I looked back at the herb with a frown on my lips. The thought of taking it turned my stomach … until Thalessa’s face rose in my mind, her split lips, the blood that had run down her chin as she tried to garble out a cry. It was like Calismae had known I would need the reminder when she’d written that letter.
Hetairis’s gaze never wavered. “There’s no chance that you’ll win without it,” she murmured, almost sweetly. “Trust me, petal.”
With careful fingers, I slipped the veil up just enough to bring the herb to my lips. My throat tightened as I placed it on my tongue. The taste was pungent and earthy, bitterness filling my mouth. I grimaced, but I chewed … and reluctantly swallowed.
Within seconds, a strange heat began to pool low in my belly. My limbs tingled, and my breath came a little faster. My skin prickled, and I was suddenly aware of every whisper of silk against my skin, every drift of air against my collarbone. Heat climbed my neck.
As I shifted on the cushion, a soft sound escaped my throat before I could catch it. The ache unfurled slowly, sweetly, like something long buried clawing its way to life.
I looked up, panicked, and saw that Hetairis was still there, watching me.
But her expression had changed.
Her eyes glittered with something keen … almost amused. Her lips curled, not with warmth, but with something colder. Something satisfied.
She leaned in, her voice a whisper. “There it is,” she murmured. Then she rose and glided away without another word, the hem of her robe whispering over the floor.
The panic that had filled my lungs only a moment before began to dissolve, drowned beneath the strange warmth flooding me. My fingers no longer trembled. My muscles loosened, as though I’d stepped into a bath of sun-warmed wine.
The ache spread, crawling down my spine, wrapping around my ribs like vines in bloom.
My nipples pebbled, painfully tight against my gown, the fabric brushing them with each breath. A pulse of wetness gathered between my thighs, unwelcome but undeniable.
I blinked, and the world seemed to shimmer at the edges. My thoughts softened. Everything felt distant and dreamlike. Beautiful.
I was floating in warmth and rose-scented mist.
“Rise. It is time,” the High Priestess announced.
My limbs obeyed before my mind could catch up. I stood, and pleasure rolled between my thighs. My breath hitched. The simple act of walking … of putting one foot in front of the other … became something else entirely. My thighs pressed together with each motion, and the wetness that had begun to gather earlier now slickened further with the friction.
I swallowed hard, my cheeks flushed and my lips parted, the herb dragging me further under its current. Each breath was a threadbare moan caught in my throat. The walls of the corridor seemed to pulse faintly as we walked, my senses heightened to a pitch I hadn’t thought possible.
We were led in a line, veils hiding our faces, the concubines gliding behind us. The hallway was laced with gold-threaded tapestries and flickering torchlight. I could feel everything.
The warm brush of silk from Anysa beside me.
The steady rhythm of sandals against stone.
My heartbeat, slow and deep now, like drums echoing through a cavern.
The girl in front of me swayed her hips with practiced ease, each step a whisper of promise. Another ran her fingers down her throat as if inviting someone to follow. Before, I would’ve felt nervous. But the edges of my thoughts were soft now, blurred.
To my left, a mural filled the wall, half lit and alive in the shadows. A woman lay draped in the arms of a god with Menelaus’s face, her skin glowing like polished bronze, her head tipped back in ecstasy. Smoke coiled around them, forming shapes that pulsed and shifted … claws, wings, open mouths. His hand was tight around her waist, possessive and idolizing.
I saw myself there.
I wanted to step into the wall, into her body, into that moment where nothing existed but power and desire and surrender.
A moan slipped from my lips as the pleasure between my thighs surged with every step, maddening and molten.
Somewhere through the haze, I was faintly aware of Anysa shifting beside me, her attention tilting toward me. “Are you alright?” she whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound beneath the rustle of silk.
I could only nod.
My lips parted, but no words came. My tongue felt heavy, my throat too tight. The world was too much and not enough all at once. It was as if I were being devoured from the inside out by something I didn’t know how to name.
When the doors to the Great Hall loomed before us, my stomach clenched tighter. The ache was deepening now.
