My skin burned and my cheeks were on fire, and I … I couldn’t look away. The room blurred, every torch flicker stretching too long. The silk at my wrists felt suddenly binding. My own breath betrayed me, shallow and quick and filled with something I didn’t recognize.
Yes … I could most definitely understand now why Hetairis believed she had power.
The woman beneath her writhed, hips bucking, spine bowing in surrender. Her mouth hung open, moaning helplessly as pleasure surged through her in waves so thick I could feel the echo of it in my own skin.
Hetairis didn’t stop. She licked straight through her climax, devouring every pulse, every tremor, until her lover’s body collapsed into boneless ruin.
My breath lodged somewhere between awe and disbelief.
This wasn’t desperation. It wasn’t hunger dressed up in heat.
This was control. This was mastery. A kind of seduction that demanded surrender—and received it, fully, without question.
And gods help me, I didn’t know whether I wanted to look away … or learn exactly how to do the same.
Hetairis pressed a kiss to her lover’s trembling stomach, then to her brow, tucking a damp curl behind her ear with a tenderness that felt almost holy. And just like that, the demonstration ended. The woman lay shivering, her lips parted in a dazed kind of bliss, while Hetairis rose from between her thighs with liquid elegance.
Her gaze swept over us as she slid her robe back on, catching the shallowed breathing, the awkward postures of women who weren’t sure where to look or what to do with the heat prickling beneath their skin. A contemptuous smile curled at the corner of her mouth, smug and unapologetic. She arched a brow like a banner raised in victory—see what I mean?
I shifted, trying to ease the tension coiled tight in my spine … but the movement only made it worse. My thighs brushed, slick and aching, and a ripple of something keen sparked through me.
The High Priestess cleared her throat. It was soft, but it cracked like a bell in theachingsilence.
“You will now be paired,” she announced, a flush over her cheeks that she clearly meant to pretend wasn’t there. Her voice was composed, almost cold, but her eyes flicked toward the trembling woman still sprawled on the cushions, andshe swallowed once before continuing. “Each of you will be assigned to one of the king’s concubines to begin your training.”
Gasps scattered through the room and a woman near me dropped her hands from her veil, fingers shaking.
My own eyes flew wide and the floor beneath my sandals felt like it might give way. Having my first sexual experience in a crowded room had not, surprisingly enough, been how I imagined the bloom of my sexuality.
I’d been trained to wield my beauty, to use a look or a smile like weapons of persuasion … but always beneath the same warning.
Tempt, but never touch.
Entice, but never surrender.
My body was meant to belong to the king, unsullied and waiting, a gift wrapped in purity and silk.
Virginity was a condition of the Trials.
The concubines rose in a fluid wave, shoulders uncoiling, eyes gleaming with appetite. One woman stretched elegantly, her arms sweeping above her head like a dancer greeting the sun. Another uncrossed her legs and flowed to her feet, hips rolling with unhurried purpose. Anklets chimed with each step. Fabric rustled. They prowled through our ranks like predators in no rush to strike, each one assessing, hunting, choosing.
They didn’t call out names immediately. Some paused in front of a girl and simply reached out, fingers brushing over arms or shoulders, inspecting posture and poise.
“Calliope.”
The woman beside me twitched. I couldn’t see her face behind the veil, but her shoulders jerked like she’d been struck. She stepped forward, her sandals scraping softly on the floor. A concubine with copper-streaked hair and gold cuffs around both wrists approached her. She circled once, then slid a single finger along the edge of Calliope’s veil. Not to lift it. Just to test her.
Apparently satisfied, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Calliope followed, her steps rigid.
“Alexa.”
A few girls down, another figure moved. The concubine who stepped toward her wore amber silk and a belt of linked bronze coins that jingled as she walked. She studied Alexa from head to toe, then tilted her head and beckoned.
Alexa obeyed.
“Anysa.”
