Chapter 17 #2
Hetairis’s mouth moved hungrily, her lips wrapping around the woman’s clit like it was a jewel only she knew how to polish. She licked, circled, sucked, again and again, never in a rush. Her partner gasped, clutched at the cushions, legs trembling as her back arched into the steady rhythm.
A woman beside me let out a shocked noise and quickly bit it back.
I didn’t blame her.
The sounds were obscene, slick and wet, broken only by the woman’s strangled cries.
Hetairis gripped her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her steady as her tongue moved faster, deeper, savoring every inch of the woman’s sex like she intended to make her come undone and then rebuild her from the inside out.
I watched, breath caught in my throat, something forming low in my belly that I’d never felt before, something that made me ache and yearn.
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 the aching silence.
“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, and she 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.”
My attention snapped toward my friend.
Her spine straightened, just barely. Her head tilted like she was whispering something to herself. Then she stepped out of line. Even veiled, I could feel the effort it took for her to look steady, confident. Her hands stayed clasped at her sides, but the smallest tremble ran through her fingers.
Her partner had a wrap the color of pomegranate skins and rings lining every finger. She stepped up to Anysa and whispered something. Anysa gave a tiny nod. Then followed.
One by one, the girls around me disappeared … until it was just me waiting to be paired off.
“Helena,” the High Priestess called. My name struck the air, and the floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
I stood, heart thudding, and scanned the room … only to find one woman still unclaimed.
Hetairis.
Her mouth was still glossy from her lover’s cries, and she lifted one finger, beckoning me.
I walked toward her, aware of the heat climbing up my neck, of the subtle ache between my thighs, still singing from earlier. Her gaze swept over me like a knowing touch, appraising and amused.
“You’ll be mine, little petal,” she murmured. “Try not to embarrass yourself.” She turned and glided ahead, hips rolling with dangerous ease. The room felt smaller with each step I took behind her, the torchlight dimmer. The thick carpet muffled the sound of my hesitation.
We moved through a maze of low lounges and flickering lamplight, the air laced with oil and sweat and something more primal. Girls filled the space like living sculptures, each in … training.
One knelt near a basin, practicing how to pour water over her arm with fluid, seductive grace.
Another crawled across a length of carpet on her hands and knees, her movements languid, hips swaying in an exaggerated rhythm.
A pair near the far column rehearsed a dance, their veils fluttering as they arched and spun, bodies bending like reeds in the wind, their gestures languid but precise.
Every movement was purposeful. Controlled. Sensuality without touch.
I spotted Anysa across the room, stiff-backed and awkward as she tried to mimic a deep bend.
Her concubine stood nearby, arms folded, offering murmured corrections and an arched brow of clear judgment.
Anysa’s form wasn’t bad … but she looked like she’d rather be charging into battle than moving her hips in time with the drumbeat echoing faintly from somewhere deeper inside.
The High Priestess was watching from the shadows beyond.
She sat perched beside a scroll-laden table, her kalamos glinting as it scratched across parchment.
A servant crouched beside her, murmuring into her ear as she noted something down.
Her gaze swept the room slowly, not missing a twitch or tremble.
It paused on Anysa. Then lingered on me. My stomach clenched.
Hetairis led me through it all without pause, until we reached a shadowed alcove veiled in wine-red curtains. In the center waited a single settee, its wooden legs glinting, its cushions lush as sin.
She didn’t sit. She reclined. Poured herself into the seat like spilled honey, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling lazily over the side. She plucked a grape from a silver bowl and bit into it, juice catching on her lower lip. Only then did she fix her gaze on me.
“Well,” she said, her voice sweet and edged like glass. “Go on, then. Begin.”
My brain scrambled, grasping for a script that didn’t exist. “I—begin what, exactly?” I asked, the words thinner than I meant them to be.
Her eyes skimmed over me, unhurried and merciless. “Show me your dancing. Or did you think you were above trying because you happen to have a pretty face?” she said disdainfully.
Heat crawled up my neck.
Hetairis laughed, like she could see my blush, her eyes rolling as she popped another grape into her mouth. Chewing with leisurely disdain, she swallowed before sighing like the whole affair bored her. “Gods, what a waste.”
My jaw clenched hard behind the veil. She had no idea what I was capable of. She had no idea I would do whatever it took to win.
Hetairis leaned forward, the silver streaks in her hair catching the light and flaring like moonfire.
“I saw you at the choosing ceremony,” she said, her voice softening into something crueler.
“All that beauty, and you carry it like a sack of grain. Cold. Clumsy. Utterly unaware of the power leaking through your pores.”