Achilles’ chest was not what she had expected. Beneath the smooth, almost otherworldly skin of his abdomen, there was a thin, white cloth bound tightly across his chest. But what truly caught her attention was the unmistakable outline beneath that cloth—soft curves, the unmistakable shape of a woman’s chest, hidden beneath the fabric.
Briseis slowly raised her gaze, her eyes tracing the elegant curve of the valley that led down to those appetizing concealed peaks, the delicate rise and fall of Achilles’ chest.
“A… A woman?”
“Quite surprised, aren’t you?” Achilles laughed, her voice now softening into a tone far more feminine than Briseis had ever heard. There was a light, almost musical quality to it, a stark contrast to the gruff, commanding voice she had used until now, seemingly on purpose to deceive everyone around her.
Briseis blinked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you really Achilles?” she asked, her voice laced with doubt. The name Achilles of Phthia carried the weight of legends—tales of a warrior without equal, said to be the greatest ever born after Perseus himself, the hero who had slain the dreaded gorgon.
And the Achilles from those stories was undoubtedly a man, or at least, that was what everyone believed.
As Briseis stared at the figure before her, the uncertainty gnawed at her. Could it be someone else entirely masquerading as the famed warrior?
But Achilles merely smiled, a slow, knowing grin that seemed to dismiss Briseis’s doubt as if it were a fleeting thought. “Achilleas,” she said softly, her lips curling. “That’s the name my mother gave me. But only those close to me call me Khillea. They, and they alone, know the truth—that I am, and have always been, a woman.”
Briseis found herself at a loss for words.
Achilles—a woman? It seemed impossible. This was the warrior who had felled the greatest foes of Troy, the unstoppable force of the Achaeans’ army. And yet, as Briseis stood there in stunned silence, the truth seemed to settle around her like a thick, heavy fog.
Achilles’ eyes gleamed as she continued. “In the world of the Achaeans, it is men who are allowed to shine. Any woman who dares to outshine them is not honored, but discredited, mocked, or worse.” There was a bitterness that crept into her tone, a bitterness born of years of understanding the harshness of the world. “I learned that lesson early. So, I became what they needed me to be.
I lived as a man, fought as a man, and carried myself as one. Can you imagine if that fool Agamemnon ever discovered the truth?”
Briseis shivered at the thought. Agamemnon—the arrogant king, so full of pride and self-importance—had always despised Achilles for her defiance, for her refusal to bow to him. What might he do if he learned that the warrior he envied and resented was, in fact, a woman?
Briseis could only imagine the lengths to which Agamemnon might go to exert control over Achilles, perhaps even try to claim her as his own, forcing her into submission with the same ruthless tactics he used against his enemies.
The idea was sickening, but not unthinkable. Agamemnon was known for his schemes, for the underhanded ways in which he sought to bend others to his will. And while Achilles was stronger than him—stronger than any of the Greek kings, perhaps—it was not beyond reason to think Agamemnon would attempt to entrap her.
A twisted thought bloomed in Briseis’ mind: if Agamemnon couldn’t best Achilles in battle, he might resort to more cowardly means to break her spirit and make her his likely even assaulting her.
But that wasn’t the only danger. And what about the other kings?
Currently, they held Achilles in the highest regard, treating her with the respect owed to a fellow king and warrior—one who could rival even Perseus in might. But if they were to discover that she was a woman? Would that respect turn to scorn? Would they laugh at her, cast her aside as lesser, unworthy of their ranks?
And what about her warriors, the Myrmidons? If they abandon her because she is a woman, Phthia would be without protection and all the others countries might attack them.
“That’s why I hide,” Achilles said simply, a resigned note in her voice. “To avoid the useless trouble it would bring. It’s easier this way.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Briseis asked, her voice trembling with fear. For a moment, her heart pounded in her chest as dread crept over her. Why would Achilles, of all people, reveal such a monumental secret to her? She was nothing more than a stranger—an outsider in this world of warriors and kings. The only conclusion she could draw was bleak: perhaps Achilles planned to silence her forever.
Her mind raced, grasping for an explanation. But Achilles simply smiled.
