“You may speak if you wish, Camithia,” the autumn-haired female said, casting me a sympathetic half-smile that told me she knew just how out of place I felt. “My name is Priestess Deannie. This is Priestess Ghertrude.”
“Nice to meet you, my Priestesses.” I bowed my head in deference and almost tripped on the set of stairs we were descending. The marble felt surprisingly cool beneath my bare feet, given that it must have been in the high nineties.
“What’s it feel like to be human again?” Ghertrude asked when I didn’t offer anything further to keep the conversation going. Knowing that a god was judging your every word could make even an extrovert like me clam up.
“Kinda strange, Priestess. It’s not like I forgot how to walk or anything, but the sensations from my leg muscles, my joints and my feet are totally different from the impulses that come from my tail. Having my lungs expand when I breathe feels weird now, too. And I don’t remember my skin being quite so…plain.”
Thinking of my Syreni body made me wonder if I’d disappeared when Poseidon removed my spirit to bring me here, or if I was still lying in a coma on top of the black marble altar Johnna had strapped me to. Were Aristos and Damille frantically trying to revive me? Oh Gods, what if they decided I was dead? Imagining me waking up inside my body to find I’d been buried deep beneath the ocean sent a cold shiver up my spine. “Please pardon me for asking a question, my priestesses, but do either of you know if my body is safe back in Teresolee? Does our high priest Johnna know where I am?”
Deannie stopped walking and whirled to face me; bringing our procession to a halt in front of a naked statue of a goddess I didn’t recognize nursing a male child. “Do you think our Gods are such imbeciles that they would overlook a vital detail like ensuring you have a body to return to if you weren’t to point it out to them? They are Gods, Camithia. They know everything that has ever been and ever will be. Not a single thought will ever enter your brain that they would consider remotely insightful. Next to the gods, you are insignificant. Nothing. You need to accept that.”
Deannie’s impassioned tongue-lashing hit home. I knew she was right. I didn’t view Poseidon, Neptune or anyone else as someone so superior to me that I would have nothing to bring to the table in a conversation. I just wasn’t wired that way. I respected them and their obvious power, but not as a slave would their master. Never in my life had I been quick to tears, not even in response to intense physical or emotional pain, but knowing that every natural instinct I had—every aspect of my character that had allowed me to make something of myself—was now considered a glaring flaw, made me feel completely helpless. I swiped at my cheeks in anger as I began to cry for the second time in less than an hour.
“Shhh,” Deannie whispered in my ear, nestling my head against her chest. For someone so young—maybe my age, at most—she projected a decidedly maternal aura that made me feel totally at ease being comforted by her. “It’s not as bad as all that. The gods don’t want to break you, Camithia. The fate of two worlds rests upon what they feel you alone can accomplish. We just need to smooth out the edges a bit, and teach you to have as much faith in our gods as they have in you.”
When I finally withdrew from her embrace, she captured my face between her soft hands and gave me a chaste kiss on the mouth. The totally platonic, nurturing gesture reminded me of my dad back before I’d turned into a proverbial teenage brat and decided any form of parental affection was gross. I’d grown out of the phase, eventually, but by then I’d developed breasts, making him feel just awkward enough around me to opt for hugs instead. God I missed them. Looking like me again made it so much harder. It felt like I was only one step away from returning home, even though I knew the corporal form I inhabited was just a physical manifestation to house my soul, and that “one step”, even if I had a portable body, would be finding a way to get from the kingdom of the gods back to Earth.
Deannie’s autumn blend of orange, red, purple and yellow hair—clearly not from a bottle—left little doubt she wasn’t human, even before she enveloped my mind in an emotional blanket of love and happiness that erased away all of the pain. “When we reach the priestess temple, I’ll show you to the servant’s quarters and help get you settled in. Don’t expect much, child. We haven’t had a servant since my mother, Enyo—the goddess of war and Poseidon’s niece—gifted me with a human slave she’d brought back with her after Troy was set aflame.”
