I swallowed the last fig and set my hands in my lap, folding them like I thought a queen might.
One of them stepped forward and dabbed at my lips with a square of linen. “It is time,” she announced after she was finished. The other two flanked the door.
I slowly rose. The silk of my chiton rustled against skin still tight from the paint, from the glyphs scrawled in black and red like spells across my arms and chest.
The doors opened and torchlight spilled inward. The hallway beyond was quiet and glowing, the walls breathing in red and gold, and the scent of smoke trailing down the corridor. Soldiers lined the hallway, their crimson cloaks skimming the stone floor. They were all standing at attention, but they might as well have been faceless.
Because I only saw one.
Achilles stood at the front, taller than the rest, a blade strapped to his back and his helmet tucked under one arm. His face was partially shadowed, but his eyes fixed on me and didn’t move. His gaze swept down the length of me, taking in the red glinting across my skin and the black sigils curling down my arms and my throat. I expected coldness. Pity. Something detached.
Instead, there was anache.
How could a single look feel more intimate than touch?
The red on my skin shimmered in the torchlight, and for a moment, I could’ve sworn he flinched. As if it hurt him to see it. As if he felt it too.
He stepped forward and the others followed.
I moved when they did, the soft slap of my sandals echoing against stone as I followed them out of the private corridor that cradled my new chambers. The red silk at my waist swayed with each step.
Just beyond the threshold, a red-and-black palanquin waited, draped in silks. A vessel fit for a goddess … or a corpse.
I paused.
Achilles stepped forward and offered his hand.
I placed mine in his, careful to press only my palm to his skin so the paint etched along the back wouldn’t smear.
His grip was rough. Calloused.Too much.
For a breath, neither of us moved. His thumb grazed mine, barely, but it was enough. Heat flashed beneath my skin.
“Stop,” I hissed, carefully prying his fingers off with my free hand before the paint could smear.
He didn’t even pretend to be chastened. He just watched me, his lips tilting into that maddening smirk, eyes catching the light like he enjoyed every second of my fluster.
“I’m only helpingmyqueen,” he said calmly … but I didn’t miss his emphasis.
My jaw clenched.I am not yours, and you are not mine.The words screamed inside me, clawing for space. But my heart didn’t listen. It beat faster anyway, reckless fool that it was.
I stepped onto the palanquin, my sandals brushing against the polished wood. Silk whispered as my dress pooled around me. One of the guards nodded, and a breath later, I rose. The lift jolted roughly, the strength of six soldiers hoisting me into the air. But then came the sway, slow and rhythmic, like a cradle, or a cage on a breeze.
The palace halls passed in a blur of motion. Columns loomed, etched with Menelaus mid-battle and monsters mid-roar. The scent of incense was mixed with the faint tang of wine and waxed bronze.
The music reached me first, faint, like a whisper under the sway of the palanquin. Then came the laughter, sharp bursts echoing off the stone. Goblets clinked.Feet shifted. Voices tangled with lyre strings and drumbeats, each note pulling my nerves tighter, knotting them one by one.
They were waiting. For me. With every steady step of the soldiers beneath me, the sound swelled, louder, closer, pressing against my skin like it meant to seep in.
And then, suddenly, we stopped.
I stared at the towering red doors of the throne room in front of me, adorned with phoenixes mid-flight, beasts with lion bodies and serpent tails coiled in battle … and my mouth dried.
This was where it had happened. Where I’d stood in front of the court for the first Trial—drugged, and out of control, Hetairis’shelpturning me into a spectacle.
My stomach twisted. Gods, what if I embarrassed myself again? What if I froze, or tripped, or worse, let the whole room see how terrified I really was?
Achilles stepped forward and murmured something to the guards and their spears uncrossed.
