“Achilles!”
The raucous laughter of the Myrmidons echoed through the camp, their rowdy voices calling out in jest as they spotted their commander approaching. Some were still chewing on roasted meat, others drinking from overflowing goblets of wine, their boisterous mood amplified by the late hour.
“What are you doing here?” one of them shouted, his grin wide and toothy. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying that princess?”
“I thought we’d be hearing screams of pleasure by now!” another added, his laugh booming above the clatter of their drunken revelry.
The men were fearless, knowing their commander well enough to mock him freely, thinking it all in good fun. They knew Achilles, their king and commander, was capable of laughing off their jests. To them, Achilles had already finished with the spoils of war—the woman, Briseis—perhaps leaving her to wait for his next indulgence.
Khillea, hidden beneath the guise of Achilles, laughed along with them, though there was a different meaning behind her smile.
“I’m saving her for later,” she replied, her voice steady, casual, masking the deeper thoughts racing through her mind. “You lot should be worrying about tomorrow. It’s our last trip.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle for a moment. “We march on Troy at dawn.”
The mention of Troy, the city that had eluded them for so long, sharpened the atmosphere for a second—though not enough to sober the men entirely. There was still too much bravado, too much confidence in their own strength and the invincibility of their legendary leader.
“Don’t worry, Achilles!” a soldier hollered, raising his cup. “I can beat those Trojans even drunk!” More laughter erupted, the sound ringing through the camp like thunder.
Khillea’s lips curved into a soft smile as she looked over her men. Over the years, she had grown fond of them, despite their roughness, their simple minds, and muscle-headed bravado. They were her comrades, men she fought beside, bled with, and ultimately men she would die alongside. But none of them—no matter how much she respected them—could be the one she chose tonight.
They were her brothers-in-arms, but they knew her too well. In the heat of passion, they might recognize the soft curves beneath her armor, the shape of her body that no amount of deception could fully hide. And that, Khillea could not allow. The risk was too great.
What she needed was someone from another army, someone who didn’t know her face, someone she could disappear with into the night, leaving only her memory behind.
Her mind wandered to the other kings and their camps, the various soldiers and commanders who had joined the Greek coalition. There were also the famed Heroes of the Empire Light, though they hardly interested her. Children playing at being heroes, Khillea thought with a smirk. What she sought was a real man—a stranger who didn’t know Achilles personally, someone who wouldn’t question the unusual encounter.
Khillea walked through the camp, her eyes scanning the scene unfolding around her. Men were everywhere—warriors of Greece, their bodies hardened by battle, tall and muscular. Yet, to her, they all blurred together, each one seeming indistinguishable from the next. She passed groups of soldiers openly engaging in rough, unrestrained sex, the sounds of their pleasure echoing through the night air. It was as though the entire camp had been overcome with primal desires, a release before the final push to Troy.
Her lips twitched into a faint smile. “Would I moan like that too?” she wondered, her thoughts drifting to the act she was determined to commit. This wasn’t the first time she had witnessed such things—war bred indulgence, and Khillea had long grown used to hearing moans in the background. But now, with her own intentions set on finding a man to father a child, the thought took on a new weight. Her cheeks warmed as she imagined it, the unfamiliar sensation of embarrassment creeping in. Would she lose herself in it, the way the others did? Would her body betray her with sounds she had never made before?
Still, Khillea pushed the thought aside, her focus shifting back to her task. She continued wandering, her keen ears picking up bits of conversation as she moved deeper into the camp. Two men nearby, clad in Athenian armor, caught her attention.
“I really wanna get my dick into one of those virgin girls from Lyrnessus,” one of them said with a crude laugh.
“Yeah, but Agamemnon’s men took all the women,” the other grumbled. “Bastards got the best of the spoils.”
“I’m telling you, if I had one of those virgins, I’d fuck her so hard, she’d scream loud enough to reach Zeus himself!” the first one boasted, his voice filled with the arrogance of a man who had never known restraint.
Their words were vile, their intent clear as they spoke openly about assaulting a girl.
But instead of anger, she found herself oddly amused by the absurdity of their boasting.
She smiled to herself. “I’ll just pick him,” she thought, her eyes lingering on the more talkative of the two. He seemed good enough for what she needed—a man to give her a child, nothing more. It didn’t matter if he was trash; he was strong, and that was all she required. Her heart wasn’t in it for love or connection, just practicality.
But then, Briseis’s words floated back to her mind: Think before choosing.
For a moment, Khillea hesitated. She knew Briseis was right. Her decision now could change her life forever. Did she really want to tie herself to such a man? Someone who lacked honor and respect? The thought made her pause.
Since she was going to die, she should at least make sure her child will be with a good father.
“I’ll look a bit longer,” she muttered to herself, turning away from the men with a bored expression.
She was about to give up when a commotion nearby broke her thoughts.
“Haiyy!!” A panicked shout filled the air. “Run!”
“What the hell was that freak?” another voice screamed, breathless.
“I don’t know!” came the frantic reply, followed by the sound of stumbling feet and men fleeing in terror.
Khillea’s curiosity piqued as she saw two men, wide-eyed and pale, tumbling out of a nearby tent, their faces twisted in fear. Something inside had scared them witless, and Khillea couldn’t help but be intrigued. Her sharp instincts told her this was no ordinary encounter.
Without a second thought, she approached the tent. As she drew nearer, the muffled sounds of moaning and the unmistakable slap of flesh against flesh reached her ears. The tent itself shook faintly, the creaking of wood and the scraping of a table audible even from where she stood.
For a moment, she paused. The scene unfolding inside was one of raw, unabashed pleasure—someone was lost in the throes of passion, completely unbothered by the commotion outside. And for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, Khillea felt a strange pull toward it, a curiosity born from years of suppressing her own desires.
Cautiously, she lifted the tent’s flap and peeked inside.