Her gaze flicked toward the mural on the wall, the one where Menelaus sat like a god in judgment. “Just a friendly warning,” she said lightly, “the king doesn’t like disobedient pets. Best not to forget what happened to the last woman in his life.”
The words sank into the air, rippling outward like a thrown stone. A few seats down, three of the other chosen girls exchanged nervous looks.
“You shouldn’t talk about that, Chloé,” whispered Damaris, a petite girl with a voice as soft as the doves embroidered along her sleeves. Her wide brown eyes darted toward the mural fearfully.
Chloé only smiled, unrepentant, her ruby-stained lips curving like a knife. “Queen Cynisca was young,” she said. “Strong, beautiful. You don’t just die in your sleep at twenty-four unless someone wants you to.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Or unless someone regrets marrying you.”
“I thought she died in her sleep,” murmured Iris, a tall and strong-featured young woman with rouge too bright on her cheeks and an appetite for scandal that rarely went without.
“Hmm. Yes. Natural causes,” Chloé said, feigning thoughtfulness. “And I suppose the bruises were natural too?”
None of this surprised me. Menelaus’s cruelty was legend, carried on every tongue in Sparta. I’d known what I was walking into. But as I looked at the fear tightening the faces of the women around me, I wasn’t so sure they had taken it seriously.
I finally rolled my eyes and caught Anysa’s gaze across the table; she smirked faintly, hiding her unease behind her cup.
“What’s your point, Chloé?” I asked, my tone light, but edged.
Chloé tilted her head, her earrings swaying as she met my stare. “Only that you should be careful,” she said. “The king doesn’t take kindly to women who forget themselves … especially when they start looking at his closest confidant like that.”
Her smile lingered, sweet as poison, and I felt every woman at the table watching for my reaction.
I smiled back, the kind that showed fangs beneath the sugar. “How thoughtful of you to look out for me,” I said. “It must be exhausting keeping track of what everyone in the room is looking at.”
Anysa snorted into her cup, trying and failing to cover it with a cough.
Chloé’s smile wavered, just slightly, and that was enough. I rose from the table, smoothing my gown as though brushing away her words.
“Do enjoy your evening,” I murmured, before turning and walking out. The heat of their stares prickled between my shoulder blades, but I didn’t look back.
Every word at that table had been a lesson, and I filed each one away like a weapon I might need later.
Especially the one that said there were other dangers in the palace besides the god wearing a crown—so I’d do well to stop letting my gaze linger on the king’s golden soldier.
Nomiki led us down a hallway that smelled of crushed pomegranate and incense, thick, sweet, and, as usual … suffocating. We walked in a line behind her, our sandaled feet barely making a sound on the marble beneath us, our faces veiled. No one spoke. Even Anysa, who I assumed treated silence like an enemy to be defeated, had become solemn, her expression filled with something akin to fear.
We were deep in the palace now, far beyond our wing and not where we had been having queen lessons the last few days.
This was a different sort of place.
The walls here were darker, draped in gauzy fabric that fluttered despite the still air.
Nomiki halted so abruptly in front of a curtain-covered doorway that the line behind her nearly collided. Her shoulders locked into place, chin lifting as if readying for battle. Then she turned, eyes sweeping over us with blistering precision.
“If any of you embarrass me today,” she growled, “you’ll wish the gods had taken you with them when they ran.”
I adjusted my veil with steady fingers, laughing softly as Nomiki stepped aside. It had only taken me two days to find out she was mostly bark … with little bite. I’d seen her just last night, crouched beside a crying Damaris in the hall, smoothing back her hair like a mother hen.
The gauzy curtain in front of us parted … and the High Priestess emerged.
My spine straightened as if pulled by a string.
Her robes shimmered with threads of gold and red today. Twists of braids coiled into a crown atop her head, each pinned with garnet beads. The incense seemed to thicken in the hall as she stepped forward, the air shifting around her with veneration.
Her gaze swept over us, unhurried and piercing. I felt it land on me for half a breath too long.
“Sensuality,” she said suddenly, her voice coldly severe, “is power. It binds, it tethers, it conquers. And you, who would wear the crown of Sparta, must learn to wield it as deftly as any blade.”
Under my veil, I smiled. I knew a thing or two about that kind of power.
