by Andromeda
"No," Anthea says sipping, sipping her wine.
Marching over, Alexander yanks the glass from her hand and throws it against the tiles. She looks at him lazily, but Alexander’s not having. "I said give her to me," he growls.
"And I said no," she repeats, pushing him aside to get some grapes.
"She's my slave!" Alexander roars.
"Perhaps," she says with a shrug. "But she's also a Warrior, and know what that means."
It takes him a moment to register what she's saying. "You didn't..."
Anthea smirks. "I did...helps having a father on the Council, Alex."
"Anthea! She's mine!" Alexander howls.
"No, Alex, she was never yours!" Anthea counters. Alexander can see the fury in her eyes and scares him slightly. "You should have done the right thing!"
"I don't have to do a damn thing!" Alexander yells back at her. "She was delivered to me as a slave! Thus, that makes her my property."
"Perhaps," Anthea says with a shrug. "But if the Council hears that your new bed slave is a highly trained warrior princess who has people like her and can be very good allies and you're wasting her to warm your bed...they wouldn't be very happy."
The blood runs cold in his veins. "You wouldn't..."
Anthea glares at him. "Try me. Zenobia stays with me and she's going to train for the Trials."
"I can teach her!" Alexander. “Give her back!”
"No, you'll chain her back to your bed and won't let her out again!" she counters. They both knew it was true, even though he hated to admit it.
"Fine," he spits. "But you better keep her close, Anthea, because if I ever see her out alone, I'm snatching her and bringing her back to where she belongs."
"You do that and I'll tell my father who will tell the Council," she counters.
Alexander slowly balls his fists; she has him trapped. "Fine, but tell that whore that our deal is off!"
"She wins the Trials, she won't need you," she says with a smirk before turning back to her meal. "Show yourself out, Alex. Oh, and the next time you burst into my dining room again...I'll shoot you with an arrow myself."
*************
Chapter Eight
"Lady Zenobia, Lady Anthea is ready for you," a servant girl says.
Zenobia looks up and nods her head. "I'm almost done; tell her I'm coming."
The girl bows and backs out of the room as Zenobia turns back to her task: strapping on her leather boots. She can never understand these Spartans with their leather and the complex straps of their armor; but from what she’s seen, it protects the most vital organs.
She’s been with Anthea for about a month, nearing her second, and she will have to say that she loves it here. Her first week, though, she lived in constant fear that Alexander would storm the villa, taking her back and forcing her to be his whore again. She knows of course he would never kill her or harm her, not physically anyway, but the thought of being chained back in his bed brought shudders up her spine. It wasn't until Anthea told her that he wouldn't dare take Zenobia back for fear that she'd tell her father who she really is; that really calmed her. And then she got furious all over again. All this time he knew of this and instead, he held her against her will. Or was it...
In the beginning, Zenobia kept telling herself it was her throne for his bed, her throne for his bed. She still tells herself that, but deep down, as much as she hates to admit it, she sort of enjoyed their coupling. Of course she’d rather have her tongue nailed on a table than say it out loud; but deep down, deep, deep down, she had begun to enjoy it a little.
One thing that she had noticed was how he gave her pleasure first before taking his own. A monster wouldn't do that. Zenobia remembers the first couple of times it was painful; her body was still adjusting to him being inside her, and he was gentle. How he kissed and caressed her lower lips with his tongue and fingers before entering her showed that he might have a heart.
But then she remembers that all Alexander had to do was help her seek vengeance for her people. She’s not asking for an army, but do the right thing and send her back home and maybe help her people rebuild. Zenobia’s mind wonders what they are doing now. Her father is dead, she’s gone, Zenobia has no siblings and she was the only heir. Her kingdom is gone, and all because he didn't do the right thing.
Finally strapping on her boots, she grabs her sword and walks out the room and to the stables where Anthea waits. "Where are we going today?" Zenobia asks, strapping up her mare named Artemis, after their goddess of the hunt.
"We are going to the Agoge," Anthea answers.
