by Nadia Aidan
“I—I cannot do it.”
His eyes darkened with anger. “Yes, you can. Now lift your bow, and release your arrow.”
“But—”
“Lamia, if every time you face a challenge you believe you cannot overcome it then you won’t. Self-doubt is normal, but you must not let it weaken you. You must learn to use it, just as you should learn to use rejection, failure, and any other obstacle you face. Use them to drive you and you will become greater. Now release your bow.”
She lifted her bow and arrow. At the same time she drew in a long, deep breath. She focused her sight and her mind on hitting the target before her, and after several moments she saw nothing else, not the blue ring on the canvas that circled the red eye, not the other arrows in the target, not even Darius.
When all she could see was a glaring red orb, she uncurled her fingers and let her arrow fly from her bow, following it with her gaze as it sailed through the sky to pierce the centre of the target.
She smiled when she finally came out of her trance and realised she’d actually done it.
“You must see a challenge as something to test your will, not as something that can break you,” Darius said once he stood by her side.
She’d never forgotten those words. From that dawn forward, every challenge that had fallen across her path, she’d met head on.
* * * *
Slam!
Thanos smiled as he turned towards the door. Lamia was home, and from the looks of it she was furious. He’d told her that Diomedes would be difficult, but had known she would have to discover that for herself.
“I take it your sun rising has not fared so well.”
Lamia’s eyes darkened with fury, her hands balling into tight fists.
“Do you know that arrogant swine had the nerve to tell me that only a Spartan could make Spartan weapons?”
He lifted his eyebrows but said nothing. He’d learned when Lamia was angry it was best to just remain silent while she ranted then speak once she was spent.
“He said not even Spartan women should be making weapons and that since I was not born Spartan I had no business trying to work as a swordsmith. Thanos, that’s just ridiculous. Can you believe he told me Spartan weapons were the best and they should only be made by the best?”
She angrily kicked off her sandals, only to pace before him, barefoot. With great effort, he schooled his face into a stoic mask, trying to hide his smile. “I take it you had a talk with Diomedes—”
Her eyes widened. “Hardly. The blustering fool talked while I barely restrained myself from smashing my fist into his jaw. The pig. I will show him. You just mark my words, Thanos.”
That was what he was afraid of. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Lamia, please do not do anything—”
She rounded on him, her hand waving wildly in the air. “Oh please, Thanos. I am not going to hurt him, although I should.” She scowled. “No, I am going to show him that a foreign woman can be a swordsmith too—and a damned good one at that.” Catching the amused look on his face, she stopped suddenly, balling her hands against her hips.
“What?”
He smiled as he stood, tugging her rigid body into his arms. Maybe a heartbeat passed before she relaxed into him, her tense muscles softening.
“Most women, most people, would abandon the idea at the first sign of defeat, but not you. Rejection fuels your determination and I admire that about you.” He held her in his arms, placing a gentle kiss against her forehead, but he knew that was all they could have for the moment. He was expecting company.
“I know you are still upset, but I must warn you that very shortly we shall have a visitor,” he said, as he grasped her hand in his, ushering her from their oikos towards the courtyard.
One brow peaked. “So what you’re saying is that you want me to behave and not take my foul mood out on our company.”
That was precisely what he was saying.
“I will be good, Thanos,” she said sweetly. “But may I ask whom we are expecting?”
He opened his mouth to tell her but never got the chance.
“None other than the great Adonis, son of Cleomenes the fourth, and future king of Sparta.”
Thanos turned to greet Cleomenes’ eldest son, a frown creasing his brow when the young man sauntered into Thanos’ courtyard, full of arrogance.
At twenty annos, Adonis was a skilled fighter with impressive instincts, but he was also brash and conceited and thought himself to be as handsome as the god whose name he carried. The boy was like a son to him, and he knew Adonis would become a great leader in time—that was, if he ever learned to rein in his rampant and wandering lusts.
Adonis’ eyes twinkled as he came to a halt before them, bowing low before Lamia. “It is certainly an honour to meet such a vision of loveliness,” he murmured, lifting her hand to gently kiss the inside of her palm.
He scowled and deliberately tugged Lamia’s hand from Adonis’ grip, clasping it within his.
Lamia stared into the piercing blue eyes of the wickedly handsome Adonis, coming to the conclusion that he was every bit as attractive as his namesake proclaimed. His glorious blond hair curled at his shoulders and when he smiled a single dimple creased each cheek. She could tell from the look in his eyes that this was a man who knew his effect on women and he revelled in it.
She glanced over at Thanos, who wore a ferocious expression. Squeezing his hand lightly, she grasped for his attention, recognising the moment she had it because his body relaxed and his hard expression eased. Adonis may have been handsome, but he was a boy…and, from the looks of it, one who was free with his charms. She had no interest in boys who liked to play when she had a man in Thanos.
Lamia’s every gesture conveyed this, and she knew Thanos understood when he winked at her before turning to greet Adonis.