My Greek mythology was a little sketchy, but I knew the Trojan War was at least as far back as 1000 BC. That meant she was over three thousand years old. And a Demigod, given her maternal lineage. Since I couldn’t wrap my brain around either of those fun little tidbits, I resorted to humor instead. “Damn it. The pictures on the travel websites are always misleading. I’ll have to slam this place in my TripAdvisor review.”
They both burst into laughter, having grasped the internet references I’d been worried might sail over their heads. Ghertrude ran her fingers through my hair while she studied my face like I was a dog competing for best-of-show, eventually tucking a section behind my ear. “I can see why the gods chose you. Try to keep hold of your sense of humor, Camithia. You’ll need it.”
“I will, Priestess. Thank you.”
She acknowledged me with a mesmerizing smile that bumped her up in the looks department from jaw-dropping-ly stunning to the previously unoccupied, “I’d-totally-change-teams-for-a-piece-of-that” club. With her exotic, golden eyes, olive-toned skin and waist length, burnt chestnut hair—not to mention her Victoria’s-Secret-model-by-night, master-class-aerobics-instructor-by-day body—she was beauty personified. I was surprised to see her formally bow down to Deannie, as it conveyed a level of subservience I hadn’t picked up on during our walk across the courtyard. “Perhaps I should go on ahead and prepare her bath, High Priestess? I can sense you still have much to discuss with the child.”
“Thank you, Ghertrude. Please tell the others we’ll be along soon.”
After issuing Deannie another formal bow, Ghertrude headed off across the courtyard toward an octagon-shaped, white marble castle with golden-topped turrets that kind of reminded me of the palace at Disneyworld.
Now that we were alone, the good-natured, borderline playful expression Deannie had sported since my stand-up comedy routine sobered into a grim frown, our light-hearted banter forgotten. “I wish I was welcoming the queen of the Syreni into my palace as a close friend, here to share a fine glass of wine as we gossip about the gods—an encounter I hope to share with you many times in the future—but you heard Poseidon’s directive to us. Over the next week we will be merciless as we test your subservience.
“Once we’re secure inside your living quarters, I’ll show you how to apply our makeup, decorate our nails and braid our hair depending on which goddess or god my priestess is being called upon to serve. You will practice on me until you get each of the elaborate braids correct, and you’re able to select the right products to prepare my face in the exact manner each deity desires without instruction. If one of my priestesses ends up being reprimanded for not being properly prepared, it will be you who is whipped on their behalf.
“Pay attention to the rituals I observe while I bath you and oil your skin, as you will be bathing all of us each morning. Once you’re clean, I’ll braid iris petals into your beautiful chocolate hair and pin it up into a tight crown atop your head. Be careful to keep the white lace veil I sew into your hair securely in place at all times, even while pleasuring the woman in your care. It would be considered a grave insult for a chambermaid to look upon a Priestess they serve. You will be dressed in a pair of gladiator sandals and a simple gossamer sheath, which I warn you, conceals nothing. Although even that poor excuse for a garment is a step-up from strolling naked across the courtyard, I suppose. The moment I secure the lace-and-pearl necklace of our chambermaids around your throat our gods will mark you as my slave. Your wrists will be decorated with autumn-colored, ethereal shackles that will bind your soul to me unti
l I release you.
“You are forbidden from using any of the seven washrooms utilized by our priestesses, all of which you will clean to a spotless shine each day. When you must relieve yourself—which will only be done when we grant you permission—you will be guided back to your living quarters and temporarily freed from the body chain that secures your vaginal and anal plugs. As soon as you’ve cleaned yourself up, the plugs will be reinserted and locked back into place.
