She woke to a rare contentment. Since Hazel-Boy’s arrival, the bedchamber and yard had been transformed into her private sanctuary. She had grown into an adult in his company—talking, eating, caressing, craving. Every night, the hunger drove her insane as she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, her desire persisting in her dreams.

Today she had stepped beyond the threshold of girlhood. She slipped out of the silk he had insisted she sleep in to feel the stimulating effect of different fabrics and went to him, kneeling down at his feet. Her tongue traced the path of his veins, every muscle, every crevice. He shuddered and wavered under her palate. Moisture glistened on him. His organ responded. She held him in her mouth, savoring his pulse. His fingers cupped the back of her neck, lingering, pushing himself deeper inside her mouth.

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back.

He tied his loincloth around his waist. “Don’t force me to break my oath.”

He soaked a towel in warm olive oil and pressed it to her stomach to relieve her cramps. “One day you’ll have a real man.”

On their last morning, she woke to find his side of the divan empty. She threw the sheet around herself and ran outside. Her eyes shut against a stab of sunlight; she raised the cover to tent her head. When the fiery specks subsided behind her lids, she saw Hazel-Boy lounging in the bath. Like liquid gold, water fell from his fingers. Through the steam of sun-warmed water, his gaze swept over her. She would not think of farewells. She flung the sheet away and rushed to him, ignoring the sting of thorns on her bare feet.

“Don’t race to open your legs like the Whore of Babylon,” he commanded. “Control your steps, square your shoulders; don’t lap like a lovesick dog.”

She raised the sheet from the thorns and covered herself, blinking back tears of anger and frustration. It had been a dream, after all. He was like all other men. Kindness and devotion lived in her mother’s tales, not in her home in the Jewish Quarter or here in the palace. She turned around to return to the bedchamber.

“Come here!” he ordered. “Take small, feminine steps.”

Aware of every footfall, she went to him with stinging feet.

He reached out a box and snapped the lid open. “Rub my back with this.”

Gathering a handful of ground pumice, she directed her anger into a vigorous rub. The roughness felt good under her palm. He did not move until his skin flamed red, and she thought it would bleed. Then he stood and cupped her face between his palms. He took her mouth in his. The force of his teeth left two scarlet dots on her lower lip.

With the taste of blood and salt on her tongue and with all the force of her shame and disappointment, she slapped him on his two hearts.