“Welcome, Adonis. I would like to introduce you to my wife, Lamia.” Thanos nodded to her. “Lamia, this is Adonis, the son of Cleomenes, and the future king of Sparta—as he so eloquently proclaimed,” he added dryly.
“A pleasure,” she greeted.
“I agree, my queen” he said huskily, and she did not mistake the double meaning of his words.
With the shake of her head, she rolled her eyes.
“You are bold to flirt with me so openly before my husband,” she chided, but instead of being put off by her reprimand, which had been her intent, Adonis appeared confused as he cast Thanos a quizzical look.
“Did you not tell her?”
Did not tell her?
Lamia stilled, a sense of foreboding washing over her. Not again. What had Thanos neglected to tell her this time?
“Tell me what?”
Thanos seemed uncomfortable and a dark flush crept along his neck all the way to his hairline.
When it seemed that Thanos would not answer, Adonis did not hesitate to speak up.
“Flirting is quite natural and common in Sparta. It’s not seen as rude or offensive to flirt with one’s husband or wife because here boundaries of marriage are not so rigid.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And that means what, exactly?”
“It means that the state is the central unit here, not the family.”
She shook her head, still confused. “I do not understa—”
Thanos sighed. “What Adonis is trying to say is that the main goal of the Spartan state is to produce strong soldiers.” Thanos paused as if searching for the right words and he appeared almost embarrassed. “The preferred method is from a wedded union, but however children are produced is unimportant.”
She gasped when she realised what he was implying. “So what you are saying is that we have an…open marriage?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. If you wish to take other lovers, then, by law and custom, I cannot stop you any more than you can stop me… But we can agree not to,” he added, apparently glimpsing her stunned expression.
She could not believe he had neglected to tell her this…t
oo. She was now wedded to him—a decision she had not willingly made at the time. Did he not think it was also important to share with her that they had an open marriage, since after all she was his wife. She could not look at Thanos, she was so furious.
Turning to Adonis, she pinned him with a hard glare. “Open marriages? Are they common here?”
“Relatively.” He shrugged. “As long as babies are born, no one really cares who the fathers are.”
That was where he was wrong—she cared.
All of a sudden she felt ill, unable to stomach the realisation that Thanos had not told her the truth of their marriage.
“Excuse me. I am not feeling well.” Ripping her hand from Thanos’ grasp, she turned away from the two men.
“Lamia,” Thanos called after her. “Lamia!”
She felt Thanos reach for her, but she shrank away from him as she raced from the courtyard.
A single moon ago, after he’d neglected to tell her of Sparta’s marriage ceremony—after he’d neglected to tell her he’d made her his queen—she’d made him promise not to keep such things from her ever again. He’d promised. He’d given his word. Did that mean nothing to him? Again, he’d deliberately kept the truth from her, and her heart stuttered at why that was and what it meant. Did he desire an open marriage? Did he fear that, if he’d told her, she would seek out another man?
She shoved a hand through her unbound locks. She did not want any man but Thanos…and she would rip him to tiny little pieces if he took another woman to their bed. She sensed that Thanos did not desire an open marriage—any more than she did—so that he had failed to reveal the truth of this custom was telling.
After all his gallant words, she still could not quite trust him…and, apparently, he did not quite trust her, either. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought, a mocking laugh catching in her throat. Of course he couldn’t trust her. Did she not plan to leave him the moment he marched out to battle?
It was not fair to hold him to standards she herself could not be held to. And yet it still hurt—that he had such little faith in her, in her desire for him, her affections for him. His trust she may not have won, but she’d more than earned his faith in her by keeping her word. She’d travelled to Sparta with him, entrusted her protection to him.
Even she’d put her faith in him—a woman who put her faith in no one. She now wondered if that had been a mistake. If Thanos had kept not one, not even two, but now three secrets from her—how many more did he still guard?
* * * *
Basha raked her gaze over her husband, drinking in the sight of his sweat-slicked back, glistening beneath the heavy rays of the waning sun.
She loved him like this, lost in his training, his mind far away as he focused on executing every single move with thorough precision. Besides Thanos, there was no finer Spartan soldier than Ulysseus…and even on that point, she was still somewhat partial.
She crept towards him, her lips curling into a smile, her sandalled feet as quick and quiet as a spirit moving through their courtyard. As she drew closer to him, she knew the moment he sensed her presence, because his body tensed, before he abruptly spun around to face her, his sword pointed at her chest.
His expression darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that, Basha?” he growled, his clear blue eyes flashing with anger, but she knew it had less to do with any fury towards her, and more to do with his fear that he could have mistakenly hurt her.
She slid a single finger along the blunt edge of the blade, holding his gaze until she stood within a hair’s breadth of his panting chest.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.” Curling one arm behind his neck, she brushed her fingers against the damp locks of his dark mane. “But I could not take my eyes off you. You know how I love watching you train.”
He grinned down at her, all traces of his anger gone as his body hardened against hers, adding kindling to the flame that already burned inside her.
They’d been wed for almost four annos, and every dawn her feelings for Ulysseus grew deeper, stronger. If only she could give him a son, everything would be perfect—their union complete—but as long as the gods continued to curse her, that blight would always remain, and with it the knowledge that there would come a dawn when she awoke and Ulysseus would not be by her side.
