Swallowing thickly and blinking back a dull headache. I sit at the marble and gold vanity in the washroom. The king and queen, though we may sleep together, have separate bathing areas, so our servants may attend us with ample space.

I once would get ready in the bedroom, but for an odd reason, this space feels like it's uniquely mine, even if Cadmus could barge in at any moment. It isn't as if this room forbids the king from entering. Any king. I inhale the scents of rosemaries and thyme, and my shoulders relax.

My eyes linger on the taffeta curtains, which are the color of the sky on a clear spring day with damask golden and silver patterns. The sky itself is a cool gray, promising rain to water the budding hyacinths and orchids in the golden-tiled courtyard.

But I am not outside, admiring flowers like I'm a girl reading adventure stories under a lemon tree. I must get ready for my life to change as I clasp my hands primly in my lap, where my golden chiton pools in soft ripples like maiden hair. Again, it is high enough to hide the necklace and my hideous wounds.

When Kora braids my hair and weaves pearls into it, it is tight enough to give me a worse headache. I swallow and endure.

When she stands before me in her modest white stola, I gaze into her steady gray eyes.

Her soft, lotioned hand glides on my shoulder. "Forgive me, my lady, but you look peckish."

I offer a wan smile. "Don't worry about me, Kora. I'll be fine."

"If I might be so bold, you must eat." Though I may not starve to death, not having a meal in the last few days has made me lightheaded. I must not falter in front of this healer who will arrive to the court. Maybe I can sleep in peace. Maybe this palace will feel like home.

Home. I don't know whether I want to have a true home or to travel to places unknown. It doesn't matter. I've been haunting these halls for centuries.

"Thank you. I will in time." The feasts here are endless because of the generosity of the gods. In the spring and summer, Dionysius and Demeter grant.

When I nod to her, she offers me a gentle hug.

***

The throne room is rectangular and framed by four marble pillars wreathed in golden leaves. To the right of our thrones is a vast hearth, and the smoke billows upward toward a domed oculus. Surrounding the room are several other doors leading to various shrines, workshops, the oil-press, and storage rooms for the oil, wheat, and wine. One only needs to walk outside the golden portico and cross the courtyard to enter the feast room.

The thrones themselves are squat, ivory chairs that sit high above the room on a set of stairs. They are framed by golden figures embedded in the legs and armrests, a bull on the left and an eagle on the right. The only color besides white and gold is a blue carpet which extends to the mouths of the thrones to the open entrance; there are no doors, only high, open arches that let in the cool spring air. Whereas Zeus' throne is said to be marked with every jewel that exists, his seat boasts ivory and ebony adornments, light and dark. Ours have a ring of ivory, adorned with lilies.

And of course, the petitioners and nobles who frequent the court. The perfumed fragrances of myrrh, marjoram, myrtle, and almond blossom waft through the open space. And of course, the scent of spiced wine being served by attending nymphs in sun-yellow chitons.

My bones grate against the hard-edged throne, with Cadmus to my right, leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, laurel crown of lilies and fig leaves askew on his head. A heaviness settles under my eyes, but I must keep my back straight and keep myself from kicking my feet or swaying to wake up my legs and backside. My entire body is small but too much, a skin mask for my exhaustion. The slab that we dare call a seat is high, leaving my toes to only barely brush against the floor.

On a pedestal, by one of the hanging torches, a nymph strums the lyre, feeling the hall with jubilation. The dance of her fingers plays shadows on the polished brazier beside her.

My eyes ache, and I offer passive smiles as Cadmus and I manage petitions, a wife speaking of the false imprisonment of her husband and beseeching us for a pardon, a complaint over the taxes on wine. Another man complains of one of his domestic slaves running away before he completed his contract. My stomach hardens, the taste in my mouth sour. Aristotle once said that enslavement, especially in war, is natural and good, lawful unless the battle is for an unjust cause. But if a man wants to run, I cannot see why he can't be let go. Especially when mortal lives are so brief.

When a new person comes into the throne room, the energy shifts, and every shadow by the hearth and braziers comes alive.

A woman, tall and lithe, strolls across the rug, approaching Cadmus and me. She saunters before us, chin tilted high, but clasps her hands before her, as if in concession. Her ivory face is thin, cheekbones high, almost too sharp. Her eyes, from what I can tell, are a light brown, and unlike the braids and jeweled nets of the court, her free, black curls tumble freely on her exposed shoulders.

She's dressed in blue, like Hera, except her stola is as deep and dark as the night sky. The fabric shows her arms between silver clasps, and her skin glimmers. Lines, no, tattoos of pure, ancient magic.

I swallow thickly, my mouth dry. She's too much for my eyes. I sit straight in my seat, heat flooding my face, my breath swelling and painful in the center of my chest. Cadmus goes still beside me.

A hush falls over the court, but only for a second. The whispers begin, spreading like poisoned honey. And a name ripples through the people.

Circe.

Though I've never met the infamous woman, somehow I knew it was her. For who else could it be? Powerful women exist, but mostly, they are gods, and I've seen most here in the palace.

Witches aren't distrusted; society as it is has a mix of scientific, humanistic tendencies mixed with magic and god-spells. But Circe? Her reputation precedes her. I'm shocked Zeus would allow her to help me; he banished her long ago because her power intimidated him.

To have her here, we must be blessed or cursed. I must be blessed or cursed.

But Zeus himself picked her, didn't he?

She bows her head, waves of curls unfurling to hang like moss. I allow myself to think she's beautiful in a way that makes my ribs ache.

"The palace is as lovely as its king and queen." Though she keeps her head low, her eyes meet mine for only a moment before she stares at the rug. A smile tugs at her lips. I falter, my smile slipping away. I must stifle any trepidation; honesty is unbecoming in court.

