“A queen must know how to sway without raising her voice. To make others burn with the heat of a thousand torches and never once let the fire devour her.”
Somewhere to my left, one of the girls muttered, “How are we supposed to seduce anyone with these veils on?”
A fair question.
Calismae hadn’t prepared me for a Trial without my face aiding me. I had always wielded it like a weapon, using my expression, a glance, the quiet promise of my mouth. And now it would be hidden, sealed away beneath layers meant to erase me.
The High Priestess’s head turned slowly. “And what if age takes your beauty?” she asked, her voice a hard thread winding through the air. “What if your husband goes blind? What then?”
Silence.
“A beautiful face is a gift,” she continued, “but it is not a weapon you can rely on forever. You must learn other charms—ones you can wield. Bend to your will. Those”—her gaze swept over us, lingering—“can be learned. And learned they will be.”
Was this our Trial? If so, what were they going to do to testsensuality?
Perhaps a staged court, where I’d be forced to win favor with a word and not a sword. Or a room full of enemies disguised as suitors, where I’d have to charm and manipulate without revealing a hint of strain.
I could figure that out.
I glanced at Anysa, who stood just beside me, her shoulders tense and hands fidgeting with the fabric at her sides. She seemed uncertain … tension in every line of her body. But then she nudged my elbow gently, tilting her head the slightest bit toward me, a barely perceptible shift that somehow radiated mock offense, like I’d insulted her courage by noticing her nerves.
“What?” she murmured, the words muffled beneath her veil. “I’m allowed to be charmingandterrified.”
Despite everything, my lips curved. Anysa nudged me again, like she could somehow see the smile underneath my veil and was celebrating it.
The High Priestess turned without a word, the long train of her robe trailing behind her.
“What are you waiting for?” Nomiki barked. “Follow her.”
We hurried forward, the High Priestess gliding ahead like a vision summoned from incense smoke and divine threat. The corridor curved in a slow arc and as we walked, the walls began to shift around us.
At first, the murals were tame … women draped in celestial robes, lovers touching foreheads, eyes closed in quiet longing. A painted garden, a veiled kiss. Respectful. Distant.
But with each step, that distance narrowed.
The figures grew bolder. Robes slipped from shoulders. Hands grasped flesh instead of silk. Sculptures emerged from alcoves, first subtle, then unmistakably carnal. A goddess arching beneath a mortal’s mouth. A man’s hand buried in a woman’s curls as she knelt before him, eyes lifted in painted adoration.
Whispers rippled through the line ahead of me.
“Is this—”
“It can’t be—”
“Itis.”
Their voices were hushed behind their veils, but I caught enough to still my steps. The scent here was different … richer. Warm amber, fig, and something spiced beneath it, like crushed cloves.
We turned a corner, and the door ahead opened with a soft creak.
I leaned slightly toward Anysa. “Where are we?”
She shrugged, but Chloé, walking ahead of us, glanced back, and I knew she was smirking haughtily, even though I couldn’t see her through the veil. “Isn’t it obvious? These are the rooms of the king’s concubines.”
Chapter17
The room we stepped into was a sanctum of decadence, a space built not for worship or war, but for want. Plush rugs layered the floor in hues of ebony and blood-wine, so thick my feet sank into them as I walked. Sheer fabrics hung from the ceiling like clouds of mist, swaying gently as if stirred by breath alone.
Lounges and divans spilled over with women draped in silks, their skin glowing under soft golden light. One reclined on a chaise, her spine curved like calligraphy, while another fed her slices of ripe pear from cinnamon-dusted fingers. On a low couch strewn with cushions, two women were twined together like ivy, giggling as they whispered into each other’s mouths.