A heavy weight settled in her belly, the same weight that always threatened to drag her down and bury her.
“What is it that troubles you?” His palm gently stroked her cheek, and his eyes bored into her, seemingly probing the layers of her soul.
“Nothing troubles me,” she lied, slipping her other arm behind his neck. She knew he loathed these discussions about having a child, which was why they never talked about it anymore. Basha knew, however, that they could not ignore the obvious forever, no matter how much they wished to.
A sigh escaped his lips, but he didn’t press her for the truth, even though his shrewd expression revealed he knew she was lying. She was grateful because she did not wish to fight with him.
He let his sword fall from his hand, and it clanked loudly against the hard ground at their feet. Desire clouded his stormy gaze, and he cupped her other cheek with his hand, tilting her head back. “You know you can tell me anything,” he whispered.
She didn’t cry—always so in control of her emotions, she never cried—but his softly spoken words caused a sob to well up inside her, even as she swallowed it. He was a far better man than most, far better than she truly deserved. Few would have stayed with her, remaining true to their single union, and although it was his right to seek out a lover, especially with no heir, he hadn’t.
She wished she could say the same.
Basha closed her eyes, the guilt and shame assaulting her all at once, weighing heavily upon her heart, threatening to strangle her. She didn’t deserve Ulysseus, and if he ever found out what she’d done, he would never forgive her. He would refuse to stay, and there would be nothing she could do to stop him from leaving.
No, she couldn’t tell him any and everything, and she hated herself because it hadn’t had to be that way.
“Basha—”
Her eyes flew open, locking with the shimmering blue of his concerned stare. She halted his next words with a single finger against his lips. She didn’t want to talk, she just wanted to feel. She wanted to lose herself in her husband’s touch, where everything that was wrong between them somehow was made right.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, tipping her head back, offering her lips to him. He didn’t hesitate as he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue seeking entrance, and she eagerly gave it, openly surrendering to his heated kiss.
He moaned into her mouth, the rigid length of his iron-hard cock pressing deep into her belly. She curled one leg around his, rubbing her mound against his large bulge, teasing them both with the friction of their bodies.
“Basha,” he rasped, his words warning her to stop, to cease the rhythmic gyrations of her hips, but she couldn’t. Her body was on fire for him, a raging inferno that burned hot and completely out of control. It had been so long since she’d felt the urgency of his need coupled with hers. In recent moons they’d drifted apart, more her fault than his, the obsession of having a child having made their lovemaking more duty than pleasure. But this dawn was different.
She’d sought him out because she missed him—the thrusting of his cock inside her, his heavy body pressing her into the furs of their bed. In that moment she simply wanted him as a man, as her husband…because she desired him, because she craved him, because only he could give her body the release it ached for.
He slid the single clasp of her chiton down her shoulder, revealing her pert breasts as they spilled forth. Dipping his head to capture one pebbled nipple between his teeth, she sucked in a sharp breath when he nipped her flesh. The small bite of pain brought a needy gasp to her lips. Her gasp soon dulled into a moan as he soothed the aching bud by drawing it deep within th
e moist, hot cavern of his mouth, where he suckled her hungrily. She shuddered against him, tangling her hands in his soft locks, her eyelids slipping shut.
Her head lolled back, and she arched into him, her breasts thrusting forward as if offering themselves to him. He seized the weight of her other breast, massaging the ripe mound, drawing a series of ragged moans from her lips as tingles of pleasure tiptoed down her spine.
She whispered his name when he moved to her other nipple, sucking the berry-ripe peak into his mouth, rolling it around with his tongue, laving it with his cool saliva. She hissed through clenched teeth, the pleasure of his mouth and hands almost too much to bear.
“Ulysseus, please. I need you inside me,” she begged, her voice sounding needier, more urgent than she could ever remember.
He chuckled, his warm breath feathering out to singe her skin, her nipple still between his sensual lips.
Releasing the perky globe of her soft flesh, he slid his hands down the length of her body, leaving fire in the wake of his touch. Dipping beneath her chiton, he inched his fingers up along the bare skin of her thigh, tracing a path straight to her swollen heat.
“How is this?” he teased, shoving a single finger deep inside her.
She shattered around him, small vibrations ricocheting though her neglected body. Her greedy tunnel clenched and unclenched around him, seemingly grateful for whatever attention it received as it rewarded him with the gift of her essence. He pumped his finger inside her, gently at first, building her until she was feverish, dragging her towards the edge, but never letting her fall, never letting her go.
“Ulysseus,” she cried out sharply when his thumb grazed against the tiny nub at the mouth of her entrance, but he ignored her urgency as he continued to explore her body, taking his time as he rediscovered the deepness of her cunt, the way her body tightened around his. He moved inside her faster, harder, her sheath dripping with her juices as he fucked her with his finger. She nearly exploded when he slid another finger inside her, and then another.
She was nearing the pinnacle, the place where she would find release, complete and utter bliss.