Rhea smiled. She used to dance in front of her clients, in front of important diplomats and soldiers. She rose in a smooth motion, twisting and sending her skirt twirling. She rose up on her toes—

No. She wasn’t in the Pleasure Garden. There, the dancing had been so formal and regimented. Her slippers had been made specifically for dancing on her toes, with ribbons that snaked around her ankles. Her dresses were silk, slit high up the thigh to bare her legs to onlookers.

She had been expected to dance until they told her to stop.

Rhea halted, her chest heaving. She looked down at her feet—scarred, callused, some of the old blisters still peeling. She remembered her feet had bled through the silk of her slippers some nights, and she still had to dance.

Rhea shook her head, her eyes stinging. “I don’t have any dance shoes.”

Ariadne gently grasped her hands. “Neither do I. See?” She showed Rhea her small feet. No calluses. No injuries.

“I can’t,” Rhea breathed. “I don’t know how.”

“Let me show you,” Ariadne said, cheeks dimpling. “I’m a great dancer.”

Rhea could deny this girl nothing. So, she forced a smile and let Ariadne lead. At first, Rhea was awkward; her face burned with embarrassment. But there was no one to watch her critically, no one to notice her failure—or even care if they did. Ariadne spun them both slowly across the command center, their hands linked.

It was . . . it was lovely. Different. She could be different. Rhea could be as wild and untamed as she wanted. There were no predetermined steps, no judging eyes, no one she had to seduce.

Just her. Just this. Just her own body.

Ariadne whooped with glee. “See? Isn’t this fun, Rhea?”

Yes. Yes, it was.

Laughing, Rhea unpinned her dark hair and shook it free. It fell down her back to her thighs—a sign of her health, her pampering. One day, she’d cut it all off, maybe buzz it like Clo’s. When she finally felt free from the Empire. From everyone who thought they could control her. She would throw that hair into space and tattoo her body with something fierce and beautiful, and dance how she wanted.

So, she danced with the girl who had saved her life.

Ariadne’s hands were so small. Together, they twisted and twirled. Rhea lifted the smaller girl into the air. She couldn’t help but be graceful—it was a skill prized in the Pleasure Garden—but she admired how Ariadne jumped around, awkward and strange and all the more endearing for it.

As Rhea pirouetted, she found Clo watching her. Rhea felt emboldened. Who was this other woman? What was in her past? “Clo,” she called, emboldened. “Dance.”

Clo let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “No way.”