Was it over?
Slowly, I sat up and turned to face him. As I moved, a warm, unpleasant wetness pooled between my thighs. I tried to ignore it.
“That…doesn’t normally happen,” Castor muttered.
He scratched the back of his neck, trying to feign nonchalance, but I could see the irritation etched between his eyes, bracketing his thinned lips.
“You can leave,” he said. He did not meet my gaze.
I rose on shaky legs, relief-tinged confusion washing through me. Before I could move farther, Castor’s hand shot out, grabbing my arm. I glanced up at him, but his eyes were set on the wall beyond my head.
It was then that I noticed his cheeks were stained a slight pink.
“Do not tell Polydeuces.” He made it sound like an order, but I could hear the thread of vulnerability woven into his voice.
It was not a command; it was a plea.
The prince of Sparta was pleading withme, a slave.
Because he was embarrassed. No, not just embarrassed.
He wasashamed.
A laugh bubbled inside me, but I forced myself to swallow it down as I gazed up at him, savoring every inch of his shame, mapping it inmy mind so I could revisit it next time one of his kind tried to make me feel worthless.
“Of course, master.” Perhaps I was drunk on that tiny sip of power, for I added boldly, “If it pleases you, I can fetch you more wine? It is still early.”
Castor hesitated, then smiled slowly. “Make sure you get the good kind.”
I nodded, heading to retrieve my clothes.
“And get a cup for yourself,” he added as he collapsed into his bed. “There’s no joy in drinking good wine alone.”
I bowed my head, hiding a smirk. “Yes, master.”
9
When I was fifteen summers old, the palace caught alight with newsof Helen’s impending betrothal.
“Kings, princes, heroes from all over Greece are coming here, to grace these halls. Are you not excited?” Callias asked me as we ambled toward the princes’ entertaining quarters.
I yawned, my head hazy. After Castor had indulged in our company the previous night, the prince had fallen asleep, leaving Callias and me to polish off his leftover wine, as we usually did. I had developed a deep appreciation for Spartan wine and the way it blunted those sharp, ugly edges inside me.
“The arrival of the suitors just means more work for the rest of us,” I grumbled. “More mouths to feed, more spoiled royals to serve, more messes to clean up—”
“More beds to warm.” Callias nudged me with his elbow. “When else will you get the opportunity to lie with a legend?”
I rolled my eyes. “Is that all you think about?”
Callias winked, but his coy act did not fool me as easily as it once had. I knew he battled his own monsters, ones he occasionally spoke of after one too many cups of wine. His father had been a gambler, he had told me one night, and when he lost everything, he had been forced to sell the only thing he had left to his name—his children.
Callias did a good job of pretending he did not care, and he playedthe role of the flirtatious, lighthearted boy well. But I knew armor when I saw it.
“I hear Ajax the Great is one of the potential suitors. Do you think he lives up to that title inallrespects?” Callias continued with a performative grin.
“It sounds like he’s overcompensating to me,” I muttered.
He laughed at that, one of his rare, genuine laughs—bright and inviting.