“You will not speak unless you are asked a direct question or expressly given the right to do so. When you do speak, you will end each of your responses by referring to the Priestess you are communicating with by her full title. You will great each Priestess whenever you see them with a formal curtsey or bow, and will repeat the gesture whenever you leave their presence. As for cooking, you will prepare meals for us from scratch twice a day, selecting dishes from a gourmet menu of some of the most challenging recipes in the world. If even one of us isn’t satisfied with the result, you will dump the entire meal in the garbage and start over. Under no circumstances are you allowed to place any food inside your mouth, not even to taste it as you cook. When you’re thirsty, you may drink only plain, room-temperature water that you gather from the fountains outside. If you’re caught stealing even a single sip of wine from a partially filled glass after a meal I will sew your lips shut and make you drink through a straw.
“After lunch each day you will give my Priestesses sensuous whole-body massages incorporating a variety of styles—Swedish, deep tissue, shiatsu and Thai—all of which you will need to memorize by morning. When it comes to sex, you will service the females in your care in whatever manner they desire, just as they do for the gods and goddesses that call upon them. If you violate any of our rules, even accidentally, you will be brought before me and whipped until I feel you have learned your lesson. If you ever outright refuse a command, talk back to us, or fail to make an honest effort to comply with our wishes, you will find yourself standing before Poseidon facing your final judgment.
“The best advice I can give you to help you get through this is the same thing I tell our young priestesses when they first come of age. There is nothing shameful in fulfilling your sacred duties. Our gods created you, and determined that it was your fate to serve them in this manner. Take pride in your work, so that it may reflect positively upon you when you next stand before them. Let yourself become my slave, Camithia. Embrace being a chambermaid down to the core of your being. That’s the only way you’ll survive the week and make it back to the life you left behind.
“While I’m sure that’s incentive enough, I’ve always found positive reinforcement to be a far better motivator than fear, so let me offer you this as an added reward. If your record is relatively spotless at the end of the week—I’ve never had to take a whip to your unmarred skin—I’ll allow you to briefly check in on your family through our looking glass before you are returned to Teresolee.”
In spite of the un-scalable mountain of dreadful news she’d just buried me beneath—discovering I could be whipped for a variety of offenses was at the top of the list, although given how much I hated cleaning, it was a dead heat between that and having to clean seven bathrooms every day—all I could focus on was the opportunity to see my parents and sister again. She knew just how to dress up one ugly-ass pig in order to close the deal. I doubted her offer included seeing Austin, which was probably best. Seeing him again when we had no chance of ever being together would just rip my heart open and further complicate my bonding with Aristos. Not to mention that if Aristos were to find out—which was not out of the realm of possibility given my limited ability to shield my thoughts—he’d take out half his own army just to open up the portal and return to earth so he could slaughter my former fiancé the next time Austin stepped foot in as much as a bathtub. Hell, the king would probably grant him permission as punishment for my pseudo-cheating.
It was all too overwhelming for me to even consider how I’d possibly get through the week. A girl who could barely make toast was being asked to prepare complex gourmet meals twice a day. I’d be lucky if half of them didn’t die from food poisoning. And I’d be having sex. With all of them, by the sounds of it. I’d never even kissed another woman. But I knew I’d do literally anything for the chance to see how my family was coping with my loss and gain some sense of closure. Even agree to become a slave. “Thank you, High Priestess. You don’t know how much that would mean to me. I promise I’ll perform all of the tasks you described to the best of my ability. I accept that I belong to you now, and will gratefully serve you and your Priestesses as your slave.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Servitude
* * *
I closed my eyes and groaned in delight as Deannie poured another pitcher of steaming hot water over my head, giving my blessedly freed hair a final rinse. It felt so good to have it hang loose again, even if I’d been a little reluctant to have Deannie dismantle her flower petal braid masterpiece. Combined with the off-white veil, it had kind of felt like I was dressed for my wedding. Well, had my hair done for my wedding, anyway. I couldn’t recall having any fantasies of my big day with Austin that involved me walking down the aisle in a translucent stocking of a dress that barely reached my thighs. Sans underwear, no less.
