“Anywhere with wine and no her.”
That sounded heavenly. “And what do we do once we get there?”
“I charm the locals while you steal food for us.”
“I don’t know how to steal.”
“You’ll learn. We’ll carry matching marks and answer to false names. You’ll be Helena the Vicious, and I’ll be Anysa the Unbothered.”
“I’m not sure those are accurate names for us,” I mused.
“Well, Helena the Beauty is too obvious. These new names are hopeful names. We can grow into them.”
We both giggled, our laughter pressed thin through the wall like a secret. But it faded quickly. Because the truth lingered in the silence that followed.
One of us might win tomorrow. Or both of us could lose.
“Did you ever think about marrying the king?” Anysa asked. “Before you knew you needed to.”
I stared out the window as a cloud slid over the moon and the room darkened.
My fingers curled against the stone. “I think … like most girls … I used to think I would marry for love.” The yearning slipped into my voice before I could stop it.
And immediately, Achilles rose in my mind. His voice, his eyes, the way he looked at me as if he could peel back every layer I’d ever hidden behind. The memory hit too clearly.
I forced the thought away, shoving his face back into whatever corner of my heart it had no business occupying.
“We haven’t even gotten to know the king,” I muttered. “He’s seen us writhing on the floor, and I barely know the sound of his voice.”
Anysa snorted at that. “At least he’s handsome, I guess.” She sighed. “I used to think love was sneaking out behind the bakery with someone who smelled like hotchgotten and bad decisions.”
I tried to picture that. “Sounds romantic.”
“It was. Until he ran off with the butcher’s daughter, and I spent a week crying into a sack.”
I smiled, even as something stung beneath it.
“He looks at you like he’ll die without you.”
“The king?” I asked incredulously.
Anysa let out a soft huff. “You know who I’m talking about.”
Gods. Was she talking about Achilles? My breath stuttered. Heat shot up my spine. I opened my mouth to object—to deny, deflect, defuse it with a joke. But nothing came out. I closed it again, the protest collapsing before it could reach my lips.
“It could never be,” I finally whispered, feeling too exhausted to try to lie to her.
“Maybe,” she said. “But maybe it could. You know, if the queen thing doesn’t work out.”
That was worse. That was what made it so devastating. Achilles wasn’t anyone’s second best, or runner-up. But he also wasn’t my future if I wasn’t chosen by the king. Nikandros was.
There was no path where he was at the end waiting for me.
“It doesn’t matter whether he sees me or not.”
Anysa didn’t answer right away and I listened to the soft sound of her breath filtering through the hole in the wall, like she was weighing whether to press or let it lie. Eventually, she said, with that maddeningly light tone she used when things were too heavy, “Sure. And it doesn’t matter if we win tomorrow either.”
My answering laugh wasn’t real at all. “I mean it. You know it could never be. Women like us, we aren’t born for love. We’re born for duty.”
