by Nadia Aidan
“Armine, apologise to Adonis this instant,” Lamia admonished, her voice firm.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, her arms folding across her chest as she bowed her head, duly chastised.
Adonis graciously accepted her apology, although Lamia noted with a measure of amusement that he deftly scooted away from them so he was out of the girl’s kicking range.
“While I disapprove of Armine striking you, I must admit, however, that I do not agree with you.” She put her sketch tablet aside, giving him the full weight of her attention. Spartan men could be arrogant and presumptuous and she did not care for anyone telling Armine that she could not be anything that she desired simply because she was a girl.
“I believe Armine can become whatever it is she desires when she reaches womanhood. And if she was still in our homeland, she could be a soldier.”
Adonis leant back on his hands and watched them both warily. “Everyone in your family seems to be prone to hitting people so I am afraid to speak.”
She chuckled softly. “I shall not strike you, Adonis, for having your beliefs, especially since I understand where they come from. Sparta is very progressive in many ways, except when it comes to warfare. Spartans seem to believe men are the only ones capable of being soldiers.”
“And I take it you disagree.”
She grinned good-naturedly. “Of course I do. I come from a place with a long and distinguished history of female soldiers, so I see no difference between the genders when it comes to battle.” She arched a single brow at his sceptical expression. “You do not believe me?”
“That you come from a long line of female soldiers? Yes, I believe that, having sparred with you myself. But that there is no difference between men and women on the battlefield?” He snorted in response.
A smug smile spread across her face and she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I am certain you have heard of Alexander of Macedon.”
He shrugged. “Of course. Who hasn’t?”
“So you would agree he is one of the greatest military leaders in the history of Greece?”
“With the exception of Leonidas and Lysander, certainly.”
Lamia cast him a dour look. Of course he would think two legendary Spartan generals greater than Alexander.
“Well, can we at least agree that he was a formidable military leader?”
“One of the finest.” He nodded.
“Yes, he was, but apparently he doubted his abilities when he encountered the Queen of Meroe.”
Adonis’ brow creased with frown lines, but he remained silent, allowing her to continue.
“It is not widely known, but Alexander had no desire to invade Egypt. He actually coveted the far richer kingdom of Meroe but was forced to conquer Egypt instead of the lands to the south because he feared that, with her well-known acumen for battle and her impressive armies, the Queen of Meroe would easily defeat him and ruin his legendary reputation for being unbeatable. It is even said that, when he tried to march on Meroe, she met him with her army of both men and women, sitting astride a war elephant.
“It is amusing, don’t you think? One of the greatest generals in the history of Greece and he left Meroe untouched because he feared losing to a woman.”
* * * *
Adonis shook his head as he departed from Thanos and Lamia’s home.
He had stayed for longer than he’d intended and, if he did not hurry and return to the barracks before curfew, he would be cited and fined a hefty tax. Despite his father’s position, Adonis himself was nothing more than a lowly hoplite in the greater hierarchy and would be without coins for a full moon if he had to pay the tax. Still, the threat of having no drachma for two fortnights was a small price to pay for the eventful eve he’d just had.
He’d spent over an hour listening to Lamia recount stories of her homeland, stories of warrior women just like her and that feisty daughter of hers. He chuckled to himself, recalling how stunned he’d been when she’d kicked him in the shoulder. For the rest of the eve, he’d tried to charm his way back into her good graces, but it hadn’t worked. He’d insulted her with his ‘mean-spirited lies’ and she was not going to be so quick to forget that. He smiled at the thought. There were few members of the fairer gender, young or old, who weren’t susceptible to his effortless charm, but apparently she was one of those few.
He shook his head again as he thought of the child. He should pity Thanos and Lamia. She was a pretty girl and from the looks of it she promised to blossom into quite a beauty when she grew older. He had no doubt that men would one dawn flock to her, but with her fiery spirit, she would prove quite a handful for the man who took her to wife. The more he thought on it, the more he doubted that any man possessed of a sane mind would be up for the challenge, no matter how beautiful she turned out to be, for it wasn’t just her fiery nature to contend with, but in her eyes he’d glimpsed a wildness that refused to be tamed. Not even in Sparta—where men lived to conquer and many would appreciate her spirit—did he imagine there was a man who would be quite up to the challenge of taming that one.
“What are you doing at my home?”
Adonis halted, drawing up short before he could collide into Thanos. With careful steps, he backed away from the fearsome general, just far enough so that if the older man threw a punch he would have time to counter, unlike last time. He needed to be able to see out of at least one eye if he hoped to make it back to the barracks in time.
“I stopped by to apologise.” That was only a half truth. He’d wanted to apologise to Thanos for his disrespect but hadn’t come by that eve to do it. He’d actually stopped by to see Lamia, but he didn’t think it wise to tell Thanos that he had a crush on his wife, especially since Adonis wanted to live.