Extending a sage hand, Cadmus says to the witch, "We understand you took great pains to come here and traveled the perilous ocean."

What he doesn't mention is that the sea where she lives is dangerous because of her, her monsters. And my stomach curdles, once I wonder what she will make of me. What game Zeus must be playing high above.

"Yes," I say. Though my voice doesn't catch, it sounds too high when it echoes in my aching head. "I look forward to our collaboration, and we hope the palace is to your liking."

"You are too kind." Circe slowly straightens, her curls framing her sharp face. "I heard of the Golden King and Queen, and I am humbled." I can't help but catch a wryness in her careful words.

***

Yet another feast commences, and for most of it, the infamous witch Circe is nowhere to be found. As the odors of honeyed and spiced meats float in the air, I focus on my queenly mask. A thick, porcelain mockery of a face, crowned in gold. A new electricity crackles in the air, and though I don't see her as I eat a cut of lamb and drink an obligatory sip of wine, I know she's here. I glance over my shoulder, swearing someone's attention must be crawling over it. And as I do, I hear the whispers of passerbys. Gossip.

She must be helping the queen bear a child.

I should hope not, I think as I stare down at my wine kylix. For me, as cruel as a thought as it may be, my children only lived to be grieved. With this cursed necklace damning anyone of my bloodline, I was grateful when I stopped menstruating. A burden gone. Unlike many of my other pains, the melancholy of being barren dulled with time.

After all, when I gave birth, I'd spend the next year in a deeper pit of apathy and fatigue. And it wasn't that I hated my children, that I was a bad person. I kept telling myself that, kept telling myself I wasn't wrong for having ambivalence and anxiety sour the beginnings of motherhood. I prayed to Hera for guidance. Imagine my shock at how splendid that went.

As the hall seems to dwindle, I excuse myself and find Circe in the courtyard, sitting on a marble amid the fig, olive, and sun-yellow lotus trees. To her right are lilacs, a rash of purple. The sun is still high in the sky, half-obscured by clouds.

When I come close to her, only then do I understand how much taller she is than me, though we both have the blood of gods in us. She stands at almost seven podes, at a greater height than both myself and Cadmus. We can change our heights if we wish, but I've never been a fan of hitting my head on doorways and hanging torches.

To acknowledge me, she must look down at me. Nothing new. As I come, she sits, so we're more equal. Kora follows me, and when I catch her out of the corner of my eye, I notice her frown. Normally, during the feasts, she keeps herself sparse, and especially avoids addressing any of the visiting gods. I can't say that I blame her.

Whereas I've had to keep ramrod straight, her shoulders lower with ease. "I truly am honored to be able to assist a queen, but forgive me if I don't have the best manners. You see, I haven't been in civilization in a while. The formalities are lost to me." I doubt that. Most immortals, unless they bathe in the Lethe or need to remember their children's names, have excellent memories. Something tells me she merely doesn't want the inconvenience of following conventions.

No matter. Undoubtedly, if she fails in her duty, Zeus will punish her, so it's in her best interest not to subvert me. I long for the day I don't need to worry about betrayal, but so long as I bear this crown, that can never be so.

"Your mother is Hecate, correct?" I ask her.

"Yes," she says dryly, "the unvirginal aspect, although I haven't seen her in decades. She has much more fun cavorting with Hades and Persephone than with me. A shame. I'd ask you to meet her. She's far more charming than me."

"Is that so?"

"You may imagine a goddess of witchcraft to be more enigmatic, but she always did like befriending people, especially those she thought of as lost or misunderstood creatures."

"Are you so different?" I ask her. How do I know she isn't a spy for the Olympians, sent to cast me asunder?

I chew the inside of my lip. No, I can never give into paranoia.

"There's a reason I lived on an isolated island. Besides Zeus banishing me at the risk of death, of course. That was merely an added incentive."

Keeping my voice neutral, I say, "You're the witch who turns men into swine."

"Ah." She lifts a finger and clarifies, "Turned. In a short span of time. Really, one mustn't linger on the past. We reinvent ourselves all the time."

"Hm. I suppose." I don't know what she's on about. I've been the same, stagnant, since recovering from the crushing mental and emotional agony this necklace put me through on my wedding night. If I'm not constant, I will crumble. I may be a pillar storms relently crash into, but I'm still here.

As my gaze flickers over her, her eyes are such a warm brown they strike gold in the firelight. In such a vibrant way, as if to say, Yes, I have power, don't test me.

She regards me evenly. With the same chipper inflection, she says, "Forgive me for saying this, but you're very put together for a mad queen."

I offer a tight smile. "You can thank my handmaiden for that."

A light flashes across her eyes as she looks between Kora and me. The skin around Circe's mouth tightens. "Yes. Yes, of course. What a dutiful servant she must be."

Kora bows stiffly. "You are far too kind."

As I stare at her, I realize I look too long. I feel shame, a sense of betrayal. As dramatic as it is, I wonder if this must be the guilt Orpheus felt when he doomed Eurydice with a look.

Circe asks with one brow raised, "You have a question, my queen?"

I clear my throat. The day is getting hot. "What was living on an island by yourself like?"

"Quite relaxing. Boring at times, unless you like watching sheep graze, but I had all the time in the world to be with myself in peace. Mostly peace. When you're the scary witch of the island, the one who curses men and makes monsters of mortals, no one tells you what to do." Circe stands. "Anyhow, come. Let us see what this cursed necklace is about." She pauses, shoulders straightening. "Forgive me. Please, my queen, show me where we should go."

I consider it as my hands fall upon the draping part of my attire. If only I could twist it in my grip without giving the impression that I'm an insecure waif. "Come, let us retreat to my private gardens."