"The what?" Zenobia asks in confusion, as she’s never heard of it before.
"The Agoge is like a training school," Anthea explains. "Where all young Spartans are sent to train from the age of seven until they are twenty-nine."
"What are we doing there?" Zenobia asks.
"Some girls wish to join my Amazons," Anthea says. "But some of the parents are unsure. I'm to go meet with them."
"Why do I have to go?" Zenobia asks.
Anthea laughs. "You're not just going, but some of my other girls too. Most of them like to train there since most Spartan men like to return and do the same thing. How do you think most women find husbands?"
"But I don't want a husband," Zenobia grumbles under her breath. Alexander has ruined any chance of her ever loving a man.
"Ture," Anthea says. "But you can still go to train. Who knows, you might impress someone."
The ride to the Agoge isn’t a long one, and Zenobia is shocked to find that it’s massive, more than twice the size of the royal palace. They put their horses in the stables, and then she follows Anthea through the airy hallways. As they walk, Zenobia takes everything in. It's mainly divided into three parts: for the three different levels of training. The paídes (ages 7-17), the paidískoi (ages 17–19), and the hebontes (ages 20-29).
Anthea heads to the paidískoi section, while other girls were directing Zenobia toward the hebontes section. At first, Zenobia is hesitant, but Anthea encourages her to follow them. Out of the near twenty women that live with her, Zenobia grown close to one in particular, a blond haired named Kila.
She's one of Anthea's favorites and is skilled with a pair of twin daggers that she keeps strapped to her thighs. She's taken to Zenobia like a sister and is in her 22nd year like her. From what Zenobia has learned, she was born a slave, but won her freedom in the Trials when she was twenty. Since then, she has been living with Anthea, who was her mentor and trainer while she was a slave.
"Come on, Zen," she says, taking Zenobia’s arm and calling her by a nickname that she’s gotten. "Let's go watch the hebontes."
As the two women enter the arena, Zenobia looks over the hebontes. Most are training while others are lounging and talking amongst themselves. As they walk to the weapons rack, Zenobia feels a hand grab her arm, electric sparks shooting through her body. Slowly she turns around and looks into the last pair of green orbs she’d ever want to see. Alexander.
*************
For a moment, they are both still as statues, studying each other. Alexander looks her over, she’s dressed like all of Athena's Amazon's. A dark-brown sleeveless leather tunic that stops at her upper thighs, matching leggings, boots and arm bands. It's to serve as an under covering for armor should they choose to wear it.
He pulls her against him, so close that Zenobia feels the beating of his heart, and the hardness of his arousal. That snaps her back to reality and she pulls from him, her eyes glaring.
"My king," Kila says, dipping her head.
"Kila," Alexander says, not looking at her, his eyes still staring into Zenobia’s.
"How's your wrist?" Kila asks with a smirk.
That gets his attention and he scowls; Zenobia can't help but smirk. Back when he tried to take her back, Kila had grabbed his wrist and twisted it in a weird way that forced him to let go.
"It's fine," he snarls.
"Good," she says coolly.
Zenobia has always admired how non-impressed the Amazon's act around Alexander. But then she remembers that they were raised and trained by Anthea, who is his best friend and she’s pretty sure the only woman who can tell him what to and what not to do.
Alexander turns to Zenobia, his eyes narrowed. "You broke your promise."
"I did not," Zenobia says plainly. "I was kidnapped."
"You could have refused," Alexander says.
Zenobia arches an eyebrow. "Against Anthea? We both know that that wasn't possible."
"Still..." he presses.
Zenobia cuts her hand through the air. "No, I'm tired of all your excuses. I willingly gave myself to you for what? A half-assed promise that you'd let me meet some Ambassadors and if I even stepped a foot out of line, you'd hold me forever? I'm sorry but only a sorry king would do that!"
She turns to leave, but Alexander grabs her arm. "Don't turn your back on me!"
