emotions neither dared name aloud.

“He’ll likely take you back today,” Cleopatra said at last, her voice quieter now, thoughtful. There was something bittersweet in her words—an acknowledgment of what might come.

“I belong to no one,” Nathan said coldly, without hesitation. His eyes were sharp.

Cleopatra’s smile only deepened. She preferred that response over any hollow profession of loyalty or love. Nathan was proud—fiercely independent—and that made him dangerous. But it also made him honest. He walked his own path, not the one others paved for him. That was why she trusted him.

And perhaps, even more dangerously, why she found herself drawn to him—not just as a tool or a lover, but as something else. Something she never expected to desire.

Power had always been her first and only love. Her throne, her kingdom, her survival. But now, standing beside this enigmatic man, a quiet longing stirred within her. Could there be more to life than strategy and conquest?

She wasn’t ready to answer that question. Not yet.

“Let’s not make him wait,” she said with a regal tilt of her head, adjusting the golden circlet atop her hair. She was radiant now—an embodiment of majesty and seduction, her beauty sharp enough to draw blood.

With every step she took, her presence demanded attention. Nathan followed a few paces behind, his expression unreadable but his eyes locked on her. Apollodorus rejoined them, falling into stride beside his Queen.

As they walked through the path leading to the command tent, Apollodorus leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper as he addressed Nathan. “I hope you won’t betray us this time.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked toward him, cold and impassive, like a blade sheathed in silence. “I don’t recall ever being one of you to begin with,” he replied flatly.

Apollodorus let out a frustrated groan but refrained from responding. As much as he disliked the answer, he couldn’t deny the truth behind it. Nathan had always stood apart—untethered by loyalty, driven by his own mysterious purposes. He was no one’s pawn. And that, perhaps, was what made him so dangerous.

The heavy fabric of the tent parted before them, and Cleopatra stepped forward with a poise that silenced the air itself. Inside, seated at the center of a wide wooden war table, was Julius Caesar—the conqueror of Gaul, the Lion of Rome. His presence was unmistakable, commanding. Flanking him were his most trusted lieutenants: Marcus Antonius, broad-shouldered and brimming with martial confidence, and the sharp-eyed young Octavius, already bearing the calculating air of future ambition.

“Cleopatra,” Caesar said with a genial smile, rising to greet her. His voice carried the ease of diplomacy, but his eyes watched her with keen calculation.

“Emperor Julius Caesar,” Cleopatra returned, bowing her head slightly. Her smile was regal, captivating, yet full of iron beneath the velvet. “I do hope you didn’t come all this way just to deliver your rejection.”

Caesar chuckled, the corners of his lips curving upward. “I had a lengthy conversation with your brother,” he said, walking around the table with measured steps. “Or rather, with his advisors. I told them I intended to support their claim to the throne.”

A chill settled over the tent.

The silence was immediate, heavy. Apollodorus turned sharply toward Cleopatra, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. But Cleopatra… she smiled.

Unflinching. Unreadable.

That smile only made Caesar’s own grin widen.

“Of course,” he continued, “I have no actual intention of supporting them.”

Apollodorus let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“We’ll strike Alexandria together,” Caesar declared. “I’m tired of their squabbling, and Rome doesn’t deal in indecision. It’s time the city learned who truly holds power.”

Cleopatra’s smile deepened, her eyes gleaming. “I am glad to hear that, Caesar. When do you propose we begin the assault?”

“My legions will be fully assembled by dawn tomorrow. The preparations are already underway,” Caesar replied, gesturing to a scroll on the table displaying troop movements and supply lines. “But word will travel quickly. Once they suspect we’ve joined forces, they’ll try to fortify their defenses. We must strike before they finish drawing their lines.”

“Prepared or not,” Marcus Antonius said with a confident smirk, “they won’t last long against the might of Rome. We’ll sweep through them like fire through wheat.”

“We shouldn’t underestimate them, Marcus,” Caesar warned. “Cleopatra, is there anyone of note we should worry about within Alexandria? Any capable commanders, foreign support…?”

For the first time in the meeting, Cleopatra hesitated. Her expression wavered, just slightly—a shadow crossing the mask of the queen. She looked away, briefly, as if weighing the cost of her next words.

Then she spoke, her voice more cautious now. “There may be reinforcements. Dangerous ones. Forces loyal not just to my brother, but to ideals older than any throne. If they arrive, our victory may be far more costly than we expect.”

“And what do you propose?” Caesar asked, narrowing his eyes.

“We must prevent those reinforcements from arriving. To do that… we might need to destroy the Pharos of Alexandria.”

A silence fell over the room once more, this one laced with disbelief.

“The Pharos?” Octavius echoed, frowning.

“The lighthouse,” Apollodorus clarified in a hushed voice, his gaze fixed on Cleopatra. But his face was pale, his expression stricken. “My Queen… that is a relic. A monument built to honor Alexander the Great himself. To ask for its destruction…”

His words trailed off, disbelief still thick in the air.

Cleopatra did not look at him. Her gaze was locked with Caesar’s, and her voice when she spoke again was unwavering. “Symbols must sometimes be sacrificed for survival. If we do not, that light may guide more than just lost ships… it may lead enemies straight to our shores.”

Though Cleopatra spoke with conviction, Nathan could tell something was being left unsaid. A flicker of hesitation passed through her eyes—a momentary break in her composed façade. It wasn’t just the strategic concern she feared… there was something else. Perhaps she herself wasn’t entirely sure what it was, or perhaps the weight of the decision hadn’t fully settled in her heart.

“I see,” Caesar said at last, his voice calm but decisive. He turned his head slightly. “Then the Pharos shall fall. Septimius.”

He shifted his gaze toward Nathan, eyes sharp like drawn steel.

Nathan met his stare without flinching. He already understood what Caesar intended.

“I entrust this task to you,” Caesar said. “You will be the one to bring down the lighthouse.”

A pause filled the tent. Everyone was watching.

“That will be your first duty… as a soldier under my command.”

Nathan remained still, silently absorbing the gravity of the mission.

Caesar’s tone turned grander, filled with promise—and challenge.

“Succeed, and I will grant you more than gold. You will have wealth beyond measure, prestige in the heart of Rome itself. I will place you at my side—closer than any consul, closer than any general.”

The tent held its breath.

Marcus Antonius stiffened, his jaw tightening slightly. Octavius didn’t bother to hide his glare. The promise Caesar made was no small one—it wasn’t just reward, it was elevation, a seat beside an emperor. It would mark Nathan not only as a trusted agent but as a potential rival. And they both knew it.

Yet they said nothing. Because the task Caesar had just given was, by all accounts, a death sentence.

To destroy the Pharos of Alexandria—the towering marvel of the ancient world—meant slipping through heavily fortified enemy territory, bypassing or defeating elite guards, and toppling a structure carved from centuries of stone and history. It was madness. Impossible for most.

But not for Nathan.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken calculations.

Then Nathan smiled.

Cool. Confident.

“I will do it,” he said.