We were carrying our freshly filled wine jugs back to the princes’ entertaining quarters. From down the hall, I could hear the laughter of their guests, the sound clawing irritably over my skin.
“I meanthis!” Callias gestured to my face with a flourish. “Theywant us to believe we’re powerless, but we’re not. Not you and me.”
It was mesmerizing, the way he spoke: the rich intensity of his eye contact, the fullness of his lips just inches from my own.
I shifted my wine jug, my arms already aching with the weight. “How so?”
“Becausewehave been gifted by Aphrodite,” Callias said. At my puzzled expression, he let out a laugh. It was a husky, intimate sound. “Don’t act modest, darling. You know you’re beautiful. And our masters know it too. Theywantus, but they don’t want us toknowthey want us.” He strolled indolently as he spoke, as if he were not a slave at all but a free man enjoying an amble through his estate. “Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“I’m not sure.”
He stopped in his tracks and tugged one of my curls. “Have you not seen the way Castor looks at you?”
“Me?”
“Yes,you.” A dangerous smile crept across his face. “You have power here, Melantho. If you are willing to take it.”
Power.The word made something crackle through my veins.
I glanced down the hallway. “What…what kind of power?”
Callias’s smile broadened. “Smell me.”
“What?”
“Smell me. Go on.”
I blinked at him, wondering if he was mad. Still, I leaned in and inhaled the rich, floral scent of his skin.
“What do I smell like?” he prompted.
“Expensive,” I breathed. “Like…one of them.”
“Do you see? Master Castor treats meverywell. I get the best food, the best wine, the best clothes. And you can have it all, too, you know. If you just play the game.”
“What game?” I drew back, suspicion edging my voice.
“Oh, it’s very simple. It’s the oldest game there is, and we are all players, whether we like it or not. You have all the weaponry you needright here.” He reached out to caress my cheek, and a strange heat blossomed beneath his touch, making my pulse quicken. “You could make them beg for it with that face, you know.”
Callias winked, then pulled away from me as he continued, “Power will never be given to people like us, so we must take what morsels we can for ourselves.”
Then, without warning, he spat a glimmering glob of saliva into his wine jug. I gaped at him, utterly stunned.
“Remember, the princes’ attention is fleeting.” He smirked as he turned to walk away. “Best not waste it.”
***
After our conversation that day, I began watching Callias.
He seemed to command every space he occupied. He did not have the domineering authority I was familiar with but rather a quiet, sensual power that pulsed around him, luring people in. Everything was a performance, I realized. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way his gaze slipped and lingered, the way he threw back his head and laughed at something the princes said. Each minute movement was part of the web he spun, trapping people’s attention in his glistening, beautiful snare.
As I studied him, I realized I wanted it—the control. I wanted to hold that cord of desire in my hands and tug at it like a leash.
So I began to mirror Callias, emulating the swish of his hips, the smokiness of his laugh, that brazen eye contact that made our masters lean a little closer. I would swirl around rooms like a warm summer breeze, lingering and sweet, learning to mask the emptiness that rattled through me.
The change was immediate. Instead of barking commands, my masters would purr. Instead of summoning me with a click, they would gesture with a smile. They still saw me as property of course. I was not stupid enough to think otherwise. But now, I was something to be coveted, and when our masters let me sit on their laps and trytheir wine and food, I would stare at the other, neglected slaves and feel a guilty, dizzying rush ofpower.
One night, Prince Castor cornered me in the hallway, his breath hot in my ear as he commanded, “My chamber. Now.”
