Damocles slammed his fist against the table, jarring the pieces from their positions. “Stop it.” At Nyx’s startled gaze, he reset the board. “You’re holding back. Don’t insult me.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes. You are.” His words might have been slightly slurred, but his gaze was hard as steel. “Move the pieces as you would if you were playing against a fellow soldier. That’s an order.”

Nyx exhaled and tried again. The game went on. And on. She began to fall into the role she did back in her garrison, advance and retreat, advance and retreat.

Damocles made rash decisions. Each piece taken drew a breath from him, as if it were an assent of his weakness. The decanter emptied. His tactics grew sloppier, to the point where Nyx could no longer pretend her choices were foolish. She had to move forward to win the game or he’d notice she’d held back.

Nyx took his King.

“Queen kills King,” she said almost regretfully.

The general’s gaze collided with hers. He was drunk, the whites of his eyes red. Nyx didn’t even blink before his fist smashed into her face.

He hit her again. Again. She heard the bones of her face crack. “How did you do it?” He snarled. “How do you always win?”

“What—”

Damocles’s fingers were around Nyx’s throat. He squeezed hard, fingernails biting into her flesh. Uselessly, she grasped for his wrist to pry him off. She couldn’t do anything to defend herself. He was her general, her future Archon. Hurting him was treasonous. As her vision faded around the edges, Nyx thought of Rhea and how she’d brushed off the courtesan’s offer.

I should have taken it. I should have given myself hope.

“Tell me how you win, Discordia,” Damocles said, breathless from hitting her. “Tell me.”

Nyx froze. “Not. Discordia,” she managed between gasps.

Damocles released her. Nyx sucked in precious air, crawling away from him even as he backed toward his desk, breathing hard. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Damocles stared down at his hands. His knuckles were bruised, blood beneath his fingernails.

“Get out,” he said, his voice almost breaking around the words. When she didn’t comply: “Get the fuck out.”

Nyx pushed to her feet and fled the room, taking up her post.

She barely got through her shift. The other soldiers looked like they wanted to ask about her bruised face, the scratches on her throat, but she betrayed nothing.

When she was released, she went to the Pleasure Garden and sought Rhea out. She shoved open the door to the courtesan’s room, not even waiting for an invitation.

Rhea was at her vanity table, carefully applying makeup. “Nyx?” When she saw the swelling and bruises on Nyx’s face, she drew in a breath. “My gods,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”