A scoff escaped me before I could stop it, harsh and inelegant. I winced.
He chuckled, and then looked surprised, like it was a rare occurrence.
The soldiers in our village never laughed. Not unless they meant to taunt you. I didn’t know what to make of this one.
“I’m certain that’s not it,” I said dismissively, using all of Calismae’s lessons to keep my face perfectly blank.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced toward the throne. Menelaus had shifted forward, one elbow braced on his knee, his goblet resting forgotten beside him. His attention hadn’t wandered. If anything, it had sharpened, fixed wholly on the space between me and the soldier.
A thrill, dark and dangerous, curled in my stomach. If the king wanted a reason to keep watching, I’d give him one.
So I let my mouth soften, my lashes lower, and turned back to the soldier, as though I didn’t care that the king was staring.
“Mmm, I’m not sure I believe you,” he murmured, exchanging his goblet with a fresh one from a passing servant’s tray with easy grace. His dark blue eyes gleamed over the rim as he took a sip, like he knew the game I was playing and was amused by it.
“You say that like I should care about your opinion,” I said, arching a brow as he offered the goblet—still warm from his mouth.
I stared at it, at the way his fingers lingered on the stem, the faint glint of challenge in his eyes. “Go on,” he murmured lazily, like a cat stretching in the sun. “Take it. I don’t know how you’ll survive the night without it.”
I reached for the goblet, the smooth gold cool beneath my fingertips. Lifting it slowly, I turned my gaze back toward the throne. Menelaus’s eyes were dark and intent, the kind of stare that could scorch if it lingered too long.
I tilted the goblet to my lips, just enough for the wine to touch my mouth, and held his gaze as I drank. The heat of it slid down my throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire sparking in his eyes.
When I lowered the cup, his grip on the armrest had tightened, and his knuckles were pale against the marble.
The soldier’s gaze was on me too as I turned back to him, sliding over my skin with the unrepentant ease of someone who knew he shouldn’t, yet didn’t care. It wasn’t the hunger of the king, it was quieter, more dangerous. His mouth curved slightly, and I was struck again by his beauty.
Something in me fluttered in response, unwanted and traitorous.
I took another sip and caught a drop of wine with my tongue before it could fall. His gaze followed the motion, heat flickering in it.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?” I asked, forcing a note of irritation into my voice even as warmth crept up my neck. “Do I have something on my face?”
His grin stretched and it felt lethal.
“Surely you’re used to stares …” he said, tilting his head slightly, his blue eyes trailing over me, my tangled hair, the dirt probably smudged across my cheek, the torn hem of my dress. “And I must say, the air of indifference suits you. It’s obvious you know you’re the most beautiful woman in any room, Lady …” He trailed off, daring me to finish the sentence for him.
I shifted, the goblet tightening in my grip until the metal bit into my palm. His eyes didn’t waver, not for a second, waiting … expecting. My name rose to the back of my throat.
My mother stood abruptly from the table, catching my eye over the soldier’s shoulder. The line of her frame was rigid, her disapproval enough to cut through the air between us. The message in her stillness was clear. I was forgetting myself. Forgetting why I was here.
The heat that had begun to bloom inside me cooled, replaced by the cold, steady pulse of purpose. I swallowed my name, forcing my gaze back to the soldier.
“I don’t give my name to strangers,” I said evenly, the words smooth but distant, each one a reminder that I had work to do, and none of it involved him.
The grin on his lips didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, like my words had confirmed something he already believed.
He dipped his head slightly, eyes still fixed on me, a flicker of amusement still playing at the corner of his mouth. “Probably for the best we don’t get too attached,” he said lightly, almost bored. “I’m sure you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go.”
Before I could answer, a deep metallicclangresonated through the hall. The great doors swung open and a hush fell over the room.
My breath caught. I turned instinctively, my gaze darting back to the throne. Menelaus had straightened, his shoulders squared, and his attention on the door. The two women draped across his lap slipped away, their laughter swallowed by the anticipation sweeping the hall.
Panic curled low in my stomach. Had I done enough? Would he forget me now that the High Priestess’schosenhad arrived? Would catching his eye be able to change anything?
The soldier beside me stepped back, his presence dissolving into the crowd. I hardly noticed, my entire awareness fixed on the king.
The veiled women entered, their silks brushing the marble as they moved in a solemn line. The High Priestess followed behind them, her face as unreadable as stone.