My wrists still bore the red, purple, yellow and orange shackle-shaped tattoos that marked me as Deannie’s slave since my week of servitude wasn’t officially over for another three hours. She’d been kind enough to grant me early parole after I’d finished cleaning the bathrooms for the seventh and final time—bless the gods—and made everyone beef wellington for dinner. It had taken me an hour to prepare the intricate dish even after making the red wine, balsamic vinegar and sugar-based sauce ahead of time. And here I’d thought she’d gone easy on me for my last meal when I saw filet mignon was the main ingredient. I mean, how hard could it be to cook a steak, right? Yeah. Not so much.
I’d learned the hard way to prepare what I could in advance. Failing to cut up the rooster and slab of bacon beforehand the first evening led to me serving coq au vin at 7:05 PM, five minutes after the scheduled serving time. I’d been so proud of myself for cooking something that complicated and having it actually resemble the picture in the recipe. No one was more astonished than me to discover I had at least a knack for cooking, if not a passion for it. When Deannie ordered me to throw it in the trash and start over as punishment for not complying with the posted meal schedule I was stunned. I’d gotten “but it was only five—” out before she grabbed me by the neck and all but dragged me into the tiled back room in her chambers. She wasted no time ripping the sheath from my body and securing my hands in leather bindings that hung down from the corner. None of the desperate apologies I’d cried out saved me from having a leather strap secured between my teeth. I watched in growing horror as she selected a long leather whip from a small assortment of torture devices hanging down from wooden pegs on the wall I was now facing. Even then, I was sure she was just trying to scare me to make her point. There’s no way she’d actually whip me. The death row pardon never came.
Feeling the leather cut through my flesh for the first time hurt a thousand times worse than I’d imagined. The deafening scream that originated from somewhere deep inside me didn’t even sound human. By the tenth lash, my body hung limply from my bound wrists. Warm blood was trickling down the back of my legs and pooling beneath my feet. And still she’d kept going. After twenty lashes, I wasn’t even capable of making a sound or flinching away from the sting of the leather. By the time she reached thirty, my eyes had rolled back in my head, which was drooped forward lifelessly against my chest.
It had taken Deannie several minutes to revive me enough to be capable of looking at her. Her eyes revealed that she’d hated what she’d been forced to do, even though she made no attempt to apologize to me. I’d soon learned that my harsh and immediate punishment was the only thing that had spared me from being summoned by Poseidon. I wouldn’t get ano
ther chance. As grateful as I was to still be alive, my back-talking had cost me the opportunity to see my family again. Having her hands magically mend together the torn apart flesh on my back did nothing to ease my pain. I cried non-stop for hours.
After a long night of soul searching, I’d faced some hard truths. I wanted to live. I wanted to raise a family and prevent the god-awful future Poseidon had shared with me from ever coming true. Deannie may have wielded the whip that tore the flesh from my bones, but I was to blame for my torture. Both she and Poseidon had warned me what would happen if I continued to defy the gods. It would’ve been far safer for her to just let Poseidon kill me when I’d mouthed off again. She’d risked everything to intervene and give me yet another chance. I was sick of letting everyone down. Trying to suppress my willful arrogance without changing who I was inside clearly wasn’t going to work. I needed to permanently transform myself into a more docile, obedient version of the person I’d been my entire life. The woman that arose at four AM the next morning to silently bathe and oil her skin before preparing baths for the Priestesses in her care was truly a servant to the gods.
That didn’t mean it was the only time I’d had to be disciplined. I was still more than capable of making mistakes that weren’t born out of defiance. Cursing after bumping my head against the corner of the cupboard had led to a night spent with a bar of soap strapped into my mouth. Then there was the clear-cut most humiliating moment of my life. After waking up at two AM in desperate need of using the bathroom, I’d decided not to be rude and wake someone else, figuring that if I just sat down on the toilet, the pee would have to go in there even with the plug in place. I’m not sure a drop of it did. The obstruction created a sprinkler effect that cast urine out in a wide arc across the entire floor of my cramped closet of a bathroom. Of course Deannie walked in before I had a chance to clean up.
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