“But you weren’t home, so I visited with Lamia and your adopted daughter for a while. Your daughter—quite a charmer,” he said with a wry grin. “Seems you taught her a couple of moves.” When Thanos’ brows peaked above curious eyes, Adonis added, “She kicked me.”
“I shall have to buy her a gift then.” Thanos grinned. “Besides, you probably deserved it.”
He didn’t bother responding to that. “Well, it is almost time for curfew. Again, I apologise for my words earlier.” When Thanos nodded, a silent gesture that he accepted his apology, Adonis moved to walk around him and leave, but stopped after taking only one step.
Spinning around, he met Thanos’ questioning gaze, knowing that it was none of his business and that the older man would probably pummel him for overstepping his boundaries again, but he felt he had to say something. Lamia was his friend, and he had not missed the sadness lingering in her eyes every time one of the servants entered the courtyard and she realised it wasn’t Thanos returning home. Adonis wasn’t a frequent guest in their home, but the times he’d visited he’d noticed that Thanos was never there.
“I know it is not my place to say this, but I hope you realise there are many men here who would kill to be in your place and they would treat her far better than you if they were.”
He didn’t stick around to see if his words had taken root. He was in a hurry and had no wish to die that eve.
* * * *
Basha stared out of the window in her bedchamber, her heart thundering in her chest.
The door creaked open, followed by the dull thud of it closing shut.
“You must have heard,” said Ulysseus and she didn’t miss the weariness in his voice as she spun around, tearing her gaze from the silver moon that hovered in the dark eve sky.
“Everyone has heard.” She crossed the room to stand before him, and before she thought of what she was doing, she fell into his arms. They had not made love since that dawn in the courtyard, both far too stubborn and angry to cast aside their pride, but there was no place for pride before war.
He held her close, and she let her eyes drift shut as she listened to the steady sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear. They had much they needed to discuss, but neither seemed to wish to r
uin their tenuous truce.
“You know eventually we will need to talk,” he said with a sigh, giving voice to her thoughts.
She lifted her head to meet his gaze. It was obvious that the problems between them weighed heavily upon him, just as they weighed on her. She was usually the one who wanted to talk, not Ulysseus, so she thought it a bit ironic that he would even broach the subject. She knew he deserved to know the truth, just as they both needed to come to an agreement about the future of their marriage, but now was not the time for such a discussion.
“When you return we can—”
“Basha—”
“Please, Ulysseus.” She cut him off, not wanting to hear him say the dreaded words.
He seemed to want to pour out his heart so that his soul would find peace in the afterlife should he not come back to her alive, but she didn’t want to hear any declarations, any last words, not when they could be said upon his return. Just giving voice to his thoughts gave them power, injecting seeds of doubt within her heart. She didn’t believe in last words, or lofty declarations—had promised herself she wouldn’t make them—but, in that moment, Lamia’s words suddenly came back to haunt her.
The reality of the life she shared with Ulysseus was that she’d been his wife for four annos, and yet she’d never once told him she loved him, had never let him even speak the words to her, even when he’d tried. She’d convinced herself that his love was fickle, false, just as fleeting as her father’s love, but Lamia had been right that dawn. Ulysseus was not her father, and every time he went off to battle there was the very real possibility that he would not come back.
How had she lived this long without telling him how she felt? How could she ever imagine living with herself and the guilt she would carry inside her if Ulysseus were to die without knowing what lay buried inside her heart?
“Ulysseus, I—I…” She forced out a breath when the words stuck in her throat. Trying again, she blurted out in a rush before she lost her nerve, “I love you.”
He stilled, his eyes rounding. “What did you say?”
Her gaze dipped to the floor. She was unable to meet the intensity of his stare now that she’d opened herself up to him, now that she’d made herself vulnerable.
“Say it, Basha,” he demanded with a slight shake. “I want to hear you say it again. I want to know that I did not imagine it,” he whispered and a sharp knife of pain sliced through her heart at the look in his eyes.
So much time had passed without her telling him she loved him that he’d come to believe she never would—that the reason why she didn’t say it was because she simply didn’t love him.
She read it right there on his face, and it almost broke her heart, realising that for so long she’d been so afraid of being hurt that she’d ended up hurting not only him, but herself as well.
“I love you, Ulysseus.” The words came out on a faint whisper, but she knew he’d heard every one of them as his hands cupped her face, lifting it so that he could crush his lips to hers, branding her with the heat of his kiss.
She melted into him, weaving her arms around his neck to clasp him within her embrace as he deepened the kiss, drawing her into his web of unyielding warmth.
His shaft hardened against her, his hard flesh digging into her belly, and she moaned as her body responded in kind, trembling with the need of him, the folds of her intimate space growing heavy and slick with desire.
“Basha…” Her name was a hoarse cry on his lips, and she wound herself tighter around him, holding him closer. She didn’t want to let him go, not physically, and certainly not off to war, not with so much still left unsaid between them, so she tried her best to tell him with the words of her body.
Their hands tore at their garments until their clothing lay in a tattered mess, strewn about the floor.