“You belong to me now,” Achilles said, her voice calm, almost playful, but with an underlying threat that made Briseis’ blood run cold. “And if you speak a word of what I’ve told you, you will lose my protection. I think you know very well what will happen to you if the others catch you without me. Believe me,” she laughed softly, “you’re better off here.”
Briseis swallowed hard, the truth of Achilles’ words settling in. She couldn’t deny it. Achilles was right. As dangerous as this situation felt, she was far safer here, under the protection of this fearsome warrior, than she would be anywhere else in the Greek camps. If anyone discovered what Achilles had revealed, Briseis knew her life would be forfeit.
But still, confusion gnawed at her. “Why did you take me with you, then?” she asked, her voice hesitant, unsure. She couldn’t understand why Achilles had chosen her, of all people. She was just a woman—powerless, quiet beautiful yes but unremarkable. A moment ago, she had been certain that Achilles intended to rob her of her virginity, to take her by force as men often did in the brutal world of war.
But now, a different kind of uncertainty settled over her. Why had she been spared? Why had Achilles chosen to reveal herself?
Could it be that Achilles had a preference for women? The thought fluttered through Briseis’ mind like a fragile whisper, but before she could dwell on it, Achilles—or rather, Khillea, as she had called herself—moved with surprising swiftness.
Suddenly Khillea reached out, her fingers brushing against her skirt. In one smooth motion, she lowered it, revealing her untouched, vulnerable pussy.
Briseis flushed a deep crimson, her breath catching in her throat as she quickly averted her gaze, overwhelmed by a rush of shame and confusion.
But Khillea, seemingly indifferent to Briseis’ discomfort, continued undressing herself with practiced ease. She unwrapped the bandages that had been tightly bound around her chest, and as they fell away, her breasts—full and bountiful—were revealed. Briseis couldn’t help but glance, despite herself.
In that moment, she realized that any man in the Greek camps would have lost his senses at the sight of Khillea like this. She was, without a doubt, breathtaking—her body as flawless as her battle prowess.
Even though Briseis was a woman, she couldn’t help but feel an undeniable pull toward Khillea. She was not only the strongest warrior among the greeks, but also, impossibly, the most beautiful. There was something otherworldly about her, a perfection that made Briseis wonder if she truly had been born from a goddess, as the myths claimed.
Naked and unabashed, Khillea turned her attention to the basin of hot water that had been prepared for her inside the tent. She moved gracefully, dipping her toes in first to test the temperature, then sliding her entire body into the water with a soft, contented sigh.
“So good~,” she moaned, her voice rich and sensual as the warmth of the water began to relax the tension from her muscles, worn from the strain of battle. Her moans filled the space between them, each one laced with pleasure as the water were washing away the dirt and blood of the battlefield.
Briseis remained where she was, sitting awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Her mind was still racing, trying to process everything—the revelation of Achilles’ true identity, the strangeness of the situation, and the undeniable allure of the woman in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Khillea’s voice interrupted her thoughts. The question was casual, but there was an unmistakable command in it. “Come.”
Briseis blinked, startled. “F…For?” she stammered, her heart pounding in her chest as she hesitantly approached the bath.
As expected, Briseis’ suspicions seemed to be confirmed. Khillea, it appeared, was more interested in women than men.
But Khillea’s next words caught her off guard.
“Wash my hair.”
Briseis blinked, the tension in her chest easing slightly, though her confusion deepened. That was not the command she had expected.
“You heard me?” Khillea’s voice was soft but firm, the hint of amusement lingering in her tone.
Snapped out of her swirling thoughts, Briseis hesitated only for a moment before moving closer. She reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she took hold of Khillea’s soft, long red hair, which cascaded down her back in thick waves. The scent of the water was soothing, floral and delicate.
With gentle fingers, Briseis began to wash the strands, her movements slow and deliberate. The warm water ran through Khillea’s hair, and with it, the tension in Briseis’ body began to loosen as well. She could feel Khillea’s muscles relax beneath her touch, the warrior’s body sinking deeper into the bath.
“Mmmn~” Khillea moaned, a low, contented sound that sent a faint ripple through the room. Her breasts floated just above the water’s surface, barely visible, glistening in the dim light of the tent. The heat from the bath had turned her skin a soft pink, her beauty almost ethereal as the steam rose around her like mist.