Zenobia’s blood boils; slowly, her fingers ball into a fist. Before Alexander can blink, she whips around, punching him in the stomach. He staggers back, holding his stomach before looking at her. "We are going to do what you Spartans know best," she hisses at him. "We are going to fight. If I win, you leave me alone until the Trials, if you win, then I'll be your whore forever and not try to escape ever again."
Alexander holds his chin up. “Agreed.”
He turns and walks to Titus, who casts him a worried look. “Alex, don't do this," Titus whispers. "That girl is a trained warrior!"
"So am I," Alexander growls.
He looks to where Kila whispers in Zenobia's ear and she nods before turning to face him. "Weapons or no weapons?" she asks. "You pick."
"Weapons," he says.
Nodding, she holds still as Kila straps on a light suit of armor on her body, before giving her a pair of long daggers. Alexander takes his shield and sword from Titus and walks over to the arena. All the fighting stops as they circle each other, people whispering among each other. The King of Sparta fighting a lonely slave. This will be on the lips of everyone for a long time.
"One last time," Alexander says circling each other. "Just give up."
"A Ruler never gives up for her people," Zenobia spits. "And I'll prove to you how much!"
She lunges at him at lightning speed, moving so fast that Alexander barely has time to defend himself. Lifting his shield up, he can hear the loud clank of her daggers scraping against the metal. With a grunt, he pushes her back, swinging his sword in a large arc, but it doesn't even graze her. Zenobia leaps over his head and kicks him hard in the back.
When he drops to one knee, Zenobia smirks. "What's wrong, my king? Is tumbling around in the bed with your whores to tiring for you?"
Gritting his teeth, Alexander lunges for her again, slashing and swinging his sword while using the shield as a sort of battering ram. Zenobia staggers back, tripping over her feet at his assault and falls back. Alexander brings his sword down as if to stab her in the chest, but Zenobia rolls over, barely missing getting cut.
"You can't say anything," he snaps at her. "Seeing as you weren't that good in bed anyway."
"I could say the same thing about you," she remarks back.
That was a low blow and it sends Alexander in a rage. Slicing and jabbing, all he wants is to hurt her, to make her take those words back. Not taken by surprise this time, Zenobia blocks and dodges his attacks. Her daggers slicing and stabbing back. The two of them dancing as if made for each other, moving in perfect sync, it's almost as if they are coupling.
Zenobia slams her head into Alexander’s and he staggers back. Lunging for him, her daggers aimed poised. Whipping around, Alexander presses his sword at her stomach, her daggers press against his throat. Panting heavily, they look at each other, staring into each other's eyes.
"G... Good fight," she pants.
"I could say the same for you," Alexander pants.
"Zenobia," Anthea's voice says behind them. "We're done here."
Alexander curses her under his breath and looks to Zenobia, who nods and turns to leave with them. Alexander watches them as they go, amazed at what’s happened. He’s never seen her fight before, truly fight. The little skirmish with his guards does not count.
Spartan women are highly prized for their ability to fight alongside their men, and glancing around, Alexander sees some of the men watching Zenobia with lustful eyes as she walks away. He already knows that she's going to win those Trials and be free. Normally the women who win are the highest value in the marriage market. He’d be damned, however, if any other man gets her. She’s his and one way or another, he’s getting her back.
*************
Torture. That's how Alexander’s life feels right now. It's been almost a month since the duel with Zenobia and he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind. Nor can he forget how she looked. How her muscles rippled under her skin or how her face narrowed with concentration as she got ready for the next attack. She will make any Spartan man proud.
He frowns at the thought. There is no way she's losing those Trials, which are approaching fast. She will gain her freedom and then she'll leave me. Wait...why do I care? Why do I care that this girl will be leaving?
Deep down, Alexander knows the truth: he cares for her. He’s tried everything to get this girl from his head, but nothing works. He’s even gone back to having Iraia back in his bed. The first night after the Duel, Alexander released his pent up emotions on her, and while he knows he was rougher than normal, he doubts that she cared. Iraia loves it rough. But Zenobia didn't.