She tugged her lips from his to meet his gaze, sliding her hands across his chiselled torso. His muscles flexed beneath her fingers, his breathing harsh as his entire body vibrated against hers.
She loved touching him, the feel of him beneath her palms confirming that he was real, that he was alive. She lifted on her toes to beg for his kiss, and he eagerly gifted her with his lips, plunging them headfirst into the tempestuous storm of desire.
He hoisted her into his arms to lay her across the bed, covering her body with his. He captured her lips again, his tongue probing deep inside her mouth, as it swept between her parted lips, dragging hoarse sighs from her throat, only to be muffled by the press of his insistent mouth.
He raised his head, and for a moment their eyes met. The love they felt inside their hearts shimmered between them, just as clear and radiant as a sunny dawn in the middle of spring.
He dipped his head to trace a path of tiny kisses along the column of her throat, against her chest, between the valley of her breasts. He teased her with his kisses, coming close to the aching nipples of her breasts but never taking them inside his mouth, instead taunting them to tighter peaks as his hot breath sent shivers of searing pleasure fanning out across her entire body. He continued his sweet torture as he gently kissed her belly, sweeping his tongue inside her navel.
She gasped, his wet tongue sending another series of tingles washing over her. She curled her toes into the bunched and twisted blankets, wondering if she would explode into tiny pieces, the pleasure was so intense. She thought she couldn’t take any more—couldn’t endure the teasing touch of his hands as they gently caressed her thighs, the warm kisses of his lips, or his sinfully skilled tongue—but found she was wrong when he moved just a few inches lower to slide his tongue through the dripping folds of her heated womanhood.
“Ulysseus!” she screamed, clutching the back of his head, holding him to her.
He chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice sending tiny vibrations across her sensitive flesh. He loved taunting her, knowing that when they were together like this she was powerless to the needs of her body and his masterful touch. She let her legs drift farther apart, and he braced himself against her parted thighs as he devoured her cunt, drinking in her essence as his tongue probed deep inside her glistening channel.
She was a mindless, writhing bundle of nerves beneath him, lost in the sensation of just feeling. She trembled against the bed, her climax slowly building inside her. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes at the thought that, when Ulysseus left for war, she would be bereft of his touch, his kiss, the hard press of his cock inside her, stretching her, making her his.
His lips fastened around her engorged nub and everything seemed to stand still, as time froze and her entire body tensed. Her breath came out as gentle whooshes and the tremors that shook her were almost violent as they roiled through her. She moaned low in her throat, her climax just on the horizon, and Ulysseus must have sensed it.
“Ulysseus…” she cried out on a tortured rasp when abruptly he tore his lips from her wet folds and moved up the length of her body.
With his muscled frame draped over her, she clasped her legs behind his back, locking him to her. He pressed the tip of his hardened shaft to the opening of her cunt, and she spread her thighs wider, her body pounding with need, her channel flooding with wet warmth, every wanton gesture silently begging for the stroke of his cock deep inside her.
There was no more love play, no languorous frolicking—not this time. Their bodies were urgent, hungry for one another.
He nudged the head of his cock against her wet slit before thrusting inside her on one smooth stroke. They cried out in unison, and she clung to him, squeezing her eyes shut at the intensity of the pleasure roaring inside her. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her as his, and she shattered around him, a tiny climax gently rocking her.
He pumped his hips back and forth, riding her body through her subtle release, setting a steady rhythm, driving them both closer to the edge of fulfilment, building her back up for what she could feel would be a stronger, more violent climax than the one before.
“Fuck me, Basha
,” he whispered against the hollow of her neck, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her hips as he pounded into her body. She lifted her hips in answer to his plea, sending him tunnelling deeper, so with every stroke he brushed the back of her sheath.
The balmy air from the open window streamed inside, heating their dripping flesh, as they writhed against each other in a tangled mass of limbs. The musk of lovemaking permeated the room, staining the blankets that draped the bed, reminding Basha that, when Ulysseus left, their room would carry his scent, and, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to escape the visions of that eve, their wild lovemaking as their bodies came together as one.
His strokes grew faster, more frenzied, and she clenched her legs tighter, causing him to rub harder against the tiny nub at the apex of her cunt.
She could feel he was close, as she was too, and Basha simply closed her eyes, losing herself completely to the moment, when there were only the two of them in that special place where nothing else mattered but them.
She tightened her legs around him, drawing him deeper inside as his body slid against hers, dripping with sweat. He drove into her harder, faster, his brutal thrusts now urgent…desperate, even.
“You’re mine, Basha. You belong to no other man but me.”
Tiny butterflies fluttered in her belly as his possessive words slid over her, warming her from the inside out.
“I am yours—only yours,” she whispered in his ear, because it was true. No matter how much distance separated them, she was still his. She would always be his.
She belonged to him, and only him.
There was no other man who could ever rival Ulysseus in her eyes. And Basha knew, as long as she lived, that she would never love any other man but him. No matter what happened in this battle or the next, her heart would always belong to him, and only him.