“This is what I was made for. I can’t escape that.” It wasn’t an answer to Rhea’s question.

Rhea stood, moved closer. “I think I have a way.”

Nyx froze. Hope was dangerous. Hope could get her killed. “One doubt doesn’t make me a traitor.”

“You refused to see me as an object laid out for amusement and enjoyment. You’re the only one that night who did.”

Nyx sniffed, turning her head aside.

“The Oracle’s programming is subtle. Everyone else ate those delicacies, even if deep down, something didn’t feel right. But not you.”

Nyx should have eaten that blasted sweet. If Rhea noticed, others might have as well.

“When else have you said no when others didn’t?” Rhea asked, her voice soft.

“I pulled the trigger every time they asked me to.”

“The Empire has made us all do things we don’t want.” She came closer. “Help me escape and we can both be free.”

Nyx shut her eyes. She tried to imagine what her life would be like without orders, without assassinations.

She couldn’t do it. She’d always known her future. Play the good soldier and when her body started aging and her reflexes slowed, she’d be replaced by a new cohort of younger, faster soldiers. She’d never have to go to battle again. That was the best Nyx could hope for.

Rhea reached for her. “Nyx—”

“No.” Nyx put distance between them. “No. I don’t care what you do. I won’t tell anyone, but I’m not coming with you.”

Rhea’s face hardened. “How long are you going to keep pretending?”

Nyx didn’t answer. She started to leave the room. “Good luck and try not to die.”

As Nyx grasped the door handle, Rhea called out, “How many more times are you going to have to pull the trigger?”

The soldier left without replying. She figured they both knew the answer.

Too many.

—

Weeks passed, and Nyx remained stationed outside Damocles’s door. She avoided Rhea’s gaze every time the courtesan came calling.

Nyx didn’t miss the finger-shaped bruises on Rhea’s arms. Or how sometimes, when she was stationed to guard Damocles at dinner, the courtesan was again put on naked display, painted with gold and silver as if she were a piece of art. Nyx knew humiliation when she saw it. She didn’t blame the other woman for plotting her escape or her revenge.

Stop it. He’s your future Archon. He’s your charge. You’re supposed to protect him, not wish him dead. You’re—

“Nyx!” The prince’s voice sounded through the closed door. Nyx gritted her teeth as she stepped inside. Damocles was sitting at his grand gilt-and-mahogany desk. He gestured to the door. “Close it.”