My hands froze for the smallest moment.
Breath. Hands. Silk slipping down golden thighs. A moan swallowed by another man’s kiss.
“Nothing,” I said, too quickly. “Just the statue. I’d copied it before. I wanted to see it with my own eyes.”
They let the moment pass. No smirks. No nudges. Just another bite of bread, another sip of wine.
I swallowed hard and reached for a peach slice. It tasted of sun and something sweeter—so ripe it nearly dissolved on my tongue.
“You’re not like the others,” said Iro, quietly. “You move like someone who’s still trying to stay invisible.”
Ferel elbowed him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Lysian turned to me. “If you want quiet, walk the western path. The one behind the citrus trees.”
Ferel nodded. “It leads into the forest. Still part of the complex, walled in. Sometimes you won’t see anyone for hours. Which, if your expression tells me right, sounds perfect.”
I gave a weak smile. “Thank you.”
They said nothing more. Just passed the jam, filled their cups, and let the morning stretch long and golden around us.
And for a moment, I almost believed I could stay.
After breakfast, I parted ways with the others. Lysian gave me a warm nod, Ferel flashed a wink that I tried not to interpret, and Iro simply offered a parting glance, unreadable but not unkind.
I turned toward the western edge of the palace grounds.
The path curved gently past the front gardens, which by now were full of late-morning sun. A cluster of young men lounged beneath the colonnades—three of them, half-draped in loose fabric, bronzed and beautiful, with limbs stretched across benches like they were part of the architecture itself. One leaned back on his elbows, hair shining gold in the light, while another peeled some fruit with a small blade and offered slices to the others. Their voices were low and smooth, punctuated by laughter.
They noticed me.
I kept walking.
Their conversation did not stop, but their tone shifted. One of them said something too quietly for me to catch. Another laughed again, softer this time, eyes still flicking toward me.
It could’ve meant anything.
But I knew it meant me.
I felt the heat crawl up my throat. My hand clenched slightly at my side, but I didn’t stop. I walked past them with my chin held level and my eyes fixed forward.
They didn’t matter. That’s what I told myself.
I passed through a thicket of citrus trees. Their branches arched low, heavy with bright fruit. The scent of rind and blossom was dizzying—sharp, sweet, and clean. Bees hovered lazily near the blooms, indifferent to me.
A single peach, flushed gold and pink, hung within reach. I stopped.
I don’t know why I picked it.
Maybe to feel in control of something.
The fruit came away in my hand with a soft snap. Its skin was warm from the sun. I wiped it on my hip and brought it to my mouth.
The first bite gave way easily—velvet skin, then soft flesh beneath. Sweetness exploded on my tongue. Not cloying. Bright. Ripe.
Juice ran instantly down my chin, slipping across my throat and onto my chest.