He’s never been rough with her and he doesn’t know why. Even when he was worked up, he still was never rough with her. After that fight night with Iraia, it felt...wrong. He’s tried over and over again, but every time he kept picturing Zenobia's face. To distract himself, he decided to throw a party for the fighters within the week. Normally their Sponsors are supposed to do this, but as king, he can do what he wants. In reality, this is one last attempt to see Zenobia before she gains her freedom and leaves him forever.
The door to his office suddenly opens and he doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. "What do you want, Anthea?" he snaps irritably.
"I can't come and see my good friend?" she asks.
"No, you can't," he growls. "Now leave me alone."
Anthea sits on his desk and rolls her eyes. "Alex, you aren't fooling me."
"What do you mean?" Alexander asks.
Anthea holds up his invitation and reads it out loud. "You and your Amazons are invited. If you have any Slaves participating in the Trials, please bring them as well so that I will show them the highest honor..." She raises an eyebrow. "I know what this is really for Dias. You want to see Zenobia."
Alexander opens his mouth to retort, but instead, turns away so that she can't see his red face. She's speaking the truth, but he won't tell her that.
"Just admit it, Alex, you like her," she says.
"She's nothing more than a slave to me!" Alexander growls over his shoulder.
"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Anthea says with a raised eyebrow. "You can fool everyone but me. I know that deep down you care for her, but you're too stubborn to admit it."
"I don't care for her!" Alexander roars.
Anthea slaps him hard across the face. "Stop being such a baby! You're the King of Sparta! Man up! This girl is not like Her! Your stubbornness and dumbness is going to make you lose her! When Zenobia wins those Trials, then she'll be the highest valued woman in Sparta! You either man up now or lose her forever!"
*************
Chapter Nine
The scent of orange blossoms and roasting meats fill the air. The beats of the drums thunder down the halls. The colorful veils of the dancers swirl around like multi-colored twisters. Tonight is the celebration feast and the competitors from all around Sparta, as well as from Greece come. The Trials are a big event, the best of the best competing for the ultimate prize: freedom.
Zenobia sits
at the table of honor, nibbling on her plate full of food before her. Dressed in a white floor-length gown with purple and red trim with elaborate designs at the hem. Her arms are bare, with golden bands wrapped up close to her shoulders. Her hair is let loose, her wild curls left to hang free and scented with honeysuckle and lavender; with every movement, she entices people to stare.
While she nibbles on a piece of toasted bread covered in melted cheese, her mind goes back to Anthea when she told her about their invite to this party. Zenobia didn’t want to go, but she knows that refusing the invitation would have been seen as rude. Not that she really cares if she is rude to Alexander; the man who’s held her captive here. She has lost valuable time feeding his own appetites, while she herself has been unable to help the people that she loves. Well, no more. As soon as she wins the Trials, she will return to Ethiopia and never look back.
At the other end of the hall, Alexander watches her, an internal struggling going on in his mind. He wants her, but then he doesn't want her. His eyes roam over her attire; the dress that hugs her curves and pushes up her breasts, her long black curls that frame her face. He has to force himself to stop from groaning out loud. Glancing around, he sees the other men watching her and he balls his fists.
"My Lord?" a servant says, interrupting his thoughts.
"What?" he barks.
"Would you like more wine?" the servant asks.
Alexander nods and holds out his goblet, the servant bows and takes it to refill it. Across the hall, another servant asks the same thing to Zenobia and she nods. One last drink and then she'll leave. The servant takes her goblet and returns to the kitchens where the servant who took Alexander’s goblet waits. Pouring the honey-wine into their cups, they take a small package and pour the contents inside before mixing it, just like ordered. Returning to Alexander and Zenobia, they give them back their cups and disappear.
Zenobia sips her wine and frowns slightly. There is an interesting after taste, but the honey-wine is something she's never tasted before and she gulps down the entire goblet. Across the hall, Alexander drinks his without a second thought. A couple minutes later, he begins to feel dizzy and... hot. Sweat beads on his brow and he fans himself, but it’s no use; his whole body feels as if on fire.
